Chapter Text
The moment Vanessa saw the dark stain on her underwear and the unmistakable smell of blood filled her nostrils, she knew her time had come. Terrified and with her heart pounding, she tried to examine her hips and thighs, searching for the source of the bleeding wound. She found nothing at first glance, and was also surprised that she could have hurt herself or been hurt while sleeping in her bed.
Nor did it hurt as much as it should have, considering the amount of blood, although a strong pressure in her bladder was beginning to manifest itself as her muscles woke up.
Whatever it was, she couldn't afford another second of introspection in the bathroom; not without being scolded and treated like a burden, so she had to clean the stain on her underwear, find a clean pair, put on her uniform, and go downstairs so her father could take them to school. She was sure she'd been gone long enough not to have time for breakfast.
As long as she had the strength to stand, her father wouldn't treat her like a broken object; she just had to concentrate on surviving the school day, and maybe afterwards she could find out what had happened to her and that strange injury.
Thinking was much easier than acting.
The entire ride in the family car was a slow torture. If the starched uniform already made her uncomfortable when she sat down, the fact that her lower back held a small but sharp pain in her head that wouldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried to adjust her legs into a position that wasn't impossible to maintain without bending completely against her stomach—she couldn't give such a pitiful and defeated appearance in front of her father— was one of the greatest tortures she could have suffered in her life.
Luckily, William didn't seem to notice the way Vanessa was writhing like a worm in the back seat… but Michael did, although he didn't say a word to prevent his sister from being punished.
The situation at school didn't improve. Between the opening prayers, the first-semester math exam, and the suffocating feeling of needing to urinate all the time, the girl was almost certain she would faint as soon as she got up from her desk, which felt much more rigid than in previous days.
But it didn't matter; he just had to be strong and survive the rest of the day. The wound should have healed by now, after all this time.
"Afton, you've stained" commented the classmate who sat behind her, pointing accusingly at the bloodstain that painted the center of her chair.
The murmurs of the other girls soon appeared, and Vanessa felt that if the wound, which apparently was still open, that that did not kill her at that moment, social pressure would end up extinguishing her life.
Instinctively, she covered her skirt with her hands, forgetting she still had the exam, feeling them grow slightly damp. And when her fingers turned a faint red and she saw that the chair also had that color pattern… her brain froze.
The girl didn't understand what was happening. She wanted to cry, scream, run at full speed without a fixed destination, even laugh at how unreal it felt to be bleeding out in the middle of her class and that none of the others present seemed to care about her inevitable fate.
Such was her state of shock that she could barely process the moment her teacher took her arm and led her to the infirmary, nor the words the woman exchanged with the nun in charge of providing first aid, much less when that same nun helped her remove her jumper so the stain wouldn't soak into the sheets and instructed her to place a thick, strange cotton bandage in the center of her underwear. She could only obey without a word, her mind filled with thousands of questions that seemed to find no clear answer in all these actions.
All she knew at that moment was that she lay on the uncomfortable infirmary cot, her body barely covered by a gown and the cotton t-shirt of her uniform, silently waiting for death to finally claim her. At least it would be in that peaceful place, filled with the scent of antiseptics and incense, with the Virgin Mary watching over the mercy of her soul.
She held back the tears that threatened to escape her eyes, but they were contained and filled her nose with saltiness, and she concentrated on staring at the ceiling, looking for some way to distract herself from the pains in her stomach, which began to intensify the moment she lay down.
The nun in charge of the place, a young woman but with a tired face, approached her kindly, with a smile that, despite seeming warm, did not seem to match the emotions Vanessa saw in her eyes.
"Your father is on his way with clean clothes. It took us a while to get in touch with him, but he assured us he'd be here soon to take you home," the woman said, looking away to concentrate on filling out a report on the clipboard she was holding.
"He's angry..." Vanessa whispered, feeling a primal fear rise up her trachea, silencing for a second the pains in her belly.
"Oh, no, no, darling. He said he had no problem coming by for you, especially since you're in such a delicate state," she tried in vain to comfort her, though her tone lacked real empathy. "Tell me, is this your first period?"
"Yes, then we have music class," the girl said, trying to remember the day's schedule. The nun chuckled softly.
“I'm not referring to that, Miss Afton, but rather to whether… you've had bleeding before.”
"What? Is this something that has to happen again?" Vanessa asked, alarmed, her eyes wide with fear. Did this mean she wasn't going to die, but would suffer for the rest of her life?
The woman examined her face and for a second covered her mouth, understanding everything immediately. Vanessa felt even more lost because of the look of pity in the nurse's eyes.
"Haven't they explained to you what's going on...?" She looked at the report in her hands. "...Vanessa?"
She shook her head vehemently, almost wanting to grab the woman's arm and demand an immediate answer. But she restrained herself as best she could, knowing that such a rebellious attitude would not be tolerated by the institution and would definitely reach her father's ears.
“Oh, I see. You don’t have to worry about anything, child of the Lord, it’s… normal,” the nun said, a hint of discomfort crossing her face. “You’re a young woman now, Vanessa.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “That means you’re changing into a grown woman. These… periods you’re experiencing mean your body is preparing to have a baby.” The nun touched her own stomach, giving her a kind of practical example. “It’s the miracle of creation given by God to women, to be mothers, and tainted by Eve’s original sin. Remember to pray tonight to give thanks for your new changes.”
