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It doesn’t surprise me at this point—Luke always forgets. Not that he ever gave a shit anyway.

I sit in my run-down bedroom, the tattered curtains blowing gently in the summer breeze. It was sunny and hot today, which is rare for English weather. It could’ve been perfect for a barbecue. I could’ve cooked myself some food instead of this measly, two-pound, microwaved ready meal.

I stare at it sitting on the end of my bed and scowl. I haven’t touched it. I don’t like tomato pasta, but it was the only one we had left in the fridge.

At least I was able to heat it up before everyone got here.

I was sitting outside, soaking up probably the last bits of sunshine before October comes and the weather gets colder. I ran upstairs into my room as soon as I heard the front door unlocking. Luckily, the stairs face the opposite way to the door, so I missed whoever was coming in. I’ve been sitting here for about three hours now, staring blankly at whatever show is playing on the TV.

Music thumps from downstairs, drowning out the peaceful sound of birds chirping their goodnight tunes. My TV plays a horror film—the couple on the screen are currently getting it on in the woods after chasing each other. A flush of arousal spreads over me as I watch it. I tamp down on it immediately. I don’t want to be caught doing something I ‘shouldn’t be’ while Luke’s pervert friends are downstairs. The lock on my door is weak; I don’t trust it.

But fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve had an actual orgasm. And I must be ovulating because the sex on the screen isn’t even that hot.

A glass smashes, muffled by the walls and followed by loud cheering.

Every year on my birthday he brings his druggie friends over for a party and tells me to stay up in my room. I obey him because it’s easier. I don’t want to make him angry. I’ve learnt to keep my distance from him. It seems that anything I do sets him off.

I suggested splitting up, but he threatened me, telling me that if I ever thought about leaving him, he’d kill me and then himself. I believe him, which is why I’ve stayed. He wouldn’t make it quick. The man is a psychopath. He’d drag the pain out.

But I’m starting to second-guess whether maybe dying wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Surely it’s better than this. Anything would be better than this.

I’m scared of him.

But also, every year, I await the inevitable rape.

Every. Single. Year.

My ‘birthday present’.

This is why my lock is so weak. This is why all I can think about most of the time is sex. Having an orgasm. Having sex with someone who cares enough to give me an orgasm. But every time I even have a thought about touching myself, vomit gathers in my stomach. It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking about having sex. It should be the last thing on my mind. Yet, it’s always the first.

A thumping sound drifts under my cracked wooden door.

Someone is coming upstairs.

I turn down my TV and make as little noise as possible. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m in here. They bother me every time they’re here. No matter how many times Luke tells them to leave me alone. They seem to be the only people that don’t take his threats seriously. Not because he cares, but because he’s saving me for his dirty friends later and he wants his turn first.

I wish I was like them. I wish I wasn’t scared of his threats.

I rub my arm where an old bruise is fading, wincing at the pain it elicits. I can’t be sure he didn’t break my arm, but he refuses to take me to a hospital. He says I’ll sell him out.

He’s not wrong.

The staggering continues from the hallway until it hits my door. I flinch, pulling my blanket up to my eyes, and watch the door handle like a hawk. Thankfully, it doesn’t move.

The noise trails into the next room, followed by a door slamming and a woman’s moan.

Gross.

Someone’s probably having sex in his bed right now. I hope they leave a mess. Let the pig roll around in it.

Call it curiosity, but I quietly manoeuvre out of my squeaky bed and tiptoe out of my room. I glance both ways down the worn hallway, making sure no one else is coming up the stairs.

The moaning gets louder as I approach the door of his room. It’s not fully shut, so I peek inside and see a head of red hair, the owner of it sitting on top of a man. They’ve already taken all their clothes off, clearly eager to jump each other’s bones.

He flips the woman over, and I think my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach.