i don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation
HERO ROSETTI IS A SLUT
The words are scrawled across the bathroom stall, immortalised alongside —
RM + JC 4 EVA
and —
KATE STRATFORD IS A BITCH
Hero sucks in a breath, bowing her head against the wall. It dawns on her the amount of bacteria crawling there and she jerks backwards.
Outside the shelter of her cubicle, the bathroom door swings open, unleashing the cacophony of the school corridor before it is again smothered and two voices ring clear.
"Sampson is now claiming to have had her behind the gym."
"Ew! Sampson? Even a slut like Hero has better taste than that."
Hero freezes, recognising her former friends, Regan and Bianca.
"It's what I heard."
"Poor Claudio," Bianca coos. "Having to listen to all these gross rumours about his girlfriend."
"Ex-girlfriend. He made that clear."
"Can you blame him? He's lucky he didn't catch an STD, the way she carried on."
"He says he never fucked her."
Bianca — the girl who attended each of Hero's birthday parties since they were eight, who laughed with her upon pink sheets, styling each other's hair and swapping clothes — does not skip a beat. "Then he's the only one who hasn't.
"God, who'd have thought squeaky clean Hero would turn out to be such a dirty whore."
"I hate cheaters. I should talk to Claudio, see if I can cheer him up."
"Oh sure, I bet you'd talk to Claudio all night long," Regan sing-songs.
"Hey! The poor guy is heartbroken, I'm just being nice."
"Yeah, nice."
"I'm not the slut."
The bell sounds and Bianca and Regan filter out. Alone again, Hero stands from the toilet seat, lifts the lid, and hurls.
:-x-:
When she scrolls through her phone — the photos that span her two-year relationship with Claudio, the messages passed between them which start with hearts and end in her begging for an explanation, left on read — she cannot pinpoint the moment things changed, when those laughing eyes went cold and his sweet-nothings trickled to poison.
She has paced every memory, searching for any rhyme or reason as to why she has found herself in this unending nightmare. She would believe herself dreaming if she didn't have to endure each moment — the stares, the taunts — in excruciating detail.
Still, she wonders, if perhaps when she floated up the stage steps that night she tripped and cracked her head and is in a coma even now, fighting to stay alive.
(Stay alive.)
What do you do when your boyfriend calls you a cheater, a slut, a liar, a whore, to a room filled with your classmates? When pornographic images of a girl with dark curls and an unseen face circulate, your name attached? When your friends stop speaking to you and your peers hiss whore as you pass in the hallways? When even the teachers who called you "a pleasure to have in class" look at you with doubt?
Hero has seen the movies, sat attentive during the assemblies on bullying, sympathising with the fictional victims and wondering how a collective could turn against an individual. She strives to be kind, keeps the secrets she is told, speaks truthfully but never cruelly, and offers smiles wherever she goes.
She never imagined this could happen to her.
(Stay alive.)
:-x-:
The morning after the Valentine's Dance, Hero wakes, wondering if it was all a bad dream.
But Beatrice's knuckles are bruised from socking Claudio across the face before rushing Hero off-stage, out the hall, and home. Someone has uploaded a video of Claudio's speech, entitled CHEATING SLUT EXPOSED, with her tagged and 467 Likes so far.
She skips breakfast and calls her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?). When he doesn't pick-up she tries again — and again — and again. After the tenth attempt, she begs Beatrice to drive her to Claudio's house, her cousin caving after she insists she will walk if necessary.
Claudio's mum answers the door. Where before she was sunny smiles, claiming Hero as the daughter she never had, now her words are as frosty as the February air.
Trembling from more than the cold, Hero pleads her case until at last Claudio appears. His face is glacial, bereft of its usual cheer, his eye swollen indigo. When he speaks his voice is harsh and unforgiving.
"You shouldn't have come, Hero."
She shivers. Where is the boy who brought her flowers and slipped her love notes?
