A Love Restored

I knew people were slut shaming me. I had a vague idea. More than a vague idea, I had known in my heart exactly the kind of things people were probably saying

• But it still badn’t prepared me to listen to, to be on the end of this… violence.

When those two boys had come in and started to talk shit about me, it had just come out of nowhere. And I thought I didn’t care, or wouldn’t care, and I really did try not to

But their words had just hit me like a ton of bricks. And they had hurt. Maybe because somewhere, past slightly, they were true.

And that night, the word “whore kept ringing in my head. I couldn’t think of anything else. The whole episode was constantly flashing before my eyes. The way he had said the word “whore, the twisted smile he had given me, the look in his eyes that had reduced me to a mere object.

This wasn’t the first time I had been slut shamed. When you were a woman, it was bound to happen a few times in your life.

But that didn’t make any of those feel better.

I know some women had made peace with this or reclaimed these words as empowering. And Funderstood that. In my mind, I knew these men were the

ones who were

wrong. And I knew that being a ‘shut wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But I just hadn’t made peace yet with the insult being directed at me,

When we were in school, some jock called Tobey had asked me out. 1 had told him no. He had taken it to heart and gotten so pissed off at me. Tobey had started a rumor that I gave him blow jobs under the bleachers every Thursday. We had been in sophomore year. And then for a month, every Thursday, a group of boys would hound me asking for me to blow them. One day Nico had seen me crying, and I’d told him what was happening. At which one point he proceeded to beat Tobey and his friends up. After that, the slut shaming had stopped. Or at least been limited to hushed whispers behind my back.

But this wasn’t high school, anymore. And it wasn’t a rumor.

I was afraid to go to work the next day, but I did. I had to. How long could I hide? All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I had dug my own grave.

1 tried to remain as conspicuous as possible. Tried to fade into the background. I would become part of the walls if I could. Nothing special happened today. No one gave me any weird looks or said anything offensive. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking of it. Each time someone walked in, I would brace myself for an insult, and offhanded remark. When they didn’t say anything, I would conjure up their thoughts in my head – thinking the worst kinds of things they might be saying about me. I think at this point, I was saying worse things to myself than those boys had.

And this was taking a toll on me. I had lost my appetite and was forcing myself to eat. I hadn’t hydrated enough and only drank some water after Gabriel pointed it out.

I felt sick. Like I wanted to throw up. I felt giddy in the worst way. Nauseated. Nauseated and queasy.

Around six pini, I told my father that I was going to leave. He agreed. He asked me to go home and eat something and take some resting, saying that I looked sick and tired. I looked at myself in the mirror on the drive home. I did look sick and tired. My eyes had bags under them and my skin looked dull and dry. So much for that pregnancy glow.

Still, I drove home slowly, listening to some music. After I pulled in and parked my car, I sat in it for a wwhile, leaning my head against the steering wheel as the music blasted around me.

I got out maybe fifteen minutes later. Heading inside, I changed into some more comfortable clothes, washed my hands and my face, and headed to the kitchen. I wasn’t in the mood to eat, but I had to, so I just made a simple stir fry chicken with vegetables and had it with same rice.

I felt like I wanted alcohol. It would do me good. But I just had some soda, and the sweet fizzy drink seemed to do the work.

I knew it was quite some time till Gabe and Dad came back home, so I sprawled down on the sofa in the living room, watching a shitty reality TV show. It wasn’t that shitty actually, just very chantic and dramatic – like they all are.

One episode in, and about to start the next, I heard banging on the door. What was that about?

Sighing, I got out of my comfortable position. It was probably just some kids playing a prank. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I opened up the door- and it definitely wasn’t kids.

Three men stood at my doorstep – Julian, and the two guys from yesterday, Tristan and Jason, Julian was in the middle, holding them both by their collars with a hand each.

Their faces were bruised and swollen. Jason was bleeding from his nose,

“Ginevra,” Julian grinned, “Brought you a present.”

I was…taken aback, to say the least. The site was a little horrifying, Jason and Tristan were really quite badly beaten up. Jason, more than Tristan was. And Julian didn’t have a scratch on him- just a shit–eating grin and a haughty expression of victory.

“What is this?” I asked, exasperated. I didn’t know what else to say. I looked at Julian, and his smile widened further.

“They’re here to apologize to you.”

Oh, God. Of course, he did this.

