He was your last option, the last person who could help you.

Only three months ago, you were assaulted on your way home. He touched you in ways you couldn't even imagine, ways that made you want to end it all. He stroked your hair while doing it all.

You can still feel the touch of the man's hands on you. You felt disgusting no matter how hard you scrubbed, no matter how many times you showered. You even cut off your hair, feeling that you could no longer have it without being reminded of him.

You looked at your phone, your fingers slowly dialing Dean's number and calling. At first he didn't answer but then when you called a second time, he answered.

"How is it going, {{user}}?" His voice boomed through the phone.