Parenthood

An adult stories – Parenthood by other2other1,other2other1 [:::: Authors Note ::::]

If you have previously read any of my stories, you know that I love writing drama, the emotion that makes us feel rage, sadness, joy and everything in-between as we follow and hopefully empathize with our central characters, be them good guys or villains. Within many Loving Wives stories, we all know it’s inevitable, seeing the train wreck that’s coming. But what if there was no way to avoid the train. What if it had passed the station and you had pretty much no choice but to deal with what happened?

In this story that’s where we start, broken and in a no-win situation, then again is it really a no win?

I’d like to thank a new editor that has stepped up to the plate but has asked to stay anonymous. Thank you for your help. I also had the chance to read this to my wife before posting it, and she needed a couple of tissues, so you have been warned.

This is a long story, there is lots here, so if you’re after a quick read or not a fan of how I write, then I advise you to move on. But if you want to run the gauntlet of emotions, then refill your drink, make sure you have snacks and strap in.

I hope that you enjoy Parenthood.

[:::: Parenthood ::::]

I felt peace and contentment as the soft undulations of gentle waves lapped against my legs, the beach was bright and the sky a beautiful azure blue with soft clouds arching through the atmosphere on their journey from nowhere to oblivion. In the background, palm trees made their way up high, bent slightly at the top, laden heavy with fruit. It was a veritable tropical paradise.

I laughed as I observed the nubile young maidens dancing around me dressed in nothing but sheer transparent satin. They teased me with their curves, their hidden treasures, their stunning smiles alluding to the promises of what could happen if I could give them my attention long enough. I smiled in return as I looked to each woman, flawless in form and appearance.

I enjoyed the feeling of a tropical drink, some type of Piña colada in my hand, cold to the touch, the aroma was pineapple and rum, the sweetness mixing in my nostrils making my mouth water in anticipation of sipping the cool mixture. The drink combined with the scenery made me feel content, I couldn’t imagine a better place to be. The summer breeze through the air, the bright sunlight pouring down on us, the tropical location.

Perfect.

I grinned when one of the beautiful ladies swayed through the ankle-deep water towards me with more than a suggestion of a tropical rendezvous. Her dusky skin, and the hint of a nipple; oh so tantalising underneath her sheer clothing had my heart racing. I smiled as she reached out to touch my cheek and our eyes met. Her smile would have me wrapped around her little finger, denying her nothing in no time. For a moment I wondered if she was the one. She beamed at me, alluring, beautiful, elegant. As we stared into each other’s eyes, she came within inches of me, I took in a deep breath, waiting in anticipation.

Our lips were almost touching, when suddenly and without warning, her expression contorted, and she screamed in my face.

[:::: 1 – Welcome to Reality ::::]

I was awake instantly, the dream fading quickly from my mind as I glanced at the dark red LED display of my twenty-year-old bedside alarm clock. The time had to be adjusted every couple of months on the old thing, but it was a present for my fifth birthday from my grandparents, so it held sentimental value even if it didn’t keep consistent time.

Two-thirty in the morning, perfect.

I sighed, understanding that I had the same word go through my brain a few minutes earlier and it held an entirely different meaning. I calculated that I had only been asleep for a little over forty minutes when the scream of the woman in my dream echoed to the screaming female that was not two armlengths away from me.

Groaning slightly, I threw the covers back and sat up trying to rub the sleep from my tired eyes. For a moment I marvelled how the substance called ‘sleep’ could accumulate so much so quickly at the corner of your eyes, while I was lacking in the very meaning of the word.

A momentary breath from her caused me to understand why I had awoken so suddenly. Squinting, I looked at her as she looked at me wide eyed and continued her crying, her look pleading for help. I smiled at her. For a moment she stopped, seeing my face in the dim light and that I was smiling as we locked eyes. But it didn’t take long before she couldn’t hold it in, and she started again.

I kept the forced smile on my face, as I shifted my weight so I could hold her. Over the next few minutes, I continued to smile as she cried, her tears staining my arms as I held her and she settled down. I found it difficult to be so receptive, so open to holding someone that I never asked to share my room, someone that I was struggling to love.

I looked over at the clock again and noticed it had been fifteen minutes since she roused me from the dream. I must have been tired; I would have sworn that it was only three minutes since I woke. I heard her sniff and looked back at her, our eyes locked once more and I felt something move in me, those baby blue eyes, innocent and wide. She began crying once again now she had my attention.

Britney Other, was looked on by the world as the cutest, most adorable baby they would have ever known. To me though, Britney represented failure.

On one hand, Britney was my sobbing infant daughter, only a few months old. Perfectly formed with chubby cheeks, those pink fleshy hands that would grasp anything placed into them. She had deep blue eyes that had managed to capture the hearts of everyone around me over the past month. Those same people telling me that her eyes were just like mine, even though mine were brown. Looking at her as she cried, I guess if I squinted hard enough, I could see it.

I stood, holding Britney in my arms like the nurses had shown me, making sure her head was supported and slowly walked towards my bedroom door. I could now smell the nappy, knowing this was what had woken her. Everyone told me that it would get easier, that being a dad was hard and that I could do it, but the reality was that I didn’t want this, I didn’t want the responsibility, I didn’t want her.

I turned on the bathroom light and lay her down on the change table that my parents bought me. As I unwrapped my daughter, she stopped crying, the movement causing her to wonder what was going on. I gagged as I undid the tabs on the nappy, once again wondering how someone who just drank milk formula from a bottle could produce something that would likely rival the waste product coming out of a nuclear reactor.

I cleaned Britney up and she coo’d as I re-wrapped her nice and tight before carrying her into the kitchen and warming up a bottle. I was getting good at doing things with one hand. Formula in the bottle, water, shake. Then a brief trip to the microwave and lastly, test on my wrist ensuring it was the correct temperature.

With Brittany snuggled against my chest, I moved from the kitchen to my small lounge, sitting down on my old second-hand couch. The drab brown material felt slightly cool, yet a little uncomfortable from years of wear and tear, most of them happening before I bought it. Nestled in my arms, Britney gratefully accepted the bottle and immediately began feeding. While sucking on the formula for all that she was worth, she was gazing deeply into my eyes.

