He didn't want to talk about it. Nothing to say anyway. Just women that poked and prodded and pulled and pounded - took everything away from him until there was nothing left but a resigned lump of I'll-do-whatever-you-want-me-to.
His grip in the clothes' collar loosened by a fraction. He could still hear their laughter echoing inside his empty head, bouncing off the walls.
He could still see the face inches away from him; bloodied, broken, bruised, bleeding from empty eye sockets and swollen lips, scratched up beyond recognition, and a scream that drowned out all the laughter.
A scream that sounded familiar. Like a moan drowning out the silence in a cool room paid for in cash, sheets rustling as weary limbs shifted in the darkness.
"None of your business."
Even if he wasn't just a stranger trespassing in Ares' house trying to get himself killed.