The little girl gasped for air while clutching at the rough hands firmly gripped around her neck. The unpleasant grin, the same panting and grunting of an unknown man.
Paralyzed by the pain, she laid motionless on the mattress. A room that smelled of bleach, sweat and rust made her feel sick. She would throw up occasionally in between their violent thrusts, but they never stopped until they were satisfied.
To numb the pain, she would shut her eyes, cover her ears and remember the time when she held her mother's hand as they walked to school. On the way, they would stop by a field of blooming hydrangeas.
Remembering the nostalgic feeling of being wrapped in the warmth of her mother's arms and the familiar scent of hydrangeas.