Yes, I reflected. Brittney had my eyes and she had my nose as well. But she also had her mother’s chin. What was worse though, is that even as a baby, Britney had that woman’s lips. I gave an involuntary shudder as I tried not to think, tried not to go back to those memories.

Brittney soon finished her bottle and following a gentle pat on her back and an un-lady-like burp, she began to fall back to sleep. As gently as possible I carried her as I placed the bottle into the kitchen sink before turning off the lights, and slowly made my way back to the bedroom. Placing Britney into her bassinet situated right beside my bed I looked at her as she settled and slipped back to her innocent infant slumber, blissfully unaware of my internal turmoil.

My daughter was a reminder of the woman who had turned me into a shell of a man. Scared to go outside unless I had to. I struggled to talk to anyone I didn’t know and was always looking over my shoulder at any perception of unknown movement.

Britney’s mother had done that to me. But now being a single father that had to look after an infant and still pay the bills, I had to fight against those feelings every moment of every day. The feeling of humiliation, of unworthiness, the genuine pain I felt almost daily in my limbs where I had been bound. My doctors told me I had a type of PTSD that was common with victims of sexual abuse. This made sense as twice I had tried to end it all. But both times I had been fortunate, and someone had found me before I expired.

A single unbidden tear ran down my cheek as I watched Britney. Even with some of my features, she still had a strong resemblance to the woman that gave birth to her. My torturer, my rapist.

A little over twelve months ago, Britney’s mother, Sheila, had gone and done something so horrific that she ended up in prison while causing me to withdraw from the world. Now I was a single father and Sheila wasn’t in the picture. In fact, she was no longer alive, passing away in the hours following childbirth due to complications, leaving me her daughter to look after and raise.

As I laid back down, I pulled the sheet over myself, rolled on my side and stared at the bassinet. I could hear Britney’s breathing deepening and she would give a little shuddering breath now and then as if to let me know she was really sleeping, not just lying there awake. I had picked that one up in the first week.

As I lay there, I contemplated that my feelings towards my daughter’s mother were complicated, but definitely not positive. I had not been in love with Sheila, and she knew that. From almost the get go, Sheila knew I didn’t love her, and that was a small part of what caused this path of life I was now living. I didn’t even know that Britney had been a result of that night until Child Services turned up on my doorstep early one Saturday morning, my infant daughter with them.

They knew very little of what had happened, only that Sheila had died, and they had managed to locate me, naming me her father. The two ladies that visited me, were shocked to find out I had no idea Sheila was pregnant, let alone had given birth. They were again shocked, when I showed them my scars, explaining I wouldn’t know anything due to the court orders and twice weekly counselling I was still undergoing.

But be that as it may, I was now a father, and it was obvious from the outset that I was her father.

I called my mother, and she was at my front door within an hour, talking with the Child Services team and telling me it was going to be okay as I just stared blankly at whomever was holding Britney at the time.

I did try to say no a few times, but between my mother getting upset that I wouldn’t want to raise her grandchild, and the other two ladies telling me that the childcare and foster systems just weren’t adequately disposed towards looking after a newborn when a biological parent was available, I was pretty much told to stand up and be counted. When I tried to tell them that I wasn’t capable of being a father, my mother scoffed and told me that no parent is ever ready. But ready or not, right or wrong, I was her biological father, her only surviving parent and I found I couldn’t say no.

My parents, especially my mother, helped as much as they could. I was taught how to change nappies, how to wrap a newborn, how to support an infant’s neck and how to carry them. I was provided tips on how to know what different cries meant, when they should sleep, when they shouldn’t and a litany of other advice including medical care, help numbers and the like that first time parents spend the entire pregnancy preparing for together.

Me, I got a three-day crash course before Mum left me alone with Britney for the first time.

Of course, I was overwhelmed within an hour and that first night I panicked at every movement, each noise causing me to doubt myself. I resented being responsible for someone when I could barely look after myself.

I sighed coming back to the moment, the clock now read a little after three am and not for the first time, I softly cursed Sheila. I was sure, that even in death she was likely laughing her ass off. Our daughter, her last brutal gesture to a relationship that I never really wanted, but had resulted in the sleeping babe beside me.

As I felt my self-drifting at last, I was still contemplating how it could all go so horribly wrong. My dreams once again taking me back to that night, to the months leading up to it, our first meeting and the night that Sheila stole my innocence and trapped me in this nightmare.

[:::: 2 – 18 months earlier ::::]

Before I became the recluse I am now, if you ever passed me on the street or walking down the middle of a shopping mall, most likely you would never have given me a second glance. My unkempt hair and almost pasty complexion, overlayed with remains of acne that I had not grown out of even in my early-twenties, had me as just one of the crowd.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t ugly. In my own view I just wasn’t someone who stands out. I would describe myself with average looks, a shock of brown hair, with hazel to brown eyes. I had an average build, wiry but I did have a few muscles thanks to spending a couple of hours each week in the gym at work.

I suppose work was likely the most interesting thing about me. In school I had been a geek, interested in computers and gaming online. I also dabbled a little in programming at home in my spare time. This interest landed me a job in the Information Technology department of the Queensland Police Service. I got the job when my father’s brother, a Senior Constable with QPS, got me work experience at headquarters in my senior year of high school. That turned into some part time work and then a full-time junior IT position with the department.

Within six months of joining the department full-time I was also studying part time towards a bachelor’s in technology. It would take me almost five years at the rate I was completing modules, but I believed that by the time I had my degree I would also be senior within the technology team and perhaps there could be a manager’s position in my future.

I also liked to think myself as a little more thrifty than the average person, because while most of my peers were out partying, drinking, and having random hook-ups, I saved most of my pay check.

Six months after I started my job, I was still traveling almost an hour by train into work. It was an easy commute but a fair distance out of town. But then my parents noted a townhouse for sale on the outskirts of the city. It was little more than a couple of bedrooms and a small kitchen with a lounge. But it was close to the city and the office, so it worked for a single guy like myself. With a hefty loan from my parents for a deposit and bartering my soul to the bank for the next thirty years, I became a homeowner.

