'Til Ashes, Ashes
Title: 'Til Ashes, Ashes
Rating: R
Fandom: Sons Of Anarchy
Character: Gemma Teller-Morrow
Warnings: Deals with the aftermath of her canon rape, mentions of drug use (weed)
Word Count: 549
Notes: Character study of Gemma post-rape.
Prompt: Rape at angst_bingo
Summary: She's not a victim.
Rape.
It's such a harsh word, but then it fits the action. Harsh and unforgiving. Unforgivable.
If there's one thing she hates more than anything else in the world, it's being called a victim. Gemma Teller-Morrow sure as hell is not a victim and she'll kick your ass for even daring to think that about her.
Except she is. A victim that is.
She's a victim of rape. Not just rape, but gang rape.
If there's something she hates more than being a victim, it's being helpless. Gemma Teller-Morrow is not helpless.
Except that, in those moments, she was.
Except now, remembering it all, she is.
She couldn't stop them, couldn't prevent the attack. She couldn't save herself, couldn't even get up and walk away from it.
She tells Wayne and Tara because they have to know. She hates the look in their eyes. The pity, the sympathy, the pain. She doesn't need that, doesn't need it from them. She's strong, she can handle this. It's just another thing in a life of shit and tough times, right? Right. She can handle it.
Except that she really can't.
She's jumpy. She can't stand being touched without knowing it. She feels like crawling out of her skin. She hates it. She hates them. She hates herself. She just hates.
Clay doesn't know what's wrong, but he tries to make her feel better. He thinks it's his fault somehow and he keeps trying to make amends, but he doesn't even know and it's not his fault anyway.
There's no way she can tell him either. Not something like this. She's not going to seem weak in front of him. He needs her to be strong, needs her to be his shelter and how can she do that if he thinks she is weak?
She can't stop thinking about it. It haunts her dreams and her waking moments. It's there, waiting for her when she closes her eyes. It's there all the time, just waiting for her to let her guard down before slamming her with the images of that night. The sights, the sounds, the feelings. Everything. She can't get rid of it. It's constantly there in the back of her mind. Always, always, always playing.
The weed makes it tolerable. It blurs the edges and smudges the pictures. She can distance herself from it when she's smoking. It's not as clear when the smoke fills her lungs and she breathes it out. She can pretend it happened to someone else. Someone who is a victim, who is helpless, who is weak. Not her. Never her.
Except that is has.
It did happen to her. That's the truth of the matter. It's happened to her and now she needs to deal with it and move on. She can't let it, let them define her for the rest of her life. They don't get that power over her. They don't get anything. Nothing.
She can make it through this. She had to. For them. For the club and her boys because they needed her to be strong. They needed her to be their source of comfort and strength and she's not about to let them down.
She's not a victim.
She's not helpless.
She's not weak.
If only she could believe that.
Rating: R
Fandom: Sons Of Anarchy
Character: Gemma Teller-Morrow
Warnings: Deals with the aftermath of her canon rape, mentions of drug use (weed)
Word Count: 549
Notes: Character study of Gemma post-rape.
Prompt: Rape at angst_bingo
Summary: She's not a victim.
Rape.
It's such a harsh word, but then it fits the action. Harsh and unforgiving. Unforgivable.
If there's one thing she hates more than anything else in the world, it's being called a victim. Gemma Teller-Morrow sure as hell is not a victim and she'll kick your ass for even daring to think that about her.
Except she is. A victim that is.
She's a victim of rape. Not just rape, but gang rape.
If there's something she hates more than being a victim, it's being helpless. Gemma Teller-Morrow is not helpless.
Except that, in those moments, she was.
Except now, remembering it all, she is.
She couldn't stop them, couldn't prevent the attack. She couldn't save herself, couldn't even get up and walk away from it.
She tells Wayne and Tara because they have to know. She hates the look in their eyes. The pity, the sympathy, the pain. She doesn't need that, doesn't need it from them. She's strong, she can handle this. It's just another thing in a life of shit and tough times, right? Right. She can handle it.
Except that she really can't.
She's jumpy. She can't stand being touched without knowing it. She feels like crawling out of her skin. She hates it. She hates them. She hates herself. She just hates.
Clay doesn't know what's wrong, but he tries to make her feel better. He thinks it's his fault somehow and he keeps trying to make amends, but he doesn't even know and it's not his fault anyway.
There's no way she can tell him either. Not something like this. She's not going to seem weak in front of him. He needs her to be strong, needs her to be his shelter and how can she do that if he thinks she is weak?
She can't stop thinking about it. It haunts her dreams and her waking moments. It's there, waiting for her when she closes her eyes. It's there all the time, just waiting for her to let her guard down before slamming her with the images of that night. The sights, the sounds, the feelings. Everything. She can't get rid of it. It's constantly there in the back of her mind. Always, always, always playing.
The weed makes it tolerable. It blurs the edges and smudges the pictures. She can distance herself from it when she's smoking. It's not as clear when the smoke fills her lungs and she breathes it out. She can pretend it happened to someone else. Someone who is a victim, who is helpless, who is weak. Not her. Never her.
Except that is has.
It did happen to her. That's the truth of the matter. It's happened to her and now she needs to deal with it and move on. She can't let it, let them define her for the rest of her life. They don't get that power over her. They don't get anything. Nothing.
She can make it through this. She had to. For them. For the club and her boys because they needed her to be strong. They needed her to be their source of comfort and strength and she's not about to let them down.
She's not a victim.
She's not helpless.
She's not weak.
If only she could believe that.