She woke up with him inside her. Her mouth had that sweet, citric taste of vomit and liquor. She didn't understand it. Step back, look at it. You don't want to, but you need to see it. She is young, her pants are down around her ankles. You can hear the shouts and music outside the bedroom, but inside it is just her. She is small on the bed and her face is buried in a pillow. She tries to move it and feels the fingers pull at her hair. She screams. He starts fucking her harder. His pants are down and his shirt is off. His tattoos suck. He smiles because he knows the bitch fucking wanted it and now he's giving it to her. Just how she wanted. Staring all night. He'd woken her up. He believed it. He would swear to it. He came and let go of her hair and the room blurred into focus. They were in a guest room, the decorations were spare and generic. She was crying and he blinked at her, confused. Do you see it?
They will never talk about it. Either of them. They will live within miles of each other for the rest of their lives. Their kids will go to the same school. Their spouses will know none of this. But you know. Some hangovers don't ever go away.