My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 15

Gianna

━⊰ ❦ ⊱━

I slammed the door to the small apartment we all shared. My hands were still shaking, and the spot on my chest where his knuckles had brushed felt like it was on fire.

I pressed my palm there again without thinking, then again like maybe if I rubbed the spot enough it would erase the feeling.

It didn’t.

I could still feel it.

His hand.

"G, what's wrong, sugar?" Mama D said, looking up from the kitchen table.

They were all there. The whole group. Tasha was painting her nails on the couch, Em and Jasmine were using their phones, and Bri and Morgan Lee were sharing a bag of chips. They all looked up at once, their smiles fading when they saw my face. My hair was falling out of the tight bun, and I looked like I had just escaped a car wreck.

"I hate them," I choked out. My voice was thick with a rage so hot I thought I might actually throw up, "I hate every single one of them. They are all pigs. Every man on this earth is a disgusting, power-hungry pig."

"Whoa, G, what happened?" Tasha asked, dropping her nail polish. She stood up and pulled me toward the couch.

I fell onto the cushions, my folder hitting the floor with a loud thud. I couldn't stop shaking. The image of Raphael’s cold, dark eyes kept flashing in my head.

"The interview," I started, I had already texted them last night, telling them all about it. My breath coming in short gasps, "Raphael. He... he’s a monster. I was struggling to breathe because I was so nervous, and I unbuttoned a few buttons of my shirt. Just to get some air, you know what I'm like when I'm nervous. I wasn't thinking. I was just trying to survive the test."

I looked at my friends, my eyes stinging.

"He cornered me. He stood right behind my chair and leaned over me until I could feel his breath on my neck. He told me it was a 'nice trick.' He looked at me like I was garbage off the street. He told me I only showed him my skin because I was too stupid to do the math. He said I was the kind of woman who used her body to get ahead."

"He said what?" Morgan hissed. Her face turned a deep, hot red as she leaned forward.

The words started to pour out of me then, faster and messier. I told them everything. I told them how the interview went, how he had towered over me, and the way his fingers had felt against my skin. I looked down at my lap, my nails digging so hard into my palms that they left deep, white crescents.

"He made me... he made me feel like I was still that girl," I whispered, my voice breaking. I didn't finish the thought. I couldn't, "The one I was... back then."

Mama D didn't say a word. she just walked over, and wrapped her arms around me, pulling my head to her chest. I leaned into her, finally letting out a long, shaky breath that felt like it had been trapped in my lungs.

I sat there, tucked into her warmth, surrounded by the only people in this city I could actually trust.

"The world was built by men, for men, and that its only goal was to keep us small, quiet, and down in the dirt," I snapped.

Tasha shifted on the sofa, her dark eyes looking at me with a mix of love and worry. She didn't look angry anymore. She looked sad.

"G," Tasha said softly, leaning forward. "What he did was trash. Raphael sounds like a bully, and he’s using his power to mess with your head. But you can't let him turn your heart into stone."

I pulled back from Mama D’s hug, my eyes hard, "All men are like that, Tasha. They just hide it better until they have you in a corner."

Tasha shook her head slowly, "That’s not true, and you know it. You’re starting to sound like you hate the whole world. That kind of anger... it's like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. It’s only going to hurt you, Gianna. It’s going to make you lonely and bitter."

"She’s right, baby," Mama D added, as she rubbed my shoulder with her warm hand, "Don't let one bad man or even two make you blind to the good ones. There are men out there who don't want to own you. They want to stand beside you."

"Maybe you should try being with someone," Em suggested, "Not someone like your step brothers... or him. Someone who is just a normal guy."

I felt my jaw tighten. The thought of letting a man close felt like walking onto a battlefield without a shield, "Why? So they can find a new way to break me? I’m better off alone."

"You’re not," Morgan said, reaching out to touch my knee, "You’re building a wall so high that you’re trapping yourself inside. You’re turning into someone who only sees the worst in half the people on earth. That’s a heavy way to live. It's toxic, G. It'll eat you alive."

"Just one date," Bri whispered, trying to make me smile. "Someone sweet. Someone who thinks a fair fight means sharing the last slice of pizza. It might change how you see things. It might remind you that you’re more than just a... survivor."

I looked around at them. They weren't judging me. They weren't telling me I was wrong to be hurt. They were trying to pull me out of the dark hole I was digging for myself. They saw the way I was starting to look at every man, with a sneer and a sharp word and they knew it would eventually turn me into someone I didn't recognize.

"You don't have to forgive anyone," Tasha said, "But don't let anyone turn you into a version of yourself that hates everyone either. Don't give them that much power over your soul."

I looked down at my hands. They were finally still. I didn't want to be a person full of hate, but the fear was so loud.

"I don't know if I can," I whispered.

"You can," Mama D said, kissing the top of my head, "You just have to be brave enough to believe that not everyone is out to get you."

───── 𓆙 ─────

I sat at the table with the girls, listening to their soft laughter and the clink of forks. They were trying to pull me back to the light, but my mind was still in that cold, glass office.

After dinner, I hugged them all goodbye. The walk back to the Capone estate was long. Every step felt heavier than the last. The huge iron gates of the mansion appeared in the distance, glowing under the streetlights.

I thought about what Tasha had said. It’s like drinking poison.

I wanted to be strong, but my chest felt tight, like I was wearing a corset made of bricks. I didn't want to be bitter. I just didn't want to be hurt again.