Overall, though, as I said, you wouldn’t pick me out from the crowd, I had a number of friends that I hung out with, but they were all better looking, partied harder, laughed more and the pressures of a full-time job and mortgage payments were still in the distant future for them. So, while I went out, I was conservative with what I spent, knowing that I had my next home loan repayment looming.

It was with one of these groups of people that I first met Sheila.

I was out for an evening with friends. We were doing one of those Saturday pub trivia nights, everyone was enjoying a few drinks as we hastily scribbled down the responses to classic questions like, ‘What is the longest river in New South Wales, Australia’ and ‘How Long is the Great Barrier Reef’.

Everyone had taken a break following the questions until our host would reveal the correct responses, so several of us headed to the bar to refresh our drinks. I had just gotten a pint and turned round when she ran straight into me, knocking a portion of my new drink all over me.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she told me. “It’s my fault, really I’m sorry.”

I brushed the beer off my shirt and smiled back at her, noticing that she was quite attractive.

“That’s alright, it’s not the first time and likely won’t be the last,” I replied to the nervous looking woman. We both laughed and I moved back to the table with my friends.

I don’t know how it happened, but after that, by the end of the evening, my group and hers were sitting together chatting like we had all known each other for years. Her group had actually won the evening and they were revelling in their trivia prowess while our group, coming fifth, were just enjoying the booze.

Somehow, Sheila, as she introduced herself, sat next to me from the time our groups merged. She again apologised for earlier and I again waved her off before we listened to my friend Tony tell us the story of how he got caught running buck naked from his girlfriend’s house while her father chased him with a cricket bat in one hand and his underwear in the other. He told us how the next day he went back and got a large serve from her Dad, and then her Mum, before dropping to one knee and proposing to his girlfriend in front of them.

We all roared with laughter as he told the story. Mind you, so did his now betrothed who was sitting beside him blushing but happily sporting a small rock on her engagement finger.

I will admit that at the time I thought it was a good evening. Looking back though, I sometimes wondered if I had made a real attempt to separate from her at that point would our lives have gone differently. Throughout the evening Sheila and I talked on innocent topics, the things that strangers do. What we did, people that we might have in common, the weather over the coming week, and the like.

I need to also admit at this point that Sheila really was an attractive woman. I would never have believed at that point what was lying in wait under the surface, but she was easy on the eyes. She had light sandy blonde hair to the middle of her back. And for a woman in her twenties, she had an attractive build with hips that flared out nicely, cleavage that would draw your eyes and a face that while not a super model, wasn’t unattractive. Sheila had a bubbly personality that was always smiling and laughing at whatever conversation was happening around the table, yet there was a slight vibe to her that I couldn’t quite identify. It was almost as if there was a desperation for attention, combined with a fear of being rejected. But when she looked at me, it was almost like the fear was intensified tenfold.

That first night, she was constantly around me, touching my arm or my shoulder. A couple of my friends gave me a look and by the end of the evening Sheila and I had agreed to soon go out together on a date. The smile she gave when we agreed on the time and place could have lit up the room when I also, with slight hesitation, gave her my phone number.

At the time I hadn’t gone past second base with a girl. While, as I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t the best-looking guy around, neither was I the worst. I did have a few girlfriends throughout high school and a little heavy petting wasn’t out of the question. However, sappy as it was, I was hanging onto my virginity until I found a woman I knew would cherish the gift, because I felt, once I found her our love would be shared forever.

Sheila and I texted a few times throughout the week, connected on Instagram and shared a few reels. If you haven’t seen reels before, they are the short videos that Instagram users, put together and get shared on the platform.

The next weekend found Sheila and me, out for an enjoyable afternoon, walking through a local art gallery, then having a late lunch together before going back to the same pub with a combined group of friends. We ended up drinking, chatting around the Instagram reels and laughing through more of the night. A little tipsy by the end of the night, Sheila hinted at heading back to her place, but she dropped the idea when I shut her down and told her quietly there would be no additional dates in the future if she pushed me. Instead, she accepted a small kiss with a promise of more dates in the near future if she behaved herself.

For the next two months we dated, every Friday and Saturday night. Yes, she was attractive and was pushing for more than the heavy petting we were doing. I got my hand in her bra once and she managed to get her hand down my pants, but I just didn’t feel that connection, that spark, that said we were a forever couple.

In the end I broke up with her. She was sobbing and telling me how much she loved me, that I was her soul mate, but after a little over two months of dating, I knew that we were not meant to be and I knew I had to be the bad guy and bring the relationship to an end.

I thought that we were done, and in time she would come to see that we didn’t have a future. In the weeks following, she was still calling and texting, but I was ignoring her. I felt like a bit of a prick, but I figured leading her on by continuing to be friendly with her would just cause more issues.

It was four weeks after our breakup, the messages had all but stopped and I thought I was clear, until one afternoon I had just left work and Sheila accosted me outside of Queensland Police Headquarters.

“Tommy, why are you ignoring me?” she pleaded loudly from the sidewalk as I was walking down the front steps.

I sighed; this was becoming too much of a headache.

“Sheila,” I told her quickly before she could start talking again. “I’ve told you; I’m not dating you. Seriously, all the texts and emails, they need to stop. I’m sorry, but if it’s any consolation, put it all on me, but outside of mutual friends, you need to leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry Tommy I can’t do that. I love you,” she proclaimed loudly and expressively as the drama unfolded further.

I shook my head. She just wasn’t taking the hint, in fact the look in her eyes was a little worrisome.

“No, you don’t Sheila,” I told her. “We only dated for a couple of months; I told you why we broke up.”

The look she gave me told me that she thought I was stupid for disagreeing with her. I sighed, quickly growing tired of her obsessiveness, but before I could say anything Sheila responded. “Tommy, you told me you didn’t feel that spark,” her voice sounding contrite. “But I can help you feel it baby. I can make us connect if you will come back to me.”