"Clau—Claudio—"
"You're wasting both our time. I know you're a busy person."
She stumbles backwards. "I don't — I don't understand—"
"NO, I don't understand." He lurches forward. "I thought we were happy. That we were — we were in love!"
"Were," she cries, the word a knife in her heart. "Claudio, I do love you — I don't — I don't know why we're fighting!"
(Fighting, like it's mutual and not a murder.)
He sneers. "Stop pretending, Hero. You're a good actress, I'll give you that, but I know everything — all your dirty little secrets."
He advances, forcing her on the retreat. "Claud—"
"After everything — all I did was LOVE YOU. You were IT for me. And you BETRAYED me!"
"NO! I swear—"
He seizes her arm, throwing her to the ground with a snarl. She hits the mud, teeth rattling, and stares up at the boy who laid his head in her lap and told her how much he adored her.
He peers down at her now, face blotched, pupils ringed in scarlet, his chest heaving.
He wipes his eye and sniffs. "You're hollow, nothing but a pretty lie."
Distantly, she hears a furious honking and Beatrice races up the path, threatening to blacken Claudio's other eye.
He regards Hero, ice splintering her veins. "Don't come back. For your sake."
He slams the door, the reverberations crackle through her. She shakes as Beatrice helps her to stand, demanding to know if she is alright. Hero doesn't answer, staring after Claudio, shell-shocked.
Hollow, he called her, and something ruptures in her chest, the chill breeze scrapes through her.
Hollow.
(As bad as this moment is, Monday is worse.)
:-x-:
In Hero's mind, this is all a big misunderstanding. Claudio believes she cheated, and while she doesn't know how he gained such an absurd notion, it is a simple fix. She just has to convince him of her devotion and then they can go back to being a couple. Problem solved.
In her mind, no one could believe anything so horrible of her. In her mind, her friends stand-up and say no, Hero could never do this. In her mind, people's better nature prevails.
Hero has much to learn.
The corridor ripples as she passes, conversation cutting off as eyes turn to her and the whispers begin. She ducks her head, hands shaking as she tries to smile, only to be met with scowls.
WHORE is written across her locker in big black letters.
She spins to the watching crowd. No one speaks.
Sparks skitter across her skin. She opens her mouth —
— and spies salvation in Bianca and Regan.
She flies to her friends, "Guys—"
Bianca's shoulder collides with her left, knocking her into Regan's. Hero's books fling from her arms as she stumbles, barely keeping her balance.
"Slut," Regan hisses.
Hero trembles.
The trill of the bell breaks her daze and she hurries to snatch her books from the floor before they are trampled in the stampede to class. As she fumbles she is bashed about by the relentless stream of students, hands narrowly avoiding being crushed.
She is still scouring for her remaining notebooks when they drop into her lap. She glances behind her, only glimpsing a leather jacket before it is swallowed by the crowd.
When she reaches class everyone is already seated. With unsteady breath, she takes the last seat at the front, feeling their eyes searing the back of her skull.
As the teacher is speaking, a note flutters onto her desk. It is just one word, SKANK.
She gasps.
"Something you'd like to share, Miss Rosetti?"
She crumples the note. "N-no, sir. "
"Then try to contain your excitement until after class."
A few sniggers.
Hero sinks in her chair. "Y-yes, sir."
:-x-:
Beatrice finds her between classes and glues herself to her side, spitting fire at anyone who hassles her cousin.
(Looking back, she is probably the only reason Hero survives.)
The day passes in bewildered trepidation as Hero learns how many friends she didn't have, how many were concealing venom behind their smiles, waiting for her to fall. Her body feels like a live-wire, her skin is electrified and around her the current swells.
If she hopes to fall asleep and wake-up to everything returned to normal, she is sorely disappointed. The next day offers no reprieve. Instead, the photos are there, mixing with the flyers for the Valentine's Dance, WHORE-O ROSETTI printed across them.
