Hello there!

First things first: The cursive written part in the beginning contains violance against homeless people. So a bit of data before you start: homeless people have a twice as likly chance to die at homicide compared to stable housed people. The articel also mentions in increase of 40% in violance against homeless people ("People struggle to stay safe while homeless as violent crime rates rise"By Taylor Nichols - December 6, 2023). Its an article, not a study but the studies are linked in the articel.



JOSEPHINE

"Look at this worthless piece of trash. Ruining the image of our city. Hey, I'm talking to you! Are you too stoned to understand me?" The voice slurs. A foot kicks me in the back; the pain is as sudden as it is hard. I want to turn around, run away, escape, but I know I can't do that. Endure, endure, I just have to endure. Someone is stepping on my leg, putting all their weight on it, and I'm afraid it will fracture. They'll leave again. They'll leave again. I just have to endure it.

"These bums are making me sick!" They're young, young and drunk. Not a good combination. The pressure on my leg is getting stronger and stronger. Please don't break, please don't break. I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming. My body curls up; my hands try to protect my head. A mistake. They think it's an invitation. I have to stay silent; if I scream, they'll hear what I am. If they know what I am, they will do worse. "You are a disgrace to everyone!"

Someone spits, probably on me. I am kicked in the back again. Again, pain blinds me. My tongue bleeds, and I can't help myself; I scream. They laugh. The screaming doesn't stop, but neither does the laughing. Suddenly, I feel pain all over. My body burns; a new fire ignites again and again.

"If they don't piss off, we have to help them!" I hear a zipper, then several, and instead of kicks, I feel warm, smelling liquid. They laugh even louder, full of disgusting joy at what they are doing.

"Hey, Josephine!" They knew my name. They knew my name! They know I'm a girl! They will— "Wake up! Fuck, wake up already!"

Wake up? But I was awake! A hand touched my shoulder and tried to turn me over. 'No, no, no, no!' I couldn't let that happen! 'I have to get out of here.' Someone was blocking the way to the door. The window! I could escape out the window! If only I could be fast enough. But I had to try; I had to get out of here. Staying was not an option. I ran, but before I reached the window, arms wrapped around my torso and held me back. Too slow, I had been too slow. Maybe if I could distract them, maybe then I could escape. Desperately, I pulled my elbow across my attacker's face.

"Fuck, Josephine, that was my face!" Riccardo cursed loudly. Riccardo? What was Riccardo doing here? I opened my eyes wider and looked around frantically, my heart pounding. Where were they? Had they hidden? They had to be here somewhere! Where was I? "God, I'm not going to hurt you. You had a bad dream. Look around; where are you?"

Nervously, I did what he told me. I wasn't in the side street. It was brighter here. And warm. And quiet. He let go of me, and I quickly backed away a few steps. There was no one here except me and Riccardo, who was holding his face with one hand. It was a memory. I shook my head to get rid of the pictures. It had only been a memory. Seconds passed, then minutes. Slowly, everything inside me seemed to calm down. My breathing became calmer; my heart beat slower; the shaking started and finally subsided. "What the hell was that?"

"You're bleeding!" Shocked, once I finally gathered the courage to look at him, I saw his hand covering the side of his face, which had blood on it. What had I done?

"No shit, Sherlock. Are you OK?" Riccardo asked.

"Oh God, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" Thoughts torn, I walked toward him again. There was surely a first aid kit somewhere. What had I done? "We need to clean the wound; it must not become infected. And we need something to cool it. I'm so sorry! You should sit down, and I—"

"—Josephine, wait a second. Okay, now take a deep breath; I'll survive. You, on the other hand, look like you're about to faint. Can you sit down?" He sounded overwhelmed, which was about how I felt. I didn't sit down. A part of me urged me to leave the room as quickly as possible before he would hurt me, but the logical part of me thought it was wiser to do what he said. Riccardo didn't like me very much anyway; opposing him could have bad consequences. Besides, I had hurt him, so whatever happened was my fault. "Fuck, you have more strength than I expected. Can you get me a washcloth?"

I nodded quickly and hurried to the bathroom. When I returned, Riccardo had removed his hand and was blindly feeling his face. It looked terrible; the left side was covered in blood; tomorrow it would be blue and swollen. I must have hit him right above the jawline. "I'm so sorry," I apologized again, not knowing whether for waking me up or for his face. Or for my existence. "Should I get you an ice pack?"

He nodded, so I handed him the washcloth and fled from the room toward the kitchen. The ice packs were in the freezer, as expected, and luckily I discovered a first aid kit not far away. Armed with both, I ran back. Riccardo had already started wiping off the blood. He pointed to the kit in my hand, but I still carefully pushed him to the edge of the bed. "That won't be necessary."

"It could get infected." I quickly opened the kit and took out the disinfectant and swab before he changed his mind. "Can I?"

