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It’s brutal, how he slams her up against a tree, out of earshot and out of sight. It’s brutal, how his indifferent fingers tear the clothes from her body, and how they clamp her lips shut when she shrieks. It’s brutal, too, how he lets the bark cut a bloody reminder into her back as he thrust, thrust, thrusts until they’re both shuddering in pleasure and disgust.

It’s brutal, how she doesn’t push him away.

She’s not what he wants. Her eyes are brown, and that’s why he doesn’t look at them. Her hair is blonde, and that’s why he doesn’t grab a fistful of it. She’s not what he wants, but she’s the closest he can get.

He lets her body fold when he pulls out. The bark rasps at her brutalized back, and she makes a sound like an ill-played chord, all dissonant notes as she crashes to the ground.

There’s a crack, and she knows he’s gone. He may come again. He may not.

Her sliced skin is coming together. She can feel the scars forming, scars that will remain with her, even if he will not.