The Forbidden

7 - Out for the Night

"Gianna!" I hear a soft but concerned voice call. I look around me, unsure of if I'm hallucinating. "Gia!" I hear faintly in the back of my head. No, no, no. There's only one person who calls me that, and he's in New York.

"Hey!" I'm grabbed my the shoulder, and I turn around,  tears filling my eyes.

"I was calling you," Ashton says warily, concern in his face.

Damnit. I shouldn't have gotten so scared. Tyson is in New York. He's far, far away from here.

"Are you okay?"

"Honestly?" I ask him, and he nods. His eyes soften, and he tilts his head at me. "No."

"I-uh-would a hug help?" He asks me, and I finally once over him. He's wearing sweatpants and a light hoodie. He's dressed comfortable, unlike the last time I saw him when he was in a dress shirt and blue jeans, and the next day he had dressed in jeans and a black tee.

Hesitantly, I nod, and he takes a step closer, not making any moves too fast, but soon, his arms are wrapped around my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around him, my palms floating to his back. He rubs circles on my back, and I sigh, a few tears flowing down my cheeks, for the first time in a long time.

"Shh," he coos. That makes my sobs worse, Ashton holds me upright though, and doesn't let me fall. "It's okay, it's okay." He repeats over and over, though the harder he tries the more upset I become. "Gianna," he calls my name softly. "Gianna, honey."

I sniffle loudly and wipe away the snot under my nose, trying to compose myself before I can look at him. He takes his thumbs and wipes the tears pooling on my cheeks. Blinking a few times, I look up at him, another tear traveling down my cheek. His hands are on my shoulders, holding me steady.

"Talk to me, G," he says, taking me under his arm and leading me to the curb, where we sit down and I lean into him. He strokes my hair, holds me tight, and lets me take my time. I hiccup before I can open my mouth to speak to him.

"There was... there was a guy... he... raped me..." I pause, trying to catch my breath. "He called me Gia."

"Okay," he says, following, waiting, patient and kind.

"He... his name was Tyson... he-I thought he liked me. No one ever really liked me. Or treated me like he did. And then... I found out I was pregnant... and he and his friends jumped me... they killed my baby... they killed her," I trail off in another cry. My baby girl. I was just past having found out the gender of my baby when I was attacked.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" He asks me softly, and I shake my head, closing my eyes.

"My dad knew about it but he left as soon as I was discharged and the funeral had been arranged, I was alone to bury my baby. All alone."

"Giana, no one should ever — ever — have to do that alone," he says, rubbing my shoulder.

"I had to... and then they... shipped me off here... because I tried to jump off the roof of our apartment building, and got hit by a car, and tried to slit my wrists," I say, remembering.

"You tried to jump off a building?"

"The doorman found me and wasn't too pleased," I say softly, with a little laugh at the end, trying to comfort him.

"And got hit by a car?"

"Jumped into oncoming traffic on my way to school." I shrug.

"And slit your wrists?"

"My best friend had a key, the cuts are still healing," I lift up the sleeves of my shirt, showing him the crimson wounds, straight down my veins.

"Oh... no," he says, inspecting them closely.