One of the girls brought me some food a couple times so my only problem was my aches, of which I had a plenty. On the morning of the second day Jasmine told me it was probably safe to get up and move around, but don't go anywhere near the bar when the boys weren't working across the street. I carefully climbed out of the wagon. Some of my joints weren't working except to furnish pain, and the others weren't working at all. I did manage to stumble across the street and into the restaurant where I encountered Ethel. As I wobbled across the floor she noticed my condition and seemed to give a little smirk. I stopped and mumbled, “Ethel, I sincerely apologize for my behavior, I don't know why I did what I did, but I realize it's inexcusable. If I can do anything to make up for it I'll do it, except maybe another go-round with Dave and Jack.” She responded with a little smile and said “Horse, I've been grabbed and groped by drunks in here before and lived through it, I probably will again.. The damage was done. My hands cut again and again, tearing, ripping, destroying. Screaming in forlorn rage, I tore into it, crying out all my frustrations against the clothing because I could never do against my real tormentor. Again and again I cut, ripped, tore, demolished. It was a berserk frenzy of ruination unleashed against the target of my rage. When I came out of it, I was kneeling on the floor. The ruined remnants of my orgiastic destruction were scattered around me. There was little left to tell that had it had ever been a sweater, much less my beloved favorite. ‘Good girl,’ Victor said, bending down to give me a pat on the head. ‘You can clean up the mess later.’ The worst part was that his praise did make me feel good. I’d just destroyed a priceless memento of my old life, and all it took to console me was a cheap pat on the head. This was nuts. Lost and groundless, I felt like I was losing my mind. Where could I turn, when even my feelings were the enemy? I sobbed again,.
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