The Don's Deadliest Obsession

”I was assaulted in high school. I went to a party, had one too many drinks, and blacked out. I don’t even remember what happened that night.”

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her handbag.

I don’t move or interrupt her.

For once, I have the sense to let her speak.

”The next morning, there were videos and pictures of me naked from the waist up, with that fucker’s dick in my mouth.”

The words hit me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

I stare at her.

She looks furious, but beneath the anger, I can see something else. Something that makes my chest feel uncomfortably tight.

Humiliation, pain and the unmistakable expression of someone who has just been forced to revisit a memory she never wanted to think about again.

She looks straight at me, her eyes bright with fury.

”So thank you. Thank you for dragging that shit back into my face like I was some slut who went around handing out pictures of herself.”

”Nerissa...”

”No.”

She cuts me off sharply.

”You wanted to know? Now you know.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

That I didn’t know? That I thought those men were her former lovers?

None of it changes what I’ve just done.

I heard those men discussing her assault, and instead of asking questions, I came out here and accused her of sleeping around.

I made her defend herself against something that was never her fault.

Before I can find the words to apologize, she gets into the car and slams the door shut.

I remain standing beside it.

Completely still.

The anger that brought me out of that bathroom, the rage that made me break a man’s nose without a second thought, drains out of me.

All that’s left is the sound of her words echoing inside my head.

I was assaulted in high school.

I stare through the window at my wife.

She’s turned toward the other side, her arms folded tightly across her chest, refusing to look at me.

For the first time tonight, I have absolutely nothing to say.

It feels as though someone has emptied a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.

I close the passenger door gently, walk around the car, and slide behind the steering wheel.

Nerissa doesn’t look at me.

I grip the wheel, staring through the windshield.

For once in my life, I wish I’d kept my fucking mouth shut.

Nerissa’s POV

The ride home is unbearably quiet.

I sit in the passenger seat with my face turned toward the window, watching the streetlights blur past. Lysander hasn’t said a word since we got into the car, and I’m grateful for his silence.

I don’t want to hear his voice, I don’t want to look at his face and I certainly don’t want to think about what happened tonight.

But the harder I try to push the memories away, the more determined they seem to be to claw their way back into my head.

I hate that I told him. I hate that he knows. Most of all, I hate that something I spent years trying to bury has resurfaced because of a stupid conversation in a bathroom.

When the car finally stops, I don’t wait for Lysander to come around and open my door.

I push it open myself and step out.

I hear him calling my name behind me but I kee walking.

”Nerissa, wait.”

I don’t.

I walk straight into the house, ignore the curious glances from the staff, and take the stairs two at a time. My heels click against the floor, each step carrying me farther away from him.

I reach my bedroom, slip inside, and lock the door.

Only then do I let myself breathe.

I lean against the wood, close my eyes, and press the heels of my palms against them.

Please.....Not tonight.

I don’t bother changing out of my dress. I walk to the bed, crawl beneath the covers, and curl onto my side.

The first tear slips down my cheek, then another and suddenly, I’m crying so hard that my chest hurts.

I remember the morning those pictures came out.

I remember waking up confused, my head pounding, only to discover that my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Messages flooded my screen, people I barely knew were sending me links, laughing emojis, and disgusting comments.

I didn’t understand what I was looking at at first.

Then I saw my face and my body. My humiliation, captured and shared for strangers to enjoy.

I remember screaming, I remember Oli rushing into my room, gathering me into her arms while I sobbed so hard I could barely speak.

Papa tried everything he could to stop it. He contacted people, made calls, and did everything in his power to have the pictures and videos removed from the internet.

He even threatened the families of the boys involved.

But the damage was already done, people had seen it, people had saved it.

At school, girls whispered when I walked past. Boys laughed behind their hands. Some looked at me with pity, others with disgust, and a few with the kind of interest that made my skin crawl.

Someone printed pictures of my breasts and pasted them all over the girls’ locker room.

I can still remember standing in front of them, frozen, while laughter erupted around me.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole and i wanted to disappear.

That’s how Oli found me, she I hadn’t done anything wrong, that nobody had the right to treat me that way, I believed hwr eventually or at least, I learned how to pretend I did.

But tonight, Lysander made me feel like that frightened girl all over again.

I press my face into the pillow, trying to muffle my sobs.

Eventually my eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion finally catching up with me.

I curl tighter beneath the covers, wishing Oli were here to tell me everything would be all right.

But she’s not and I’m alone.

Eventually, my body gives in to exhaustion. My breathing slows, my thoughts become muddled, and sleep finally claims me.