They say a teenager's soul heals fast. After the shock, the vacation days continued, healthy and full.
Ilke had to see a psychologist to process the trauma. Apart from Karl, his family, and me, no one knew she had almost become a victim too. Some scum had tried to manipulate her, to pimp her out to rich pedophile assholes.
I'm glad anonymity protected the victims.
The malice, ridicule, finger-pointing—that is, victim-blaming and stigmatization—was avoided for those inexperienced, naive girls whose only crime was being beautiful, simply existing.
They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And they ran into a scumbag.
Their only "crime" was being beautiful and existing.
Because it's not a crime to be naive, to trust. These are inexperienced, naive girls. I know—I'm Helga, fifteen years old.
Of course, Ilke was really put under house arrest. Not because she had almost become a victim of some scum.
She took that mild sedative she thought was a banned substance.
She didn't dare tell her parents she was in trouble and being blackmailed by a scum.
We biked, played volleyball, and looked out for each other more.
Ilke told her parents that Karl had notified the police. One late afternoon, Ilke's parents appeared in front of our house to thank Karl for intervening in time.
Ilke was with them. And Tom.
Tom… yes.
Her parents allowed Ilke to meet Karl. And that day, Tom, sitting next to me, secretly held my hand under the table.
Only Karl noticed. He grinned.
The next day, Karl admitted that last year he had secretly read my diary. He had spoken to Ilke, and Ilke had spoken to Tom.
Tom dared to hold my hand, knowing for sure that I liked it.
That's Karl. The city's anonymous hero.
He secretly reads personal journals, intervenes in fates… a meddling teenage boy. My brother.
He intervened in my life too.
He brought me together with Tom.
By the cosplay afternoon, we all went together. After the summer events, they wouldn't have let me go anywhere without Karl anyway.
THE END