For the next few minutes she was so expressive in telling me how great we would be together, the life we would share. I was just standing there waiting for it to end when two police officers that I worked with had come out of the building having finished their shift and saw me upset while Sheila talked at me.

“Is there a problem here Tommy?” Senior Constable Douglas asked.

“No problem Marty,” I replied. “Just talking with my ex before I head home. Sheila and I have finished talking now and we’re going our separate ways.”

At last, with a couple of boys in blue standing there watching, she took the hint and with a couple of stern looks from Marty and his partner, Sheila and I started our walks home, thankfully in opposite directions.

I didn’t hear anything from Sheila after that.

The next time I saw her was at dinner one Saturday night. I was again enjoying eating with some friends, sitting in a little open bistro and she walked in with two girlfriends. She saw me, hesitated when I saw her and gave me a little wave, but didn’t make her way over to me, which I thought was progress. I gave her a tight smile, nodded and I thought that was it.

Not long after I finished my dinner of a medium rare steak with a bacon topper and beer battered chips on the side, the waiter brought a round of drinks up for the table.

“Compliments of the lady over there,” he said gesturing to Sheila. We politely accepted the drinks and raised a toast to Sheila. Again, she didn’t try to talk to me, so I thought I was safe.

A little later in the evening, I decided it was time to bury the hatchet and say a formal hello. I excused myself and walked up to Sheila and her girlfriends, exchanging greetings.

We spoke for about ten minutes and Sheilas girlfriends asked me to stay for one more drink. I think they were advocating for Sheila, but she apologised.

“Sorry Tommy,” she said with just a hint of sadness. “Their hearts are in the right place, but I know you don’t feel that way about me.”

I was about to reply, and her friends were looking a little hurt, when she raised her hand.

“No, it’s okay. I was a little too intense,” she admitted, blushing slightly. “I really do care for you, but I know it needs to be returned before there can be a real romantic relationship.”

I smiled and agreed, feeling that we had turned the corner. Perhaps we could be friends. I let the ladies know I needed to hit the bathroom, but I would drop by on my way out to say farewell.

When I came back there was a final round of drinks and I agreed to a single round of shots.

Sheila handed me mine with a huge smile and the four of us saluted and it went down the hatch. We spoke a few more minutes and then I’ll admit I started feeling a little weird.

That’s the last I recall until what I assumed was a few hours later.

As I came to, I felt like the entire world was pulsing and swimming through turbulent waters, and right through the middle of my brain at the same time. I was also surprisingly horny, not the feeling I would have thought with what had to be an epic hangover. I felt a thin sheet over me but was alarmed that when I tried to move, I couldn’t. My hands and feet were tied to the large bed I was laying on. Testing each limb, I found each was secured, the same with my torso. I could move my head a little, but that was about it. Despite the pounding in my head, I was beginning to panic and had a growing sense of dread.

Off to the side I heard a giggle.

“Good, you’re awake,” Sheila told me. She was sitting naked on a chair; her legs spread and had a toy that was making a faint buzzing sound. She noticed my eyes and laughed.

“It’s alright baby, this is just keeping me warmed up,” she told me, placing the vibrator on the table beside her. “You’re the only thing that’s going inside me tonight.”

“Sheila,” I said a note of panic in my voice. “What did you do to me. What are you doing?”

She again laughed and came over to me brushing the backside of her hand over my torso.

“It’s alright Tommy my love, you’re going to be perfectly fine,” my deranged ex-girlfriend told me. “I love you and I know that after tonight you will love me too. I’m sorry, but I put something in your drink to get you here, but I need to bind you to me. You can’t see it yet, but we need to be together.”

I didn’t like the maniacal look in her eyes.

Sheila pulled back the sheet and exposed my traitorous member, standing at attention from whatever mix of drugs she had given me. She smiled at me, and even as I tried to resist, she climbed on top of me, grabbed my shaft, and giving it a rub over her moist lips, impaled herself on me while I screamed the word “NO!” at her. Over and over again, she loudly moaned out her orgasms, taking some type of perverse pleasure in my unwanted participation.

I pulled and pulled against my restraints until my wrists and ankles started to bleed. The straps across my torso and chest holding me firm felt like they were bruising my ribs. But still Sheila continued to ride me, her ecstasy in bedding me against my will overriding her concern for me. I emptied myself inside her against my will and was appalled that I stayed hard. She must have given me something pretty strong, because despite the pain in my body and my continued pleading to stop, I stayed at attention for this unhinged woman taking something I did not want to give her.

Almost two hours later, she had used me, filling herself up four times. Myself, I was feeling faint from the drugs in my system along with some amount of blood loss. Only when she had come down from her euphoria did she noticed the blood staining the sheets and became somewhat troubled, but even then, Sheila appeared largely indifferent. She didn’t even appear to notice I had been dry heaving, having thrown up twice during the episode. My chest was on fire, my limbs all numb, with the pain and agony that I was in. At least my manhood was spent and softening, so she was done.

Seeing my distress, Sheila bent down to carefully examine me. I now understood that she was also high on something as her eyes were slightly glazed. She dabbed a clean part of the sheet over my left wrist that was still bound and tried to kiss me on the lips.

Through the therapy that proceeded later, I understood that I was somewhat detached at that point. I let her kiss me, as by that time I was largely catatonic due to the trauma. Behind my eyes it was like I was in a dark room alone in the corner, each noise, each movement was just another anticipation of pain.

I heard her tell me again and again that she loved me, that it would be alright because we were bonded now. She told me she would look after me. Thankfully through sheer exhaustion I passed out as Sheila began to sing happily to herself.

I awoke in what I believe was the next morning, whatever drugs she had given me had largely worn off and I had an almighty headache, worse than before Sheila had taken my innocence from me. But I noticed that my bonds were cut. Someone, I assume Sheila, tried to bandage my wounds but did a poor job, the wounds on my hands and feet still weeping.

Looking around the room I couldn’t see or hear Sheila, so I took the chance that it was safe to get up. Getting up was so painful I winced as I got off the bed. Weak and naked, I grabbed a towel that was laying over a chair just outside the bedroom and stumbled my way to her front door.

