His weight was distantly familiar--solid, warm and vibrant in her arms; Blue held on to him tightly, never wanting to let go. Each time the ghost of unwelcome fingers tickled over her skin, Omega's hands were there, smoothing down the length of her body, chasing away the imagined slight.

Of their own volition, her knees parted--but the rasp of denim against her bare thighs had her screaming, shoving hard at a leering Hoskins above her and she kicked away, shaking with silent sobs as she huddled against the head of the bed, a pillow clutched in her arms, a pathetic shield.

Dark hair stained her face; Blue hid behind it, ashamed and terrified. She hiccuped and sniffled, muttering a broken litany of, "'m sorry--'m so sorry--" over and over again.