Even her bedding was piled on the floor. Rhonda was curled in a ball on her bare mattress like a prisoner in some South American B-movie. I crawled on...o the bed with her and pulled her toward me. I was looking for any signs of damage to her body. I dreaded the thought that she might one day try to kill herself again. There was no sign of blood or sharp objects.When I looked into her eyes, they were bloodshot and frightened, but not dilated like I'd expect if she'd taken pills and I didn't see. This girl of sufficient age, growth and form, I had bored with difficulty and pain, to her and myself, she had bled, I had bled, I had torn up her cuntal diaphram, had given her sexual pleasure, had revelled in her body. Shirt, and chemise, spunk and blood slobbered lay there. I was rested, she was fresh, and I sat at breakfast with as much complacency and jollity as a man could; yet- beyond fucking, I felt that I did not care one damn about her, and even felt sorry. I cannot explain why I felt. More

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