Wearily, I made my way out of Sheila’s apartment and into the morning sun. I winced once again, this time the bright sunlight hurting my eyes. Without thinking I put my arm up to shield my pain filled eyes. That was when I notice some of the blood from my still weeping arm, dripping onto the flushed skin on my face.

I could feel that I was swaying backwards and forwards. When I dropped my hand down, to see where I was going, there was a mother with three children in front of me. The four of them looked at me, in particular I noticed the concerned expression on the mother’s face. I must be a sight to her, clad only in a towel and with obvious bloody wounds .

“Hello,” I said, before collapsing to the ground unable to stay upright anymore.

Within the next fifteen minutes, an ambulance and two police cars arrived. The family that had discovered me brought me a blanket and, even covered, it wasn’t long before I was shaking and weeping like an abandoned child.

While the medical team worked on me, their frowns along with the words of ‘severe trauma’ and ‘blood loss’ were mentioned a number of times.

The next day I learnt the police had defined Sheila’s apartment as a crime scene and Sheila herself was arrested as she happily returned to her apartment, with groceries and medical supplies to try and treat me, unaware of what was awaiting her.

The Police found my clothes, phone and wallet on a shelf in her spare bedroom. Sheila apparently told authorities that she was planning on nursing me back to health now that we were bonded together forever. She was surprised when less than a week later she was formally charged with aggravated assault, grievous bodily harm, deprivation of liberty, drug offences and oh, yes, rape.

I spent almost a week in hospital, and after that, my parents arranged for me to spend some time in a rehab facility. They got me into a program that was tailored towards victims of sexual assault. I was one of three men in the program. Yes, men are sometimes the victims of sexual assault, the river can flow both ways I found out.

Fortunately, being a government employee and working for the Police, they had excellent insurance and they gladly covered the cost of my treatment. In the first month I think there wasn’t a night I didn’t awake at least once screaming, sometimes it was several times. But fortunately, the centre knew this would likely be the case and there was always a nurse on call and counsellors to help me. By the time I left the facility I was on a range of new drugs, most of them anti-anxiety/anti-depressants, aiming to help me deal with the ongoing nightmares and self-loathing that I felt.

My parents were there for me, as were several of my co-workers who had been told enough about what had happened to support the broken man I had become. Even before I was back at work, my manager spent a lot of time with me to make sure I felt as safe as possible as they eased me back into my job.

It took a few months after that night before I went back to work. Just working through IT migrations, doing documentation, nothing to intensive. I didn’t tend to do anything but go between work and home. I even ordered my groceries online rather than have to go out in public. I had managed to buy a cheap car and work allowed me to park under the building in their secure car park, so I was pretty much never outside where people I didn’t know could surprise me.

On the legal front, Sheila was going through the court processes. I provided a victim impact statement for the prosecution and I am told that the evidence of the gore in her bedroom along with my blood toxicology and photos of my wounds had more than one member of the jury throwing up as the prosecution did their job well.

I was granted a formal restraining order, Sheila was not allowed anywhere near me, not that it would be an issue as I was told she was sentenced to over twenty years with all the charges combined. Sheila would be past the prime of her life by the time she got out.

I wished I could have wanted for her to get help and get well, but I’d be lying. The thoughts I had about her were dark, most of them I could not write down as just thinking about what I wanted to do made me disgusted with myself. The initial shrink I was seeing, had a good idea what I was struggling with, and tried to pry it out of me, pushing me session after session, telling me it was better to let my darker thoughts out, because anger and hatred was common among victims and those poisons needed to be delt with if I was to move forward.

In retaliation to him trying to pry it out of me, I tried to overdose on my meds. My mother found me in a puddle of my own puke. Fortunately, they were not that strong. I spent overnight in hospital before being released to stay with my parents for the next month, along with more approved time off work. A new psychologist was required that would work with me rather than try to force me to relive my trauma as the first one had.

The second time, I didn’t even realise I was doing it. It was about eight months after that horrid night and I felt I was getting better. But then someone at work mentioned that Sheila had tried to hurt herself in her cell but was unsuccessful. I wasn’t sure what to think and I went home that night via a local liquor land and bought myself a bottle of Jack Daniels. The next thing I knew I am waking up in hospital with the sourest and the most upset stomach I had ever had.

Apparently, when I didn’t turn up for work in the morning, my boss became worried and with a couple of officers came to my house finding me on my kitchen floor, again in a puddle of my own vomit. After a night in hospital, I spent another fortnight in the rehab facility. I ended up buying my manager a huge bunch of flowers from a very upmarket florist as a thank you for saving my life.

Now, almost a year later, I am still a shell of what I once was. But as long as someone I know well is with me, I can tolerate going out into public. My parents are worried, but they know what I went through and while they want me better, they know it’s going to take a long time to get over what Sheila did to me.

Its then, one afternoon as I am watching a movie at home, that Britney came into my life. Now we’re back to where I was struggling to fall asleep, a single father, broken, but knowing that I needed to look after Britney even as I warred with myself between on the one hand wanting her and on the other wishing she had never been born.

[:::: 3 – Life moves along ::::]

As the months went by, Britney and I became used to each other, and I found my heart warming to her. Despite the torment of my feelings, I began looking forward to holding her when I got home in the afternoon from the office.

My mother being a doting Grandmother, looked after her when I had to go into work and in those early months, I don’t know that either Britney or I would have made it without her help.

“It’s alright Tommy,” she would encourage me. “No first-time parent gets it right; you’re doing perfectly fine. Britney is a very healthy, happy baby.”

I love my mum, and of course she takes a lot of photos of Britney and she tirelessly worked on me to get me posing with Britney in a lot of photos as well. She, more than I, knew I was growing to love my daughter but was worried about the undercurrent of resentment I had for her now dead mother.

