This story deals with an act of violence and while it is fictional, it is none the less shocking. Many readers will find it disturbing but it is an issue where raising awareness can only be of benefit. There are links to advice pages at the end for anyone for whom this causes particular distress or who wants further information.

As Danielle stumbled over the paving stone she felt a hand reach out to steady her.

'Come on, we need to keep moving. Not much further now,' coaxed the voice, one she vaguely recognised. She tried to place it, but the harder she tried - the more it seemed to elude her.

'Where am I?' she mumbled to the figure beside her, her words heavy and slurred as her tongue tripped over itself. She glanced up and tried to focus upon the face, but the image remained a blur.

'We met at the party. You felt unwell. Remember?'

Slowly something began to stir in her memory, snippets of conversations, loud music, a glass of champagne, and finally the cool night air. Suddenly the world was spinning in and out of focus. As her legs threatened to give way beneath her she felt an arm fold around her waist.

'Hang in there love,' he urged in a sympathetic tone. 'We'll be there soon.'

He held her upright, and before she could protest he was steering them off the main path and into a darkened side street.

'Not too far now Danielle,' he soothed. 'Almost there.'

Slowly the street and house lights disappeared, and they were moving along uneven ground. The faint rustle of leaves reached her ears. A twig snapped beneath a foot.

'Where are we...?' asked Danielle, her senses sharpening as she pushed away a feeling of uneasiness. He gave no answer, only hands on her again, propelling her deeper into the darkness.

'You're scaring me now...' she said, trying to ease the tension in the air. She swallowed hard, and waited for a response. A night bird called, the traffic murmured in the distance.

Suddenly a high pitched noise emerged from the back of her throat. Her laughter - even to her own ears - sounded strained, false and, as panic threatened to engulf her, the noise quickly trailed off. 'Please,' she begged, 'please take me home.' In her chest her heart hammered so fast, that she felt sure that it too knew what was coming.

Like a bad dream, a hand reached out and pushed her - and she was falling backwards, flying through the air, banging her head hard against the solid ground. And then he was upon her, his hands and legs forcing her thighs apart, using all his weight to pin her down. As she tried to squirm away he laughed softly. He pressed himself harder against her, and squeezed her right breast. Danielle shuddered. 'Come on then, fight me... go for it. I love it when a woman struggles,' he whispered.

Danielle whimpered softly into the darkness. She could hear him telling her that she was going to get what she deserved, what all women deserved. She heard herself telling him to stop, and the sound of the defiance in her own voice surprised her.

'Nobody is going to help you now,' he breathed. Grabbing her tightly by the hair, he pulled her face to his – so close the proximity - they seemed to share the same air. She smelt the sour odour of beer on his breath, but it was the heavy scent of her own fear that most invaded her nostrils. His oily skin brushed against her face, and he sought her mouth. As his teeth bit into her bottom lip, she tasted the metallic flavour of her own blood.

She heard him tell her that she was going to love it, that she would beg for more. But the underlying menace beneath his words told her otherwise.

She looked up into a face devoid of any emotion. Danielle cried out, the sound short, painful. 'Please, stop,' she begged.

Mouth set, expression detached - he pushed his hands under her dress. His broken nails dug into her skin and she whimpered again. He seemed oblivious to her cries. As the helplessness of her situation began to sink in, the bitter-sweet resignation of being human, she was unable to stem the tears.

He began to move and pant on top of her, and Danielle stared up into the dark trees. The swaying shapes seemed to close in around her, cutting off her air. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the large white moon as it drifted high in the sky, and brief light came filtering through the branches.

Concentrating on the light, she felt a sudden jolt. And then, as if she had wished herself far away, she found herself rising high above the ground - floating in some unknown place between the heavens and the earth. She curled into a protective ball, safe in the haven of her soul - where nobody could harm her – a mere spectator - looking down upon the scene playing out below.

She could see the crumpled form of the woman on the ground, the heavy figure looming over the body. The physical pain had left her, and she watched in fascinated horror as the action below continued. As if her life had a script, she suddenly felt like she was both the actor and director. She wanted to scream out... 'Okay, you've got it... it's a take... cut... cut.' Finally she closed her eyes.

'Pretend you're dead,' she whispered to the woman below, 'pretend you're dead.'

And then she was falling from the sky - reluctantly tumbling back towards the figures on the ground. All at once the world turned a different shade, and darkness engulfed her. Her last thought as she drifted into unconsciousness was that she would die, die right there on the cold damp ground.

Danielle woke to the sudden sensation of bright light playing on her face. Squinting in the morning sun, she covered her eyes, and lay still for a moment. She tried to fill in the blanks of the night before - but it wouldn't seem to come. As she tried to raise herself into a sitting position, her head throbbed, and even the slightest movement set off a new wave of pain. Danielle grimaced; her brow creasing with determination as she slowly rose to her feet. 'Oh my God,' she cried out loudly, 'where the hell is my underwear, where the hell is my underwear?'

A chill of fear ran through her. Danielle pulled the torn dress down over her hips and collected her scattered belongings. Stumbling through the undergrowth she made her way along a track, back towards the main road. Her eyes scanned the near deserted street, peering wearily for even the slightest sign of danger. Home she thought, home, I must get home. Subconsciously, moving as if her life depended on it – she was running, running blindly, as if from some invisible force.

A feeling of relief flooded over her as she recognised the familiar building. Panting heavily, she fumbled for her keys and quickly made her way up the steps, and into the empty house. Banging the door behind her, she paused briefly, just long enough to catch her breath, and then clambered up the stairs towards the bathroom.

Dropping her clothes into a pile, she stepped into the shower and turned the dial up high. Lifting her face to the water, she closed her eyes, allowing the hot spray to pound every inch of her skin. Reaching for the soap she inhaled its delicate fragrance, losing herself in the billowing steam, the sound of her own breathing, and the steady rhythm of the water.

As her fingers brushed against her legs she felt a stabbing pain. It was in that moment she caught sight of the dark, angry bruises forming on the inside of her thighs. As she stared at the marks, something inside of her seemed to shift, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. As the first memory slammed into her, the breath she hadn't been aware that she was holding came out as a sob. She shuddered violently, her eyes no longer able to block the images her mind brought forth.

In the street below children played and laughed. Wrapping her arms around herself in a lonely embrace, Danielle sank to the floor, and like a wounded animal - she wept.

BBC Crime Support - Rape.

Drugs and Alcohol Used in Rape.