Nancy lay in her empty king-size bed. Her heart raced faster than felt safe. She threw off the covers, unable to bear the heat. Her body was a raging furnace of fury. Breathe, breathe, she told herself as she tried to calm down, but the pictures kept on playing over and over in her head.
Lara on the roundabout.
Being spun.
Rosie laughing. All the girls laughing.
Jeering.
Throwing the blood at her.
Treating her like something subhuman.
Nancy was writhing in torment at the idea of it, of not being there, of not being able to stop it, of Rosie still laughing, even now.
She wanted to rip her fucking head off.