Joanne's downfall 7: The story of Joanne and Haroldo

Joanne reminisces about the past while enjoying some romantic moments with her fiancé, but fears what "destiny" may have in store for them.

Joanne still vividly remembered the day it all began, back in high school, at an elite school where starched uniforms and parents' luxury cars were the norm. She was 16, with wavy brown hair falling to her shoulders, piercing green eyes, and a body that already drew attention – soft curves, long legs, the kind of beauty that made boys whisper in the hallways. Coming from a wealthy family, with a mansion in the chic suburbs and summers in Europe, Joanne navigated school with confidence, but inside she longed for something real, beyond superficial parties and calculated friendships.

It was in a literature class that she saw him for the first time: Haroldo, sitting at the back of the room, thin as a twig, thin-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, brown hair with premature receding temples that made him look older than his 17 years. He was reserved, the nerdy type who devoured science fiction books and quietly debated quantum theories with his teacher, but never mingled with the popular crowd. Joanne found him intriguing – not the most handsome guy in school, but with an air of quiet intelligence that attracted her. He glanced at her sometimes, but quickly looked away, as if she were untouchable.

One afternoon, after a heated discussion about 'Romeo and Juliet' – where Haroldo defended pure love against social conventions – Joanne approached him in the courtyard. 'Hey, you're right about the book. Want to discuss it more at recess tomorrow?' He blinked, surprised, adjusting his glasses. 'Me? With you? Like... seriously?' His shyness was palpable, his cheeks flushing. Joanne laughed, lightly touching his arm. 'Seriously. I'm Joanne. And you are...?' 'Haroldo,' he murmured, and so it began. She took the initiative in everything: invitations to study together in the library, shopping trips after school, even a stolen kiss behind the gym at a school party. Haroldo was passive, letting her lead, but his eyes shone with gratitude and genuine affection.

The official relationship came at the end of the year, but only because Haroldo mustered the courage to ask her out during a picnic in the school park. He stammered the words, knees trembling, sweating despite the cool breeze. 'Joanne, you're... amazing. Will you go out with me?' She said yes with a kiss, but internally smiled with relief, thinking he would never take the initiative – a woman of her class, raised to wait for the man to take the lead, would never stoop so low as to ask him out, even if she was in love. Still, that sealed everything. The families, both of similar means – Haroldo's parents owning a consulting network, hers in real estate – approved without question, but rumors ran rampant. 'Why is she with him?' She's beautiful, he's... skinny and prematurely balding.' Many whispered about convenience: an agreement between wealthy families to unite fortunes, or worse, a passing phase of hers. Joanne listened and ignored; she had truly fallen in love with his essence. With the way he listened to her without judgment, how he embraced her tenderly instead of possessively, how he respected her in every gesture.

Years passed, college at prestigious universities – she in business administration, he in engineering – and the relationship blossomed into something deeper. Haroldo confessed one night, lying in his car after a drive-in, that he had stopped watching pornography for her. 'It's like betraying you, you know? I want everything to be just ours.' She laughed at the time, finding it cute and naive, but the gesture touched her. 'You're silly, but the best silly in the world.' Of course, Joanne would never admit it aloud, but his status was essential. She grew up believing that power and position defined a worthy man – She doesn't consider herself materialistic, since she's also rich, but believes she needs someone on her level.. A poor man, however masculine, would never attract her; fate, however, had a cruel irony in store that she never dreamed of.

Haroldo's passive personality also had dark sides. He opened up easily to those who treated him well, as easily influenced as clay. Including that strange friend whose name Joanne barely remembered – something like Chuck, Clark, or Charles, a guy with a fake smile and lingering glances that made her uncomfortable. 'Why do you hang out with him?' she asked once, but Harold shrugged. 'He's nice to me. He helps me with projects.' She didn't insist; there was no concrete reason to distance herself from him, and his name evaporated from her mind like smoke. Little did she know the poison that was seeping in.

Now, in the present day, with the wedding two weeks away, Joanne's world was secretly crumbling. After the orgy at the motel with the dirty, smelly garbage collectors and the exhausting night with Jurandir – the old handyman who now saw her as an oppressed mistress, thanks to the blackmailer's lies impersonating her – she felt drained. Her body ached: her vagina, sensitive from the rough penetrations, still remembered the sensation of the rough hands even after the orgy ended, the taste of rancid semen still lingering in her throat. But worse was the guilt, a weight that suffocated her. Betraying Haroldo, the man who idolized her, was unforgivable, even if she had done it against her will. She was sure he wouldn't forgive her; she remembered the story of Haroldo's sister, who had an affair with the gardener and became pregnant after the betrayal: the whole family rejected her, including Haroldo, who saw infidelity as an irreparable fracture. "Even if the person had good reasons, betrayal is betrayal, she chose to betray instead of talking to her husband," he had once said, his eyes fixed. Joanne trembled at the mere thought of him finding out – the videos, the trysts with dirty construction workers, the perverse image the blackmailer invented of her for Eddie and Jurandir, calling Haroldo a "skinny, balding, failed loser with a small penis."

She avoided staying home at all costs, knowing about the hidden cameras and microphones that transmitted every breath to the anonymous pervert. Once, she tried to put up a shower curtain, but the blackmailer sent her a message ordering her to take down the curtain and strike sensual poses while showering, horrified that even her intimate moments were controlled by the anonymous pervert. To try to forget about it, she sought out Haroldo, desperate for normalcy. "Let's have lunch?" she would text, and he, always obliging, would agree. They met in chic downtown cafes, hands intertwined on the table, talking about the future – honeymoon, children with classic names. Haroldo smiled, adjusting his glasses, oblivious to the chaos. 'You look tired, love. Is everything alright?' 'Just wedding stress,' she lied, forcing a smile while her stomach churned.

One afternoon, they went to the movies, a silly romantic film that made them laugh. In the darkness of the theater, she snuggled into his shoulder, inhaling his pleasant scent, so different from the stench of the men who wore it. After the movie, they strolled through the park, hand in hand, the setting sun tinging everything with gold. They sat on a secluded bench, and Joanne kissed him slowly, soft lips on his, her tongue shyly exploring. He returned the kiss gently, hands on her back, unhurried. 'I love you so much,' she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. 'Promise you'll always be by my side? No matter what happens?' Haroldo frowned, confused, but squeezed her hand. "Of course, Joanne. I promise. You are my whole life. Nothing will separate us." He thought it was just a dramatic moment from his anxious fiancée, kissing her again, his eyes full of devotion, without imagining all that he would have to endure and "forgive" when he truly wanted to keep that promise in the future.

Joanne clung to that promise like a lifeline, tears welling in her eyes. It was her only hope – that his love, pure and unwavering, would withstand the hurricane of humiliations the blackmailer was preparing. The wedding was approaching, and with it, the terror that everything would crumble. But for now, on that bench, she pretended that the innocent past was still real, ignoring her scarred body and shattered mind.