I remember the noise she made, almost like a wimper, as I pulled her against me. It was the same noise she would make when she saw the baby on her chest. But I had no way of knowing, not then.
"You are so beautiful," I had whispered. And she was, in all her glorious innocence. But innocence is so fleeting, and as I began to tear it away from her, a new side of her emerged. She was a greedy little devil of a girl, Miss Elise Winters was. After that first night, she had just kept coming back. Four times, five. On my desk, on the couch, on the floor. She didn't seem to care. And neither did I.
Sometimes, when she would scream, I would notice her eyes. They were the eyes of a starving animal, desperately searching for something it hadn't known it wanted. Weeks later, when Todd filed a lawsuit and called it rape, that's what I would remember.
"No," I would say. "It wasn't rape. But you wouldn't understand; you didn't see her eyes."