By the time that Britney was three years old, I had fully accepted her as my daughter and it became us against the world. Not surprisingly, Britney became my key to recovery and at almost twenty-five, I am one of the younger dads around her daycare. But now I could not imagine life without my daughter. Even at that young age, Britney knew I was a little different than the other dads, but that brought a very protective streak out in her. Cuddles and hugs were her love language, letting me know how much she loved me and I never said no.

Three days a week, I would drop Britney off to a local day-care centre on the way to work and the other two days I worked from home on reports and documentation while looking after Britney. Mum and Dad were often around to look after their granddaughter, but due to our circumstances she is very much a daddy’s girl.

By the time she was coming up on three and a half, my daughter was walking, talking, and even helping me a little around the house. I could be out in public with her and could even stand to walk through a crowded supermarket or shopping mall for short periods of time if she’s with me. I found it exhausting though, and she always thanks me for taking her out with lots of kisses and hugs afterwards.

One afternoon after finishing work and heading to pick her up from daycare, Britney came running to me with a smile a mile wide waving a piece of paper in her hand like it is the most important paper in the world.

“Daddy,” she exclaimed in her cute little voice, waving an invite at me. “Dend-da-ney is having a birthday, we going?”

I smile at my daughter, and got down on one knee, to be at her level for better eye contact.

“How about we call Denny’s mum and have a talk to her?” She responded with one of her heart-warming hugs.

It is strange that while Britney is now looking a lot more like her mother, I no longer equate her to Sheila at all. She still has my eyes, and I can see one day she’s going to be a heart breaker with long blonde hair and a stubborn attitude.

That night I called Mary, Denny’s mother. Though his father works with me, I know it is the mums that put these events together, and with Britney beside me, I confirmed the party and that Britney and I would be there at the play centre in two Saturday’s time.

That Saturday morning, it was almost like my daughter had three bowls of pure sugar for breakfast, she was so hyped up. Birthday’s and play centres are one of a kid’s favourite things. Britney is fairly popular in her kindy group, so I knew she loved playing with her classmates, and this would be her first outing to a play centre.

Nervously, I walked into the play centre with my daughter. This wasn’t just her first birthday party, it was also my first time with her in a public place where I won’t be able to see her all of the time. Holding hands, we signed in and I saw Mary. We greeted each other and smiled as Denny, Britney and a few other kids disappeared into the maze of brightly coloured pipes and slides. A few minutes later I was practicing a couple of breathing techniques as I smiled at the other parents, hoping they wouldn’t notice my skittishness. With a big deep breath and a sigh, telling myself I was being silly, I began contemplating a bowl of potato wedges and a coke, when I suddenly felt a presence beside me.

Turning around I expect to see one of the parents or family members of one of the kids in the playground. The woman was an attractive blonde with an attractive face, generous curves and an easy smile.

I started to return the smile when my brain suddenly caught up to what I was seeing and my face froze. I suddenly felt my pulse in my ears, roaring like wild water on a flooded river running over rapids. I couldn’t help it, I screamed. The blood curdling cry stopped every noise in the centre. How could Shiela be here?

“No!” I yelled. “No! Stay away, get the hell away from me!”

The woman was looking at me with a horrified expression on her face. But I was already back peddling, scrambling to get away as fast as I could. Pretty much everyone in the place was now staring at me as I stumbled over one of the children’s chairs and tables, destroying it in my mad dash to get away from her. Without thinking, I picked up the remains of one of the plastic kid’s chairs, holding it out in front of me like a lion tamer would against a beast that was about to overwhelm him.

Tears were streaming down my face, and I was whimpering in panic, while the woman just stood there her face a mask of confusion, and yes, of horror. She hadn’t moved since I started yelling.

I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate as my daughter burst into the scene in front of me, her arms wide and face intense as she stared down the woman she had never met.

“Stay away from my Daddy!” she shrieked.

Sheila was still standing their horrified that Britney and I are having such an intense reaction to her being here and made no move towards either of us while the centre staff, mere kids making weekend pocket money, are now coming towards us cautiously like we’re the lion, not the woman that has ruined my life right in front of me. They must know I need to protect Britney and myself, I am not going to attack them. Suddenly understanding that no one is doing anything to make the situation worse. Britney turns to me, throwing herself into my arms.

“Daddy, what’s wrong Daddy,” she cries into my chest, not understanding that her mother is standing not more than five steps away from her.

Saying nothing and letting my body move on its own, I reacted by scooping my daughter up into my arms and started again for the exit. Britney was sobbing as everyone watched me retreat. Mary was standing with a look of bewilderment on her face, the same look as pretty much everyone else. But, as I passed through the exit gate, Sheila still hasn’t moved, her face is a mask of surprise and horror at my reaction. Good, there is no way I am letting her take my daughter away.

We made it to my car. I have an older model Camry station wagon and opening the door I place Britney into her seat. But then, suddenly, the moment finishes overwhelming me, and I collapsed to the ground sobbing before I could strap her in. I must have been there for five minutes as I felt Britney hugging me, bending over out of the car, her hand running through my hair.

“It’s okay Daddy, you’re okay Daddy,” she kept saying.

I am not sure how much longer it was before I felt another hand on my back, and I turn expecting to see Sheila, feeling ready to lash out before she could trap me again. But it was Brad, Mary’s husband and Denny’s father.

“Tommy, are you alright?” he asked with real concern etched on his face. He and Mary knew a little of my story, so he’s at least got a little sensitivity.

“My Daddy is strong,” Britney said before I could reply, “It’s always me and him and that lady isn’t going to hurt my Daddy,” my daughter said confidently making me smile despite the situation.

A small crowd had gathered outside and I noticed that Sheila was standing in the back with a worried expression on her face. For a moment my panic returned until I at last understood that the woman was not Sheila. That poor woman that I just screamed at in panic, had more than a passing resemblance, but she was not the woman who broke me. I couldn’t help but look at her as I started my breathing techniques.

Feeling my pulse slow, I picked Britney up out of the car and hugged her tightly, turning back to the gathered, concerned crowd, and let them know that I am okay. For the next few minutes, I blushed profusely as I apologised for my freak out. Brad and Mary also talk with everyone and with my permission they ask if it’s okay if Britney and I come back inside.