It is not her. Hero has never taken photos like those in her life. She doesn't know if they are off the internet or some poor girl has been betrayed, but it is NOT her.
However, a lesson Hero has to learn, over and over is the more she protests, the less she is believed.
("Prove it," one guy leers, meaty paws reaching for her shirt and Beatrice's right-hook flies for the second time that week.)
Claudio is well-liked, has a reputation for being funny and charming, and is best friends with Pedro Donner, the King of the School. No one doubts his word. Nor Pedro's. Nor the half a dozen guys Hero has barely spoken with, now crawling out the gutter to claim they had a piece of her.
But Hero — sweet, innocent doe-eyed Hero? She has something to hide. No one could be that nice, could be that clean. It is always the quiet ones, after all.
They watched her glide through the halls, bestowing smiles and hellos, never a bad word passing her lips, and seethe over their own imperfections. To see her brought low, to wipe their grubby hands over her white skirts, is a thrill. She is their fallen idol, the fruit with the rotten core. For her sins they will nail her to the cross, for her virtues they will tear her apart.
:-x-:
"Hero, you've barely eaten your dinner."
She stirs, blinking back to the present, her fork drawing whorls in the otherwise untouched mash potato. "I'm not hungry."
Concern rumples her father's aged face. "You haven't been hungry the last few nights. Are you sick?"
She wants to reassure him, but her tongue is lead. She heaves her shoulders in the barest shrug. "I'm just — not hungry."
On the other side of the table, Beatrice watches her. She is aware Hero hasn't eaten more than half a sandwich and a satsuma but doesn't call her out in front of their family. Not yet.
It is threat enough that Hero scoops a spoonful of mash into her mouth. It tastes of ash, but some of the tension ebbs from her father and she manages to clear half her plate.
Later, alone, she heaves it back up.
:-x-:
The photos are torn down but the damage is done. Rumours spread as fast as her legs are reported to.
This is her pyre, just like so many women before, burned on a stake built from someone else's lies. Smoke chokes her lungs, blisters her throat, skin cracked and charred, eyes boiling in their sockets as tears singe her cheeks. And despite all this, she is cold — so, so cold.
Claudio's ice has not thawed from where it pierced her heart.
She bundles in layers, shielding against the leers which peel back her clothes and the skin from her bones. At home, she flees to her room, ignoring her father's concern, and burrows beneath the covers, trying to regain what it is to be warm, to be safe.
Still, she thinks — as she shivers, clutching the stuffed rabbit Claudio bought her — maybe if she can make it to April 1st this will turn out to be one awful April Fool's. Maybe.
:-x-:
Hero opens her locker, the WHORE still blazoned across the front, and a tide of condom packets pour out. She squeaks and jumps back, blood rushing to her face as the corridor fills with cruel laughter.
"Bet you'll be needing those, Whore-o."
She flinches, eyes prickling.
A hand clamps on her shoulder. "Don't let them see you break."
At her side, Hero finds Kate Stratford, Bianca's older sister and renowned hellcat. There is steel in her voice that has Hero standing a little straighter.
"Never give them the satisfaction."
"Look," someone jeers, "It's Crazy and the Tramp."
Kate's eyes flash with a switchblade smile. "Extra Small? These must be yours, Aguecheek."
Andrew Aguecheek splutters and Kate steers Hero from the scene.
"They're all idiots. If you give a single fuck what they say then you value them too high."
"Thank you," Hero whispers.
Kate glances at her, face softening. "You're a nice person, Hero. Genuinely nice. I'm sorry my sister is such a shit."
Bianca always complained about her psycho of a sister but now it is the older Stratford defending Hero whilst the other calls her slut. It makes her wonder if Kate's own reputation was deserved or if she grew those claws in defence against others' cruelty.
Either way, Hero could use some of her own. "Maybe — maybe you could give me some tips on — on not — giving a — um — a damn."
