Dreadful (Tattered Curtain)

by Greer Rivers

It can’t happen now, and I don’t know when, but as soon as I’m strong and powerful enough, I will get revenge for the girl. Everyone will pay.

I won’t be around to see the bulbs claw their way up to the surface. It’s late in the season to plant them, but this past fall has been unseasonably warm. I only wore my jacket today because its bulkiness provides me a sense of security. Gardening usually sets my mind at ease. At least, it does when I tend to my potted plants at home. But right now, my heart thunders in my chest and drowns out the chant in my head.

Abusers shouldn’t get to stay the same while survivors are forced to change forever.

“Please…help me.” I shake my head. “You watched. Now so will I.”

That was when my nonni got it into their heads that I needed to get married as soon as possible or I’d die a grouchy old maid. Hell, we all know I’m already halfway there.

Tattoos are like most things people feel entitled to. The ink is on your body, so you must have wanted them to ask, right? They can’t comprehend that you made a choice about your body without having them in mind.

He bought a tulip-shaped dessert because he likes flowers. He laughs through my sarcastic, dry humor. And he indulges the sass that always got me in trouble growing up. Did I get this guy all wrong? I’m usually a good judge of character. At first glance, though, I would never have expected this guy to be a gentleman. A cocky figlio di puttana that runs with Vincelli’s ruthless mobsters, sure. He’s intimidating and just the type that my dad had to deal with.

“Be sweet, Tallie.”

When I was just a child, my body was used against my will. It was my enemy, and then it betrayed me further when it suddenly filled out in all the wrong places, making me look more like a woman than a middle schooler. Baggy clothes were my safety against prying eyes. But then I got to college and realized just how powerful a woman’s body can be. Over the past four years, I’ve slowly honed myself into a weapon. My curves catch men’s gazes, my lips tell lies that lure them in, and my hands spill their blood.

But it’s interest in who I know, not who I am.

He’s a deadly distraction, and I have to be more careful.

I can’t tell whether I’m afraid for my life or turned on. If it’s the second one, I’ve officially gone insane. And I like it.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. And no one touches what’s mine.”

But they weren’t just “touches.” They were assaults. I didn’t realize until I answered Sev just how much each one had burned into my soul.