After several concerned questions and being escorted back inside, the centre manager was really nice and offered to shout me a meal. When I tried to pay for both the meal and the destroyed furniture, he refused. I explained that a few years ago I had quite a bad trauma and it kind of flared up when a few different things came together all at once.

More than one person looked from the woman to me and back again, but I told them that it wasn’t her fault, we have never met, though I was still getting puzzled looks from everyone.

Half an hour later I was sitting at a table with my wedges and a coke, when the woman came over and sat down beside me.

In barely a whisper, she gently asked, “Are you really, okay?”

Closing my eyes briefly I swallowed, then again, fighting the memories, since even her voice sounded like Sheila. Her voice was a bit deeper than Britney’s mothers, but still very similar. While my logical brain recognised wasn’t my abuser, after all Sheila had passed away over three years ago. But still I was struggling with my emotions. While there were similarities in appearance, up close, this woman did look different.

Sighing, fighting to calm the emotion, I opened my eyes again and tried to give her a warm smile.

“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “I’m sorry I reacted to you like that. It’s just that you remind me of someone that I knew years ago and unfortunately for me it was not… a pleasant experience.”

At that moment Britney came running up, hugged me and gave me a kiss, asking if I was okay, before giving the woman another stare. I told her I was okay, so after another moment, my daughter ran off to play again. She had been doing that every few minutes since we went back in. It did make us all smile.

“She’s very cute,” the non-Sheila woman said. “I’m guessing her mother…”

I shake my head.

“She died during childbirth,” I spoke. The woman nodded like she already knew.

While I am struggling to look at her for more than a moment, I sensed her hesitation, as if she was wrestling with a question.

After a few moments, like she was afraid to ask, she just blurted it out, still in a quiet voice. “You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the man that Sheila hurt?”

It took a moment for me to register that the woman was talking about Britney’s mother and my rapist. Somehow understanding that my panic was again rising, she put both her hands up sensing my emotions were moving towards the wrong place.

“It’s alright, I’m no threat,” she told me in the least threatening way possible. “I’m not going to harm you or your daughter.”

I nod, not entirely convinced. ‘Breathe Tommy’, I tell myself, ‘just breathe’.

“I’m Sarah,” she added a moment later, extending her hand then looking at me, pulled it back and tried to smile at me in a non-hostile manner.

I swallow and dig deep within myself, extending out a shaky hand and she touches it lightly.

“Tommy,” I say cautiously.

It took a little time, mainly me fighting back the impulse to grab my daughter and run, some patience from Sarah, and a few more concerned adults like Mary and Brad checking in on me, but we chatted and it turned out that Sarah was Sheila’s cousin, their mothers are sisters. She had brought a child to the party as a favour to a friend, who’s parents couldn’t make it today.

Sarah admitted that she knew only a little of the history of what happened between Sheila and me. The family was quite tight lipped about anything to do with Sheila. Outside of her parents, no one was willing to confirm that she had been pregnant, let alone had given birth. To most, it was just rumour. The only thing the family knew for sure was that she had done something horrid to a guy and had died in prison because of it. Sarah explained while watching Britney play, there had been rumour of a child, but no confirmation. Her aunt and uncle, Sheila’s parents, apparently thought the child had died with Sheila or was given up for adoption.

“But that’s her, isn’t it?” Sarah asked me while we continued watching Britney playing with two of her friends from daycare. They were running up and down a slide and I noticed the Britney was sticking to the edge near me and wouldn’t go too far inside the play area if it meant she couldn’t see me for more than a few seconds.

She continued, “That’s Sheila’s daughter and you’re her father, aren’t you.” It was more of a statement then a question and I nodded slowly.

“Yes,” I said softly, again looking at my precious daughter. At that moment Britney looked over and I waved, she smiled and waved back. “I… It was… Look sorry, this is hard. Britney is everything to me. She is the only good thing that came out of that awful time. Most days I don’t see… her. I just see Britney…”

I was at a loss for further words, and I chanced a glance at Sarah who was nodding sadly.

“As I said Tommy,” Sarah explained quietly. “I don’t know much about what happened. But from what I have heard and your reaction earlier when you thought I was Sheila, I know it wasn’t good.”

Over the next hour as we spoke further, I was non-committal on pretty much everything. But I think Sarah could understand. She tried to be friendly, but honestly outside of Britney, I could feel myself withdrawing from the situation, putting up my barriers. By the time we left, I was barely functioning.

That night at home, Britney was very affectionate. “Daddy, are you otay?”

“It’s pronounced, okay, sweetie,” I replied with a forced smile. “And yes, Daddy is okay.”

“You scared me,” she said with tears in her eyes. Then she whispered, “I thought you might die.”

Death had been an interesting topic for the two of us. From almost the time she could talk in full sentences about a year ago, she had a curiosity about death. This stemmed from her day care where she understood that she didn’t have a mother and I had to carefully explain that her mother had died.

“I’m not going anywhere Brit,” I told her as I tucked her in. “I just got… a little scared myself today.”

She looked at me for a minute, a very severe expression on her face.

“Did that lady hurt you?” she asked concerned.

I shook my head smiling.

“No Sweetie,” I replied. “She didn’t and it wasn’t her fault. She just looked like someone that I once knew that hurt me a lot.”

“I hope I never meet her,” Britney told me now scowling. “I would punch her.”

I smiled sorrowfully, though my daughter didn’t understand why. How do I tell her that it was her own mother that hurt me badly enough that I reacted like I did to someone I had never met.

When I climbed into bed later, I tossed and turned for a few hours, then took a couple of sleeping tablets that I hadn’t needed very often since before Britney had come into my life. I then fell into a restless sleep.

At work the next week I was surprised when I was summoned to the front security desk and I found Sarah there wanting to talk with me. Swallowing the sense of panic in the back of my brain. I called my manager up and let her know I would be out for a while, perhaps for a few hours.

Sarah and I ended up walking to a coffee shop on the next block that was overlooking the construction of a new transport centre for the city. We ordered coffee, Sarah had a caramel Latte, and I had my usual oak milk cappuccino. As we sat down there was an awkward silence.

