What does he see now? Damaged goods? Some pathetic little girl that men tried to molest? A slutty girl who encouraged it, maybe? Her own father couldn’t even look at her, too disgusted to want her.

That inner shame and self-loathing rise from the fiery depths once more, and I swallow it down.

“I don’t want to do this, Jake,” I mutter quietly, looking at our hands held together, so weirdly fitted and snug.

“What? Snuggle in the cab? Let me take advantage of ...