Riccardo nodded, looking skeptical. The wound was indeed under his eye, but thankfully it was smaller than I expected. He didn't even flinch when I cleaned it. But my hands were still shaking. "Just put a plaster on it and give me the ice pack."

"Does it hurt a lot?" Stupid question; of course, it had to hurt. His eye would definitely be a mess tomorrow. Riccardo looked at me but said nothing. I began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He didn't look angry; on the contrary, but I suddenly preferred his normal disgust to this searching look. "Should I get Vito or Matteo?"

"No need. Can you finally sit down? You really do look like you're about to faint at any moment." He patted the spot next to him, and I hesitantly sat down at the foot of the bed. Nervously, I started to pull my sweater over my hands, also to hide the shaking. It was bad enough that he had seen me at that moment; he didn't have to know how much this memory had affected me. Why did it have to be Riccardo? I would have preferred Vito or even Domenico to him! What must he think of me? He already assumed that I was a case for the psychiatric ward. "Why are you wearing shoes?"

The question threw me off a bit. Surprised, I looked at my feet and the shoes that surrounded them. I wondered whether I should tell the truth or not. "You probably won't understand."

Riccardo raised his eyebrow, which was not covered by an ice pack, and looked at me challengingly. "Try me."

I bit my lip, then took a breath. "It's a habit. You're never allowed to take your shoes off on the street because they could get stolen or you—"

"—have to run away? Is that the reason? You want to run away?" he asked suddenly, sounding pissed. I remained silent because what could I say? "That's pretty fucked up; do you realize that?"

"I think we can agree that everything about me is pretty fucked up," I muttered quietly and inspected my shoes again. "But it just makes me feel safer wearing them. I don't plan on running away," I added quickly, but we both knew that I wanted to say 'not yet.' Quickly, I tried to change the subject. "Thanks for waking me up. I'm sorry for waking you up; I don't usually shout."

"Do you really think I would be so heartless and let you continue dreaming?" He sounded offended, and I thought it was better to keep quiet. "Thanks; you seem to have a very high opinion of me."

"To be honest," I turned to him, exhausted. "I have very few reasons not to believe that. It has less to do with my opinion of or about you, but rather my survival instinct."

"Fair point," Riccardo replied, joining in my silence. Then, after a while, I felt his gaze resting on me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I want to forget it. Just be a teenager without all the baggage; that's what I want. To be honest—" I laughed dryly. "I want to be like you. You live in this beautiful house; you have a family that loves you and cares about you; you've probably never been really hungry or so thirsty that you start hallucinating about it. Your clothes will always be clean, and you'll have so many of them that you can fill a whole room with them. You have a future worth planning for." Where did all that come from? Riccardo looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. "It's late; you should try to sleep. And thanks again."

He nodded and stood up. At the door, he turned to me again. "If you have another bad dream, come to me or call me. I'll leave my cell phone on loud."

I thanked him even though I knew I wouldn't risk sleeping again.

In the morning, everyone except Riccardo was there for breakfast. Vito had looked disappointed at the empty space, but Matteo said he had heard the shower in his room and that he would definitely be there soon. Valentino grinned. "When I came back at a time that I would definitely call respectable, there was still light in his room. Either he tends to read books at night, or our dear brother came back at a similar time to me."

"Riccardo wouldn't sneak out," Vito replied seriously, but Valentino, Matteo, and Domenico all gave him a skeptical look. "I would have noticed."

Valentino cleared his throat. "How can I explain that to you, brother?"

"They've all sneaked out before. Do you remember when you forbade Nino from going to that party because he had to stay in detention?" Domenico interrupted his brother, bored. "And he was so punctual for breakfast in the morning? That wasn't because he was so well-rested, but because he hadn't slept at all."

"You knew that?" Vito and Valentino asked at the same time, one annoyed, the other astonished.

"Oh, come on, I beg you. As if—what happened to you?" Domenico suddenly didn't sound tired at all. Quite the opposite, and I didn't have to turn around to know that Riccardo had entered the room. Next to me, Matteo took a startled breath, but he didn't get a chance to say anything because Domenico had already stood up and gone to his brother. "Who was that?"

I looked carefully at the two of them. He had grabbed Riccardo's chin and turned his face from side to side. Riccardo slapped his hand off before walking around the table to sit down. "It was an accident, okay? Vito, can you pass me the coffee?"

Vito didn't move. "You heard Domenico. Who did that to you?"

Ashamed, I sank deeper into the chair and cleared my throat to explain the situation, but Riccardo just looked at me and shook his head slightly. Oh God, he really looked awful! His eye and cheek were blue and swollen, and I had no doubt that he would have a hard time eating. Cowardly, I followed his silent order. "Here," I said and handed him the coffee.

"Thank you, Josephine."️