[He tries to protest—the deceptively gentle touches, the promise to return, the theft of his camera, this situation as a whole—but nothing is working the way it should and all that comes out is an undignified whimper.
Her lips are on his and his skin crawls. In another heartbeat, she's gone.
Felix closes his eyes and, calling on reserves of strength that he isn't sure he has (he wasn't trained for this), attempts to pull himself into a sitting position. Before his barely-responsive limbs can get him anywhere, everything tips to the side, rushes away, and disappears altogether.
Martha was right about one thing. It doesn't hurt much.]