Innocence Lost: 2/?
Title: Innocence Lost
Author: kellou24
Based On: TV Series
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairings: Eventually Nate/Jenny
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Something traumatic happened to Jenny Humphrey and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.
Warning: Story contains VERY dark subject matter.
I walked into the hotel doors and was greeted by Vanya. He looked up in surprise when I walked in.
"Miss Humphrey," He drawled in his heavy Russian accent, brow furrowing in confusion. I flinched when he looked me up and down, eyeing my disheveled form before his eyes widened in realization and shot to mine with a horrified expression. "Oh. My. God." I swallowed and felt tears come to my eyes again and desperately tried to blink them away to no avail. His breathing picked up and he slumped against the receptions desk and clutched his chest, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Don't say anything," I said lifting a hand up as if I could physically stop him from talking with just a lift of my hand. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and a choking sob was wrenched from my throat.
"Who did this to you?" He asked in a wary whisper, eyes straying to my left hand that was clutching my ripped underwear and leggings that I had worn the previous night and then to my bare feet that were cut up and dirty at the bottom from running on the gravel of the roads and the sidewalks of the Upper East Side.
"I need you to promise me something, okay?" I asked avoiding the question that even I myself didn't know the answer to.
"What?" He asked lifting his eyes back to mine.
"I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone about what happened to me. Not Dorota and especially not my dad or Lily. We can just keep this between us for now." I proposed running a hand through my hair and wiping away the tears rolling down my cheeks.
"I can't do that," he said shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. His shoulders were tense and I could see a vein bulging in his neck.
"Please just promise me," I pleaded feeling more tears gather in my eyes and wiped away the snot that was running out of my nose. He shook his head in a determined manner. His teeth were clenched making his jaw tighten. He was angry either over the situation or the way I was determined to handle it I don't know, one thing was for certain though. I could tell he would agree to my terms. He may not like them but he'd agree nonetheless. "Please," I begged in a quiet whisper. He closed his eyes but finally nodded. "Thank you." I said feeling relief wash over me. He just shrugged it off and looked down at the ground.
I walked over to the elevators, leaving Vanya behind with his obvious guilt and indecision over the whole matter. I pushed the up button and waited for the elevator to come down. It opened with an abrupt ding and I stepped through pushing the appropriate button for the top floor on the way in. I leaned back against one of the many mirrors that surrounded the inside of the elevator and when I looked head on at the mirror in front of me, my breath caught in my throat when I saw how terrible I looked.
My hair was disheveled, eyes red and bloodshot, makeup was dried on my face and my excessive eyeliner that I had so brilliantly applied last night was now running all down my cheeks. My dress was rumpled and I could see a slight tear in the side starting from mid thigh and ending just below my hip. I wiped my cheeks trying to get the black streaks off my face. I only had just managed to make it blend in on my face when the elevator abruptly opened and I only hesitated a short moment before exiting.
I dragged my body out of the elevator and into the penthouse and was greeted by the sight of my dad sitting in the arm chair with his head in his hands. He didn't even look up when he heard the loud sound of my footsteps on the immaculate marble floor. His head shot up, his eyes meeting mine and I unconsciously flinched and felt another tear roll down my cheek before I opened my mouth to try to explain.
"Dad, I-." he raised one of his hands, cutting me off before I could tell him what happened to me.
"I'm not in the mood Jennifer," He said in a dull monotone, looking away from me and going back to staring back at the coffee table in front of him. "Go to your room. We'll discuss your punishment later."
"My punishment?" I asked in shocked disbelief.
"Yeah Jennifer punishment. That's what you get for staying out all night partying and drinking. Ringing any bells or are you still drunk?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked running a hands through my hair in an aggravated manner.
"Someone informed me last night, before I was about to send out a search party for you, and they told me that they saw you and three other girls stumble out of Eleanor's fashion show and get in a cab. Thank god they called me by the way. What the hell were you thinking anyway?" He looked back up at me his eyes not quite meeting mine and shook his head in a disappointed manner.
"Who?" I whispered feeling my blood run cold and a wave of hate overcome my senses. I just knew Agnes was somehow responsible. I shook it off as fast as I could and focused back on him.
"It doesn't matter who told me, what matters is that you were out all night drinking." He stood up and started to pace, wringing his hands together.
"Dad I wasn't drinking last night." I protested.
"So what? You were doing drugs instead?" He paused before continuing. "I can't even look at you right now."
"But dad-." He looked up at me then with barely contained fury on his face, again not quite meeting my eyes.
"Go to your room. We'll discuss this later." He said with his jaw clenched. I could tell by the look on his face and the edge in his voice that he was about five seconds away from yelling. I quickly scurried off to my room.
I leaned against the door once I entered and felt my eyes begin to water.
"Damn it." I whispered and fruitlessly tried to wipe away the tears that were starting to stream down my cheeks.
I stripped off my ruined Chanel dress and walked into the bathroom, throwing my ripped underwear and leggings in the trashcan by the desk and unhooking my bra on the way. I turned the water in the shower to scalding hot and stood under the streaming water.
I grabbed a rag, scrubbing my body, not stopping until it was red and the skin felt raw. I slid down the shower wall and put my head on my knees as I thought over my startling new opinion of my father. The man is oblivious.
If he'd looked closer he would have seen the ripped stockings and underwear that was still clutched in my right hand. He would have seen my rumpled dress and messy hair. He would have seen my red eyes and ruined makeup that had dried to my face. He would have seen the bruises that had started to form around my wrists and upper arms.
But he didn't look closer. He didn't care to because of his own preconceived notions.
If the doorman can tell what happened to me just by looking at me and my father can't, what does that say?
A/N: Reviews are appreciated.