The explanation began to sound like white noise in the girl's head the moment the woman mentioned having a baby. Even so, she didn't forget to nod mechanically when she felt her interlocutor had finished speaking.
Never in her life had she felt so relieved to see her father looking for her. Even though his gaze was one of utter disapproval, which he seemed to conceal enough so that the teachers and nuns didn't raise their guard in his presence, Vanessa was grateful to have clothes to change into and put aside the garments stained with the blessed "original sin." In any case, she was instructed to put another pad —that's what they were called, apparently— inside her underwear, understanding that the bleeding would last at least another three days.
Once she was ready, the imposing man took her wrist firmly enough to make her skin ache, but not enough to make her scream, and led her through the school's hallways, stopping to do something Vanessa could only interpret as an act: his free hand made the sign of the cross in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary that adorned the wall of the school's entrance. It was a mechanical movement, and in his eyes she could perceive neither religious devotion nor awe of the divine, a pantomime to appear a humble believer to the school staff who watched him with curiosity and perhaps a touch of admiration. She repeated the gesture before leaving, not wanting to appear disrespectful to her father's beliefs.
The trip back home was just as uncomfortable as the outbound journey, with the added detail that her father made her sit in the passenger seat on a towel to prevent any further accidents. She tried to remain as upright and still as possible, avoiding any movement or sound that might further enrage William, knowing how much he hated being interrupted while he worked, especially if it was to pretend to be an attentive father concerned about his children's well-being.
She glanced sideways, still fearful, at the man's silhouette as he drove, analyzing every wrinkle, gesture, and micro-expression. He was angry, that much was certain, but not enough to clench his jaw or frown. His breathing was heavy, but at the same time, it seemed… as if he were holding it in? For her?
Anyway, that didn't change the fact that he was angry because of her.
When she got home, Vanessa considered apologizing, begging his forgiveness a thousand times, curling up in a ball and waiting for the impact of the leather belt on her skin, but he just stayed in the driver's seat, looking straight ahead with the engine running.
"Make sure there are no stains on the clothes, Vanessa," William ordered in a low voice, making it very clear that these were going to be the only words that would come out of his mouth.
“Yes, dad” the girl said automatically, hurrying to grab her blood-stained uniform and heavy backpack.
She got out of the car as quickly as she could, momentarily forgetting any physical pain, knowing that disobeying would bring her ten times worse agony. Only when she closed the front door and heard her father's car start moving again, presumably to continue working, did she allow herself to exhale the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She leaned her head against the wood, seriously considering collapsing until this whole period business was over, but she summoned strength from somewhere to stay upright. She didn't want to stain the expensive floor and the entryway rug because of her carelessness, and she headed to the laundry room, determined to make her uniform spotless, free of any trace of “Eve's guilt," as her father had instructed.
The moment she finally finished her task, Vanessa slipped into bed and curled up in her heavy blankets, keeping herself in the fetal position, trying to ease the throbbing in her lower abdomen with the pressure of her knees. Having stood for so long scrubbing the stain on her jumper and underwear until only the memory of the blood remained had worsened the pain in her back and hips, as if her body were immediately demanding a rest she could never afford. Although her father's strange behavior in the car made her believe that this time she did deserve to at least lie down for a while without being an unproductive being in his eyes. Or at least that's what she wanted to believe.
She bit her lower lip so hard she could feel the skin tear between her teeth, and the metallic taste of blood filled her senses. Small, pitiful moans escaped her lips unconsciously, and for a moment she was frightened, thinking her father was listening and would come at any second to reprimand her for showing weakness in the face of something, seemingly, so normal.
But she remembered the sound of William's car leaving the porch and disappearing into the streets, giving her the fragile reassurance that she was completely alone.
She felt so bad that for a second he wondered if something like this was experienced when dying. But she didn't want to dwell on those thoughts… she felt too disrespectful to all the people who had truly felt death in their bodies.
“Now you’re a young woman, Vanessa.” She remembered the nun's words and tried to find the meaning of such a cryptic phrase.
Did she have to endure so much pain to be a woman? Was being a woman synonymous with pain? For how long, her whole life? Would every day she had left be like this? How did all the others cope?
She curled up tighter, feeling tears welling up not only from her cramps, but also from the utter helplessness she felt in the face of thoughts she couldn't comprehend. At that moment, she deeply regretted not having anyone close to her to talk to about it.
Not her schoolmates, not an aunt or cousins, not even her mother... and, least of all, Charlotte.
She burst into silent tears, thinking how unfair life was. Vanessa was growing up, she could become an adult —if she outlived her father, of course— while her best friend had been frozen in time, condemned to sleep inside the tomb that was the first pizzeria, her soul chained to Marionette, the animatronic she loved so much.
She looked at her hands, barely visible in the darkness of her blanket fortress, and wondered for a second if Marionette's long, thin fingers allowed her to feel anything other than the deep anguish and anger in which her friend was trapped when she took her last breath.
She tried to take a nap, considering that there were still several hours before her father or brother would return home, but no matter how tightly she closed her eyes, the pain and the throbbing kept her awake, barely achieving a state of semi-consciousness in which she spent at least a couple of hours, her brain trying to digest the new reality of her body that she couldn't quite understand.