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─────── ☆*･゜ﾟ･*♡ ───────
Saturday, October 12th
─────── ☆*･゜ﾟ･*♡ ───────
Ambrose's face morphs from curiosity to horror. His eyes are completely wide and staring at me back in shock. I see his lips moving like he's stammering to say words.
"I was afraid to admit it to anyone and I've only told Varushka, so please don't mention it to anyone," I rush my words out.
He shakes his head and his hands immediately fly towards my own. He brings me to sit down next to him and I do so automatically.
I would never do such a thing.
He narrows his eyes and runs a hand through his hair.
When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?
I fidget with my hands out of nervousness and I avoid his gaze. It felt so humiliating talking about this. I thought it would feel like a relief, a weight being lifted from my shoulders, but instead I feel like I'm asking for attention and filled with so much anxiety. I felt like I was being judged and blamed. How do other girls like me go through this kind of stuff? How do they cope with this stuff?
I try to ignore it and move on from it, but I keep flinching at other's movements and squirm under men's gazes. When I do think about it, I feel like I'm swallowed up by a sinking hole and it feels agonizing.
"Friday night after the game," I say in a low voice, "I froze. I didn't fight him when he came on top. He was right."
Ambrose places a hand under my chin and forces me to look at him. His eyes are filled with worry and concern.
It is not your fault. It will never be your fault.
My lips quiver at his words. Ethan said that it was my fault and I couldn't stop being angry at myself because he was right. I only said to stop at the beginning and not during. That would be his defense if I were to take him to court.
Who's to say that I'll even win. Most of the time, the victims tend to lose and their attacker always walks away free. The jury would say that it wasn't rape because he was my boyfriend and because I was a virgin at the time, that I was just regretting it and cried wolf.
"I can't report him. He's going to get away with it," I say, shaking my head.
You won't know if you don't try.
I would have to tell my story over and over to different people. How many times can I tell my story until it sounds like it was all made up.
I don't get how a girl like you dates a piece of shit guy like that?
