Always Be Together (Zerrie Fic)

Right Now

Hello all! So this chapter is loaded with some pretty heavy stuff so please take caution. This is a trigger warning--the last thing I would want to do is hurt any of you or make you uncomfortable. The reason I wrote this chapter is because April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). The goal of SAAM is to raise awareness about sexual violence and to educate communities and individuals on how to prevent and report sexual violence.

For more information, visit nsvrc.org/saam

By working together, we can help victims of sexual violence have their voices heard and help them protect their rights. If you or a loved one have been a victim and need help, seek comfort in any of your country's services. If you need help finding helplines or websites your country, are scared, or just need someone to talk to, I will always be here.

x Lennie

Perrie

"Granny, I don't want any more food," Harry practically screamed. Granny ignored him and shoved more corned beef onto his and Gemma's plates.

"But would you look at the state of you!" Granny lamented. "You'd go round and die of starvation and what'll they say? They'll say, 'Oh, their Granny must not have given them enough to eat, and not look at them!' They'll say that, they will."

"Christ Almighty, I can't eat anymore," he groaned. She spooned out more potatoes anyway.

"Here, Perrie, my lamb. Have some more," she urged.

"Oh, no thanks Granny," I denied.

"She'd love some," Harry said, giving me a pointed look.

"No, really. I'm fine." He kicked me under the table and gave me more food himself. Eat, he mouthed. "Well, I guess I can have some more." They both smiled in satisfaction and Gemma shot me a happy grin as well.

"So, kids, how was school?" Anne asked once we had started dessert. Gemma, Harry, and Niall's eyes snapped to mine immediately. I stabbed at the slippery pieces of rhubarb filling that were trying to escape my plate. I did not want to relive that morning. When Mr. Oleandar's steely grey eyes locked onto mine, I knew that something bad was going to happen. Then, Mr. Oleander turned into James Carmichael with his hungry eyes and strong hands and tight grip. That afternoon flashed into my mind and in time I couldn't differentiate who was who. When he threw me against that wall, I felt like I was back in 109, praying to God for someone to help me. Panic attacks were no fun, I'll tell you that.

"Especially ones paired with post-traumatic stress disorder," said Gemma the all-knowing psychology major as we drove home. What's worse than having to leave school after an embarrassing fit of shock? Listening to a know it all sister (read: Gemma Anne Styles) tell you all about it and brag about how well versed she was on the risk factors and psychological resilience of such cases.

I should've never told her about what James did anyway. Of course, she went and researched possible environmental factors that could've led him to do what he did and even though I begged her not to, she reported him to the school dean and requested that his schedule be changed so that he would not come in contact with me at all during the day.

Anyway, she drove me home and I could barely keep from crying. Eventually, I broke down and she had to pull the car over to help me catch my breath. Luckily, in that snotty uni psychology course, they had taught her how to grief counsel as well.

In addition to this, I was required to tell both my mother and Anne whenever I had these incidents. In year nine, I had to give a speech but instead I passed out in front of the class and hit my head and got a concussion, so whenever I have a problem, I have to tell them.