Can They Sense It?

You left your mark on me. Your fingers were left on my skin as I consciously covered them with my sweater. I feared the questions that would lead to the revealing marks of what I felt not just on my skin. You pushed against my throat and my mouth. Can they tell by looking at my face? Can they see how my body was thrown on the floor as it relinquished to a stronger force, but not a stronger will? Can they sense my shrinking back into a ravaged body? "Hush," he says, "don't fight me." It will all be over soon if I let him be. That was my mistake. It is still not over.