After the first time she swore it was the last time. She would never fuck again. Not ever. She waited until he left before she got dressed. She picked her panties off the floor. From now on she would be strong, untouchable. She slipped the panties on, pulled them up as high as they would go so the cotton cut into her cunt. She wanted to make the pain permanent, a reminded. Her jeans were under the bed. She had to go on her knees to retrieve them. They felt looser than before like somehow she had shrunk, gotten smaller. She did up the zip. She pulled slowly so she could see the teeth closing one by one. She thought like dogs teeth, yellow and shiny. She imagined the dog was keeping guard, a guard dog like the ones that accompanied the cash in transit guards on their rounds in the city, how they always held there heads low and pushed their ears back, streamlined, ready to pounce at any sign of danger. She thought of the cash-in-transit vans, the armed men who drove them. She thought how guns were considered phallic symbols, sticks that shoot, bullets that explode on impact. She thought of all the dick shrapnel swimming inside her. She pictured it as tiny missiles then as small sharks with teeth, yellow and shiny like the dog’s teeth, like her zipper. There was a name for them. Ragged-tooth sharks. They had already reached her guts. She could feel them, everything swimming, travelling upward. Her mouth tasted metallic. She pulled on her shirt and walked to the bathroom. She looked down into the sink as she rinsed her mouth. She couldn’t face the mirror. She didn’t want to see the sharks she knew were in her eyes, just behind her eyes, dead and lifeless and mean.