As I got closer to the gate, a figure moved in the shadows. My heart jumped, and my hands balled into fists. I ready to fight.

Then the light hit his face. It was Ciro.

He was leaning against the stone pillar, looking relaxed. When he saw me, his whole face lit up. He pushed off the wall and started walking toward me, a wide, genuine smile on his lips.

"Hey! It's you," he said, his voice bright and friendly. He reached out as if to give my arm a playful squeeze.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped.

My eyes were wide with a wild, angry light. I pulled my arm back so fast I almost tripped.

Ciro froze. The smile vanished from his face instantly. He moved fast, but not toward me, he took two big steps back, putting several feet of empty air between us. He held his hands up in the air, palms open, showing me he was empty-handed.

"Whoa," he breathed, his eyes wide with shock, "Sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just saying hi."

He stayed back, giving me all the space in the world. He looked like he wanted to help, but he was afraid to move a muscle.

I stood there, my chest heaving. My heart was slamming against my ribs. I looked at his open hands and his worried face. He wasn't towering over me or threatening to break my life.

“Don't let one bad man make you blind to the good ones,” Mama D’s voice whispered in my head.

The silence stretched out, cold and awkward. I felt the heat of a different kind of shame crawl up my neck. I had attacked him for being nice. I was becoming the person my friends were worried about.

I took a shaky breath and let my shoulders drop.

"I... I'm sorry, Ciro," I whispered, looking down at my shoes. I couldn't look at his kind eyes. "I'm just... it was a long day. A really bad day. I didn't mean to yell."

Ciro let out a long breath, his hands slowly dropping to his sides, "It’s okay," he said softly. "I get it. Let me walk you to the front doors."

Ciro didn't try to walk right next to me. He stayed a few feet behind. Every time I glanced back, he was there.

Halfway to the front door, he cleared his throat, "That bag looks heavy. You want me to carry it for you? Give your shoulder a break?"

My grip on the strap tightened until my knuckles turned white. My head snapped toward him, my eyes flashing.

"I don't need a man to carry my things!" I barked. "I have two arms and a spine. I can handle my own weight. I’ve been handling it my whole life without anyone's help, and I'm certainly not going to start falling apart over a laptop bag."

Ciro stopped walking immediately, "Okay," he said simply, "You got it."

I walked to the mirror and stared at myself. I saw my five-year-old self staring back at me with tears in her eyes.

“Read it!”

The voice exploded in my head.

It wasn't my voice.

“What are you, stupid? It’s right there! Look at the letters, Gianna. They aren't moving. You’re just lazy. You’re useless. You’re a waste of space.”

“Your tits make up for the nonsense that comes out of your mouth.”

“Why did I do wrong to deserve you, Gianna?!”

The voices were so loud they felt like physical hands pushing me down. I could remember the feeling of the wooden desk against my arms. I could feel the hot, stinging tears on my cheeks while the boy behind me laughed because I couldn't read the word apple.

“You will do it,” I hissed at my reflection, “You will show him. You won't be the dumb girl, not again.”

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold floor. I pulled off my shoes and socks. My feet looked small and pale in the dim light. I gripped the wooden stick with both hands, my knuckles turning white.

“If you want to act like a certain type of woman to get ahead, who am I to stop you? It fits what I already know about you, doesn't it?”

Raphael’s voice joined the others. I could feel him leaning over me again.

I raised the stick high and slammed it down onto the arch of my right foot as hard as I possibly could.

CRACK.

The pain was a white-hot flash that blinded me for a second. It felt like a bolt of lightning had shot up my leg and settled in my brain. I gasped, my mouth falling open, but I didn't make a sound.

“Again,” I whispered. I was shaking. I was sweating, “Do it again. Learn. Remember. Don't be stupid.”

I raised the stick again and brought it down with even more force. This time, I hit the bone. The pain was so sharp it made my stomach turn. I felt the skin start to swell, the heat of the bruise already blooming under the surface. I wanted the pain to be louder than the voices.

I raised the stick and swung it again, and again, and again. I hit my feet until they were red and purple. I hit them until the blood started to smear on the wooden stick.

“You will do this job,” I scolded myself. I was hitting my own feet to punish the part of me that couldn't read, “You will prove everyone wrong. You will be better than him.”

I hit myself one last time, a hard, final blow that made my toes curl in agony.

I dropped the stick. It clattered against the floor. My hands were shaking so hard I had to press them against the floor just to stay upright.

I looked down at my feet, and the first sob finally broke through my teeth.

It wasn't just a bruise. I had gone too far. The skin across the bridge of my foot was torn. And the sight of my own blood on the floor made my head spin, but the pain was worse.

"Oh God," I whispered, "Oh God."

I reached out with trembling fingers and tried to hold my feet, but even the lightest touch made me gasp. I pulled them close to my chest, curling into a ball on the cold floor. I wrapped my arms around my shins and tucked my face into the space between my knees, trying to disappear.

I stayed there in the dark, clutching my bleeding feet, the only sound in the room was the wet, muffled gasps of my own breath. I felt so small. I felt like the little girl in the back of that room again, hiding her face so nobody would see her crying over a book she couldn't read.

I looked up at the mirror, my vision blurry and I saw a tiny girl standing in a cold room, her face red from crying. She was holding out her hands, and they were the same color as my feet, swollen, red, and shaking.

I was supposed to be the one who saved her. I was supposed to be the one who finally made the world stop hurting her for being different. Instead, I had picked up the weapon. I had become the very thing she was afraid of.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.