"Beware all ye who enter here."

She had written it along the inseam of all her jeans in fine tip permanent marker on the train out of the city. No one would ever see it but it comforted her that the warning was there, that she wasn't to blame. It was foolish, she knew that much, but it was her only defense against the nightmares and memories that whispered coldly that it was her fault. She hadn't said no, she hadn't screamed, no warning, it was all her fault.

But she had cried, harsh aching tears, after she had woken up and realized what had happened, what she let happen. He had already left by then and little could be remembered from the night before. A used condom was hanging over the side of the waste basket by the bed.

Disoriented and sickened, she had stumbled to the bathroom to cling before the porcelain god. His smile loomed in her mind's eye. She never noticed his hands at the club or the two small white pills they had slipped into her drink while she was enchanted by his smile. Forehead pressed to the smooth rim of the toilet, she groaned and then heaved dryly, trying to expunge every last part of the night from her body. Nothing more was left except the fragmented memories.

From the next room she could hear the phone ring, sending shockwaves crashing through her system. She couldn't move from her reverent spot before the toilet and let the machine pick it up. It was Tom, calling for no real reason, just because he wanted to hear her voice, to tell her he loves her.

It was too much. Too much that he could be so beautiful while everything else had to be so ugly. Too much to stomach, she retched again, only blood and spit left in her system. But of course he would call then, right when his too much nature would hurt the most, Tom was just like that. He always was just too much to take.

She would have to tell Tom sometime, about last night, about what it would mean. God only knew how he would react to something like that. Not that she really believed in God any more after everything, but Tom did. Tom was going to be a minister, going to be her husband too, as well as her first. They were going to be happy; well that was the plan anyway. He had to know, she should tell him, everything had to be fixed.

Not that it could. In one night she lost everything she had been saving up for better times. She had given away what she had promised to Tom. She had given away the life she was suppose to live.

Tom called again later that day to ask her why she had missed their dinner reservations, but he only got the machine since no one was home to pick up the phone. She had left, no warning, no goodbyes, just a small white enveloped in Tom's mailbox containing the proof of their wedding invitations with a harsh black scrawl that proclaimed:

"Beware all ye who enter here."