After taking a few sips of my coffee, I finally ventured, “What can I do for you Sarah.” I purposely spoke her name, more to convincing myself that she wasn’t Sheila than anything else.

She watched me for another moment, taking in my slightly harried look and the darting of my eyes around the room.

She swallowed.

“I’m sorry Tommy,” she explained. “For the most part, I wanted to find out how you were doing. I mean I have never been so frightened in my life to have my mere visage cause that type of a reaction in another person. I didn’t sleep at all this past weekend. And as bad as it was for me, it must have been worse by orders of magnitude for you.”

I nodded and swallowed again, then a few moments later, again.

“It’s alright,” I finally told her. “It’s not like you can help that you look like her… um, Sheila.”

I looked at Sarah for a minute and she tried not to be too obvious when she returned my gaze.

“Would you be willing to indulge me with something for a few moments?” I asked her.

She gave me a tight smile and nodded, but I could also see the concern in her eyes. I took a deep breath and for the first time set my focus on the woman in front of me.

Sarah was an attractive woman in her own right. Her hair was a lighter shade of blonde than Sheila’s, her eyes were hazel instead of blue, but she held her posture the same way. Her arms were delicate with more freckles and her lips were perhaps less prominent than Sheila’s. There was no doubting they were related. But upon close inspection, there was also no doubt that they were very different women.

After a minute of my not saying anything, Sarah was looking uncomfortable. But I held up my hand and gave her the very first warm smile that had nothing to do with my past trauma with her cousin.

“Sorry, I know that was awkward,” I explained. “It’s something one of my counsellor’s taught me if I was to ever run across someone that looked like her… I mean like Sheila. I just needed to look at you and tell my mind again that you’re not her. I needed to show myself the differences between the two of you so I can see you as a different person.”

Sarah nodded, again hesitating to ask the question that I know she wanted to ask, I waited and smiled as she took a very deep breath. I knew it was coming.

“Tommy, what really happened?” she asked. “I mean we knew that Sheila was with a guy, that something bad happened. I now know that someone was you. I’m guessing that you were together for a period of time, but she did something horrid that landed her in prison where she died. But what really happened? No one in the family that knows anything will say anything and the rest of us whisper about rumours. I mean I get that something bad happened, but can you talk about it?”

I looked at her another minute. Over the past couple of years, I had only spoken about what happened with my parents and my shrink. Anyone else who asked I promptly ignored till they stopped asking questions.

Was I going to do that to her cousin, a woman who looked to have more concern for me and what happened on the weekend than just being motivated by curiosity.

Time to be brave!

I undid the buttons on my cuffs and rolled my sleeves up showing the scars on my wrists. Sarah gasped seeing the bunched-up skin.

“She… Sheila, drugged me, tied me down and ra… had her way with me for a number of hours against my will. These scars and the ones on my ankles are the reminders I have from trying to resist her, for trying to say no.” As I explained what happened, Sarah grew pale, her eyes going wider and wider in shock.

As I rolled my sleeves back down, I explained in a certain amount of detail, how we met, spent a couple of months dating, our breakup and the ill-fated evening meeting and what happened afterwards. Surprisingly I never shed a tear during the retelling, but Sarah did, having to retrieve several tissues through my story.

“Sheila, would not take no for an answer and I paid the price,” I sighed as I finished.

“But,” I told Sarah and paused while smiling for the first time in my story. “Through the pain I got Britney.”

I thought about how to explain my forced parenthood, unexpected and unwelcome. And how Britney became my reason for living.

“For the first month I couldn’t stand it,” I told her. “She was the product of an evil thing that was done to me. But then it all changed.”

“What… What happened?” Sarah asked, her voice uncertain, still holding a tear-stained tissue in one hand.

“Britney did an exploding poo all over me while I was changing her nappy,” I told her wrinkling my nose while smiling.

“What?” Sarah said eyes wide again, but this time at my statement and my smile.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was still pretty much a shell of a person when Britney came to me. And while my parents have been amazing, they couldn’t be there all the time. Like most first time parents, I was sleep deprived. Britney was a fussy infant, and never slept for more than an hour, or at most two, at a time in the first six months.

“Well, it was one evening, not sure what day it was, they were all blending together at that time, and I was changing a wet nappy. I was slowly getting used to the process of lift, remove, clean and change. But for some reason, Britney was crying when I removed her nappy. So, without thinking, I picked her up bare ass naked.”

Sarah smiled.

“I was doing that thing that all dad’s do with her over my shoulder when she suddenly stopped crying and then let loose. The runniest, sloppiest stingiest mess just came out of my daughter and covered my hands, my body and was dripping on the floor in great disgusting blobs.”

We both wrinkled our noses. Worse for me than Sarah, I could still smell the memory.

“What did you do?” Sarah asked eagerly wanting to know the end of the story.

I shrugged.

“I kind of lost it,” I admitted. “Oh, I kept Britney safe, I may have been a broken man, and full of regret for what had been done to me, but Britney relied on me for life, and I would be a fool to do anything to hurt her. So covered in poop I sank to the floor, and I sat there holding her and sobbing at what my life had become.

“But while I sat there, Britney touched my cheek and giggled. It was the first time, only a few months old and she touched my cheek.” I smiled at the memory; my daughters’ eyes wide as she was only just able to turn her head to look at me. A week before I would have had to support her neck and head.

“It was a watershed moment for me,” I continued explaining. “For the first time since everything started happening, I laughed and Britney joined in laughing with that baby squeal that they do, which set me off again. We went from sadness to joy and for the next five minutes we laughed at each other. Here we were father and daughter covered in poo, tired in the dead of night, laughing like nothing else mattered.”

Sarah was now smiling, seeing the happiness reflected in my own eyes as I recalled the memory.

“So, it was at that point I decided that I was going to pull myself out of the shit I was in,” Sarah laughed at my statement. “I took us both into the shower, washed the mess down the drain and cleaned us up before putting Britney to bed. I kissed her before putting her down and that was the first night that I told my daughter I loved her.