Kate laughs, tossing an arm around her shoulder. "Ooh, Hero, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
:-x-:
With both Beatrice and Kate to defend her, Hero is less harassed between classes, but their different schedules means they can't protect her all the time.
Gym Class is a new kind of torture. Her hands shake as she changes, conscious of the giggles in the background. Some boys whistle when they see her gym clothes (the same regulation shorts and t-shirt as the other girls), ogling her ass and breasts when she is forced to run.
Claudio ignores her, jaw clenched, knuckles white, while his friends — who used to open doors for her and shuffle up to make room at their table — pinch their noses, joking about foul smells and loose holes. The other girls treat her as if she were diseased, leaving her last when picking teams and refusing to pass to her in games.
Shoulders bump against her as they play, despite Hero posing no threat. At one point, someone slams her hard enough to send her careening to the floor, splitting skin as she skids. Someone makes a comment about scraped knees and laughter ricochets through the auditorium.
"Are you OK?" A soft voice asks, a dark hand offered to her.
Hero looks up into the concerned face of her classmate, Ophelia. Hesitatingly, she accepts her hand and Ophelia helps her to her feet.
"Careful, Ophelia! You might catch something!"
Another storm of laughter and Hero snatches her hand back, burnt. Ophelia's face convulses, mouth opening—
The teacher blows his whistle. "Rosetti, go clean-up. The rest of you, back at it!"
Hero limps to the girls' locker room. There, she washes the blood and dirt from her knees, holding in a whimper. When she shuffles to the bench where she left her bag she discovers it gone.
Panic punctures her gut, heart clogging her throat as she looks around. Perhaps she is wrong, perhaps she placed it somewhere else. But, no, it was definitely here when she left.
Awareness strikes like a fever and she understands this is no accident. Her belongings have been stolen, her clothes and books. They could be anywhere.
She scurries round the room, checking under benches and on shelves, in the shower block, the toilet cubicles, the sports cupboard. Her belongings are nowhere in the girl's locker room.
Another possibility presents itself, intestines squirming. She can hear the distant crash of play, signalling class is still in session. She has time.
Summoning every scrap of courage, she tiptoes into the forbidden land. For all its mystique, the boys' locker room isn't much different from the girls' except for the mess. The room is a warzone of shirts and shoes, smothered by a cloud of Axe body spray and, underneath that, the pungent aroma of teenage boys.
Hero coughs, her stomach flipping as she spies her belongings strewn across the unwashed floor. Someone must have opened her bag and chucked it in, causing everything to tumble out. Worse, her pencil case has been unzipped, the contents scattered.
She scrambles for her things, stuffing clothes and paper back into her rucksack. The floor is like sandpaper against her knees as she chases her pens. She has just packed the last of it away when there is a bang and she hears the roar of approaching voices.
With no other option, Hero hurls herself into the open supply cupboard, shutting the door seconds before the room is overrun. The cupboard is dark and cramped. She crouches under a shelf, behind the brooms that will do little to conceal her if anyone looks in.
Outside, the boys shout and jeer.
"Hey, you see Hero when she fell? Knew the girl would look good on her knees but dammnnn."
"Did you see her tears? Bet the dirty slut likes it rough."
Laughter lashes her ears and she quivers, shoving a hand to her mouth to silence a sob.
"You're all idiots," someone hisses, voice low yet it cuts through the chatter like a knife.
"What's your problem, John? You'd plenty to say before."
"You think Claudio won't smash your face in just because they broke up?"
There are a few grumbles but the conversation shifts to other topics. Eventually, the voices filter out and Hero holds her breath, straining to glean any sound of life. She can't move until everyone is gone, but if she lingers too long she might miss her opportunity.
Deciding to risk it, she rises, pressing her ear to the door. No sound.
Heart hammering in her wrist, she turns the handle, opening the door a crack to peak out. Still nothing.
She steps from her hiding place.
"Fuck."
Hero whirls. John Donner stands before her, wide-eyed and shirtless.
"Hero?
Oh. Sugar.
