Warnings: Sexual Harassment, Blood, Mentions of Violence, Threatens of Violence
Word Count: 1,407
A/N: Ok, this one is roughly based on something that happened to me recently. When people comment on your body as if it’s you’re fault that they’re gross, it makes you feel gross.
–
You hummed as you walked to school, your headphones masking out any outer interruptions. It was a crisp, fall day and you had chosen to walk home compared to taking the bus for two reasons. One, the weather is fabulous, as mentioned beforehand. Two, when you walked to and from school, you used the same shortcut as a certain blonde boy in your neighborhood.
Speaking of,
“Hey, Micheal!” You slid your headphones down to your neck and jogged to catch up to your boyfriend. He turned around and grinned as he saw you. You trotted up to him and pecked him before continuing your journey to school.
“You look cute, today.” You chuckled and flipped your hair back from your headphones. You did admit that your ensemble was more put together than usual. You had accidentally done a great job with your makeup, which meant that an equally great outfit had to go along with it. You were wearing a cute, grey sweater with dark blue jeans that -just saying- made your butt look pretty good.
“Are you saying I don’t look cute everyday?” you teased, prompting Michael to wrap an arm around your waist and gently tug you closer.
“Of course not, but you’re extra gorgeous, today.” You instinctively draped your left hand over the arm around your waist as the two of you continued on your way.
–
You placed your bookbag on your desk as the dismissal bell rang. Last period was finally over and you could go meet Michael to walk home. Maybe we can stop by that pasty shop nearby, you thought to yourself. You were so lost in thought that you totally ignored your surroundings.
Until you felt a sharp sting on your backside.
You gasped and looked behind you to see what -or who- had caused it, and came face-to-face with one of the football players. He was surrounded by his friends and he was wearing his jersey for Game Day; Number 71.
He attempted to leave, unnoticed but you called out.
“Hey!” Your voice was thick. “What was that!?” The jock turned to face you, wearing a cocky expression that was dripping in ego.
“C’mon, you can’t dress like that and expect us not to notice,” your heart dropped in your chest as another one said,
“You were distracting us all period, y’know?” Number 58,
“Stop acting like you don’t like the attention.” Number 20.
With that, they turned and left.
You, on the other hand, could only stand there. Berated, humiliated, and hurt. You felt tears pooling in your eyes and your nose began to sting. You had a male teacher, so you didn’t want him to see your crying. Or my butt, for that matter.
You rushed out of the classroom and into the bustling hallway.
You roughly shoved past the freshmen, the violent athletes, and even teachers, who were in your way. You just wanted to go home. After battling with the entire student body, you managed to escape as your feet met pavement.
You were sobbing, now. Storming down the sidewalk, your mascara and eyeshadow drew streaks down onto your cheeks and nose. The wind -that you had been enamored with that morning- was biting and harsh, ruining your hair. You even tripped at one point, skinning your knee and ripping a hole in your nice jeans.
It was terrible.
By the time you arrived home, you were in shambles. You fell to your couch, huddling in with your knees to your chest.
You eventually cried yourself to sleep.
–
BANG! BANG! BANG!
You awoke to a pounding on your front door. Your parents weren’t supposed to be home for a few days, so you were curious as to who it was. You heaved off of your couch, still half-asleep. You hadn’t even checked your makeup.
“Micheal?” He stood at your doorway, panting heavily. He paused before speaking. Then his face went dark and he brought a hand to your cheek. Crap.
“What happened.” You brushed his hand off and attempted to wipe away some of the oily makeup.
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Just saw a sad movie.” Michael’s eyes narrowed. You knew that you could never lie to him. You sighed and walked inside, inviting Michael to follow. “Let me wash my face first. These jeans are too tight, anyways.”
You walked back into your living room with one of Michael’s hoodies on and a warm pair of leggings. He stood from your couch and wrapped his long arms around you, causing your heart to swell. You nuzzled your face into his chest and let out a small sob.
Michael was never the best at affection, but at the moment, he reached a hand up and gently ran his hand through your hair.
“What happened?” His voice was softer.
“Some football players said some things and… one of them touched me.” You felt him tense, but he didn’t press further. “It was humiliating. I wanted to die.” Michael violently pulled away and held your face so that you were looking at him straight in the eyes. You only saw fear.
“You’re not going to leave me, are you? You can’t die, I’ll die without you!” You knew that Michael had some trouble with controlling his anxiety, sometimes. You shook your head and placed your own hands over his and brought them down.
“No, honey, I’m not going to die, anytime soon. I was just… Really upset about the whole thing.” He nodded and pulled you into his chest, again. “Was it my fault? Is it because I dressed like that?” You felt him shake his head and pull you tighter.
“No. This is all on them.”
Afterward, Michael agreed to just cuddle you and watch sitcoms -which he either hated or loved, there’s no in between.
You appreciated these moments.
You sat in between his legs, with your own draped over his left thigh. He was getting muscular. Your head was in the crook of his neck as his right arm draped around your stomach; his hand rubbing circles along your navel.
You really loved this gentle boy.
–
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Did your doorbell just not work?
You ran down the stairs to the front door, trying to make the pounding-
“Shut up!” You were met with Michael, again.
Only this time, it was different.
This time, he was drenched in blood.
“What… happened?” Your mouth was malfunctioning. You couldn’t comprehend what -who- was in front of you.
“I-I found those jerks who hurt you. And I… hurt them back.” Your eyes widened and you took a step back, “(Y/n), please, I didn’t mean to. I swear.” Your hand slowly moved toward the handle of your front door.
He saw you.
Within seconds, your wrists were held in front of you as your front door slammed shut. Michael was getting blood on your floor.
“Michael! Please go! I don’t want to-” Michael interrupted you,
“I did this for you! How could you just ignore me like that! It’s too late!” You felt tears welling up as he screamed at you. You sealed your lips so as to not anger him further. “Aren’t you mad!? They hurt you, first!” Tears began to fall.
When Michael saw your crying, his hold on your wrists softened. He pulled you into his stomach and wrapped his arms around your waist. Dried blood crusted off as your hands made contact with his bicep. You sobbed into him for a few minutes before finally speaking.
“Of course it upset me.” Michael reflexively pulled you tighter against him. He smelled like iron. “But that doesn’t give you, or anyone the right to do the same to others. Michael, that makes you just as bad as them.”
“Am I bad?” You couldn’t see his face, but you could read his expression.
“I don’t know.” You replied honestly. You had seen behavior like this before, but never to this extent. Once, you complained about your parents and he point-blank offered to murder both of them.
However, you’d also seen Michael try his hardest to be good. Once, you told him that you had pulled an all-nighter, and he left school to buy you coffee and chocolate.
It was strange.
“But, if I had to guess; I’d say you’re trying. And in my opinion, that’s more important.” Michael responded with a small “Mm.”
The two of you stood like that for a while. You could hear his heartbeat.
Toad's Cave 