“Just.. just come in.”

Julian dragged the two guys inside by their collars. He pushed them so they fell on the floor, and sat himself down on th

on the couch, sprawling comfortably.

“Come here, baby” He said to me, beckoning with his finger.

I had no choice but to. I walked to him, and he slowly encircled my wrist with a thumb and a finger, then pulled me down to sit beside him. He put his arm around the back of the sofa on my side. Turning to Jason and Tristan, he said. “Co on then.”

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “Julian, there’s really no need.”

He turned to look at me. “No one talks shit about you without consequences.

“They’re kids,” I murmured. I touched his cheek with my thumb, wiping a spot of blood from there.

“They were there for their mose tattoos, So I think they’re fucking old enough.”

Tristan was the first to go. He hadn’t even said anything. He just became collateral damage because of his brother. “We’re sorry, Ginevra.”

I nodded, gulping. I felt terrible. Jason came forward. He was standing Julian gave him a look, and Jason dell to his knees. He hung his head low as he spoke, “I’m really sorry.”

As he spoke, his voice broke, and he began to cry a little.

“Thank you,” I answered. I had nothing else to say. I looked toward Julian. I wanted these guys to leave, but Julian didn’t look satisfied.

“Again,” He ordered

I looked at him in bewilderment. “It’s really alright,” I said in a rushed whisper. I looked into his eyes, urging him to let this go. I appreciated the apology, and I knew Julian meant well in all his

in all his violent ways. But this made me uncomfortable.

And Jason was dripping blood all over my floor.

“Thi so–Tristan started. Julian stopped him with a raised hand. “Not you,” He looked at Jason. “You”

Jason looked up at me “I’m sorry for saying all that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you fucking meant it.” Julian spit out. “But you don’t anymore, do you?”

He shook his head really hard and fast “I’m sorry, Capo Bastone.”

Julian’s expression changed a little at the title, but he didn’t show it for long, masking it up again with anger and arrogance. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Say it like you mean it, fucker.”

“I’m sorry!” He was sobbing now, tears flowing freely. I stood up abruptly. “That’s fine. Please, leave.” They didn’t stop to rethink, quickly getting on

their feet, and starting to

Tun out

“Wait!” Julian’s voice resounded through the house. All three of us stilled. We turned around to look at him.

Julian nodded toward the few drops of blood on the floor. “Clean it up.”

Jason got to the floor, beginning to scrub it with the end of his shirt. The blood wasn’t too much. It came off quickly. They looked at Julian for final confirmation, who nodded, and then both of them ran out the door. I walked behind them. After they had left, I locked up.

“Julian,” I sighed as I walked back to him. He remained seated on the couch, and I went and sat down beside him. “You can’t do this?”

He took my hand, holding my wrists down gently. It reminded me of the times we used to have sex. A feverish chill ran down my spine. I could see it. Him holding me down, taking me hard. I sucked in a breath.

“Can’t protect you?”

“You can’t beat people up for saying mean things to me. They’re not the only ones.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who else?” He asked. “Give me names, Ginevra. They will all be at your feet tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know, Julian! That’s the point. People are talking about me. Everyone is. You can’t just beat everyone up.”

His grip on my wrists tightened. “Yeah, I fucking can.”

I shook my head. “No, you can’t. And that’s fine. Plus, beating people up won’t change things. They won’t just stop saying shit about me because you hurt them.”

“Watch me, Ginevra.

1 sighed, leaning down against the couch. I wrestled my wrists from Julian’s grip, folding my arms across my chest. He scowled, settling his hands on my knees instead.

After a moment of silence, he whispered, “I just want to protect you

“I know,” I sakl. And I did. I knew he meant well. But that only meant so little. “I know. Thank you for that. But this isn’t the way. And these two were kids, you know?”

He frowned. “They were both eighteen.”

“Being young isn’t an excuse for being an asshole.”

“Promise me,” I asked, “Promise me you won’t beat people up for me.

He stared into my eyes, his gaze so intense 1 felt like I had to look away. I had missed these green and blue orbs of his. They were so breathtaking. Each time I looked into his eyes, each time I looked at him, they never failed to just shake the entire foundation of my world.

“I can’t promise that. If someone hurts you, Ginevra, I’m going to fuck them up. I have to protect you. And now, our daughter.”

“Your daughter would appreciate a non violent father.”