I Broke Up With My Girlfriend Who Was Cheating On Me, But She Was So Deeply Sorry That I Couldn't Help But Forgive Her. - Chapter 9: Past. Yotsuba Yomogi’s POV
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- Chapter 9: Past. Yotsuba Yomogi’s POV
Past
Yotsuba Yomogi’s POV
I, Yotsuba Yomogi, have always had good looks.
I’ve been told I’m pretty and beautiful since I was a little girl, and I’ve always noticed.
But back then, I didn’t know what that meant.
I only knew my mother’s face from pictures.
She died in a car accident when I was two years old.
I’ve been with my father for as long as I can remember.
That was the norm, and I was never hungry for a mother’s love.
I felt a little jealous of others when I was in elementary school during athletic meets and class visits, but it didn’t make me sad.
…I didn’t get depressed, did I?
Around the time when I was in the upper grade of elementary school.
My breasts suddenly started to get bigger.
Around that time, I guess.
My father’s behavior seemed a little distant.
I entered junior high school.
My breasts kept getting bigger and bigger.
Perhaps it was because I didn’t have a mother who taught me what a girl should be like.
I lacked a sense of shame, so one day on a holiday, I was at home in what could almost be described as my underwear.
I was watching an information program in the living room that I had no special interest in.
“Dad…?”
My father pinned me down.
Classmates, male teachers, and even strangers when I walked outside.
I knew that they would look at me like that.
But even my father was sexualizing me…
When I thought about it, I suddenly burst into tears.
My father looked at me and said he was sorry with a look of regret on his face, then he slammed his forehead against a pillar a few times and made a phone call.
The next day…
I went to live with my mother’s sister and her husband.
They were very kind to me, I had only seen them a few times on the anniversary of my mother’s death.
I was a little concerned about the way my uncle looked at my chest, but my aunt had taught me that men are more or less like that.
Rather.
Every time he looked at my breast, my aunt would reduce his allowance by 10%
I even felt a little sorry for my uncle who clung to my aunt with a smile and said, It’s an irresistible force!
My uncle and aunt are very close.
They have a newborn daughter.
This must be the ideal family.
When I thought of that, I felt sorry that I, a foreigner, was mixed in the family.
But my aunt must have read my feelings, because she hugged me tenderly and said, Yomogi is my daughter, too.
She told me.
The warmth of her arms
The warmth of a comforting voice.
I was a little surprised at myself. I had always been alone, I never realized that I had actually wanted to be treated with kindness and tenderness.
I cried in someone’s arms for the first time.
I don’t despise my father.
In fact, I’m proud of my father for his restraint in that situation.
I was not so traumatized by the incident that I developed a phobia of men.
However, I became sensitive to the way men look at me.
I don’t talk to them by myself anymore.
Now I’m in high school.
Boys have confessed to me a few times, but do they think I would be moved by a confession in which more than half of the gazes during the confession would be on my chest?
I made friends with a popular group in my class.
Some of the boys were also there, but they were used to girls to some extent, and although they would look at my breasts, they were not that rude to me.
I also have a vague understanding of class caste.
As I had planned, the number of confessions to me, who is now at the top of the caste, has decreased.
Since I have publicly stated that I have no intention of having a boyfriend in the first place, I have not received any confessions from others in the group.
I get along well with the girls in my group, and I no longer stand out because of my looks.
Still, I wear a large cardigan at school to hide my breasts, which may be a kind of complex.
I then entered my second year of high school.
We changed classes, and I was relieved to be in the same class with some of my good friends.
…But I was separated from the girl I was closest to.
I looked at the boy sitting next to me.
He had long hair and I couldn’t see his whole face, but I thought he looked like a girl… maybe.
He is the kind of guy who doesn’t care about caste and can easily talk to anyone.
That was my first impression.