by Josie Wright
She doesn’t hesitate, her voice croaky and trembling, but full of determination. “Of course. Please, I need you.”
What she needs is to be safe from me, from my family.
But I relent, unable to deny her pleading look and my own need to be close to them.
Moving slowly toward the bed, I kick off my boots and pull the scrub top over my head, dropping it on the floor as I go.
The light is low, but I see the exhaustion written all over Frankie’s face, the worry lines that weren’t there before tonight.
I lower myself to the bed, making sure I don’t disturb Archer. Watching him takes my breath away. He could have been taken from us so easily. A wave of pain and rage hits me, and I close my eyes, trying to rein it in, to go numb again. If I open the floodgates, we’ll all drown. Numbness is the only way I can still function.
I expect Frankie to hate me, to push me away for bringing my father into their lives. But that’s not who she is. She’s too loving for her own good.
She takes my hand and kisses it over and over, knuckle after knuckle. Her lips are soft and gentle. It’s a small gesture, but to me it’s big. Fucking huge.
It’s as if she doesn’t blame me, like she isn’t worried about me ending up like him.
It takes me a moment to comprehend why my cheeks feel wet; I’m crying.
“I’m sorry, Frankie. So sorry.”
“Ben, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me? It’s not your fault.” I see the conviction in her eyes, but I know she’s lying. She has to be. It is my fault. I was fucking stupid to believe my father.
I watch Frankie watch Archer, forcing my mind to stay in the moment. If I let it wander, the storm I’m keeping inside will break loose.
Suddenly, Frankie’s eyes go wide and she’s gasping for air, sweat forming on her forehead.
“Babe, you okay?” Even as I ask the question, I know how stupid it is. Of course she isn’t okay. How could she be?
She rolls out of the bed and runs for the bathroom. Seconds later, the sounds of her retching break the silence in the room.
The ache I feel takes my breath away, but I need to move. She needs me. Archer can’t stay by himself while I go take care of her. So I lift him gently into my arms and hold him close. He doesn’t even stir as I carry him down the hallway, knocking on Dean and Alex’s door.
Dean opens with his own eyes bloodshot.
“Can you watch Archer? Frankie…she…” My voice breaks.
“Go. Take care of her. He’s safe with us.” Dean takes of Archer, snuggling him close. I realize he needs this; he needs to be close to Archer too, to reassure himself he’s okay.
I rush back to Frankie. The sight in front of me is the second worst thing I witnessed in my life.
My strong, ferocious girl is slumped on the floor, her body shaking with heart-wrenching sobs. The noises she makes are not like anything I’ve heard before. Her cry sounds like an injured animal, her voice raw and broken.
No matter how much it hurts to witness this, I have to be here for her. I owe her that much.
Kneeling down, I pull her to me and hold her close only for her to start struggling against me, trying to push me away while she calls Archer’s name.
“Shhh, he’s with Dean and Alex right now. They’re taking care of him,” I whisper, holding her tighter, trying to soothe her.
I feel so much hate for my father. Hate him for what he’s done, for what he’s taken from us.
I turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. She’s so out of it. Shock finally sets in, making her shiver.
In the shower, she clings to me like I’m her fucking savior, although I’m the reason for the destruction. I don’t understand how she even wants to be close to me, much less how she can still love me. But she does. She fucking does.
“I love you, Ben. I’m sorry this happened to you, to us. I’m so sorry he did this,” she murmurs so quietly I barely hear her over the rush of the water.
There isn’t much I can say, so I tell her the one thing that I know without a doubt. I tell her I love her—over and over again.
***
Once we’re in bed with Archer sleeping in his crib and Frankie drifting off in my arms, sleep still evades me. While she writhes and wriggles, I just lie there, holding her close, willing my thoughts to stay quiet.
I don’t know how we’re supposed to pick up the pieces, to go on with life after this. How do people move on? How do they find solace? Because right now it feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
My thoughts start to turn darker. What if I had not seen the text, gotten home too late? What would be left for me to come home to?
What ifs run rampant in my head, when I’m suddenly jolted out of my thoughts by Frankie climbing on my lap.
“Babe?”
When my eyes meet hers I see love, concern, and need.
This is exactly what I need right now. I need her body to erase my thoughts and feelings. I don’t hesitate. I attack her—my lips crashing against hers in a mix of need, desire, and despair. She’s my only salvation. Her need for me, her acceptance, the only things keeping me grounded.
I need her to help me forget, need to wrap myself up in her, be inside of her. I tear at her clothes, urgent and frantic, and she doesn’t hesitate to join. We don’t make a sound, but even in the silence there is no holding back. Our movements are demanding, her fingers pulling my head closer while my fingers dig into her back, holding her tightly. And when she sinks down onto me, my cock filling her, for a brief moment the world feels all right again.
With every thrust, every time I slide in and out of her, the chaos subsides and it’s just us and the friction of our bodies moving together. I want to stay inside of her forever, craving the peace and serenity she gives me.
But good things never last. At least not for me.
Chapter 39
Hard to Breathe
Frankie is asleep in my arms, her body pressed against mine. The moment of peace only lasted until my orgasm subsided. Then reality came bearing down.
I can’t sleep, can’t still my mind enough to relax. No matter how hard I try to chase the thoughts and the memories away, they sink their claws into my mind, determined to drag me down with them.
I think of the man lying in a pool of his own blood on our kitchen floor—my father. I don’t understand what happened, what had gotten into him. I can still picture the panic in Frankie’s eyes, hear the fear in Archer’s cry—it makes my skin crawl.
I can’t stay in the room any longer. I slide out of bed, throwing on some clothes. Quietly, I sneak downstairs and walk toward the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I’d kill for a whiskey right now, but I can’t risk losing control. What if I snap like my father did? Instead, I decide on orange juice. But as soon as my eyes fall on the spot where not even twenty-four hours ago blood was pooling, I freeze and just stare.
It’s all gone, the crime scene cleaners having done a perfect job. It’s like nothing ever happened, like nothing disturbed our happy lives.
Fuck. I need some fresh air. I can’t breathe in here. It feels like the walls are closing in. Stepping into my sneakers, I head outside, relishing in the sting of the cold air against my skin. I take a deep breath. Once, twice. But the hollow feeling in my chest doesn’t go away.
Making my way to the shed, I go inside and inhale deeply. The familiar scent of wood, oils, and varnish hits my nose, but it does nothing to calm me.
I should have seen the signs. I should have seen the danger my father posed. I go over every little moment I spent with him and suddenly some things he said, some looks he gave me, appear to have been more, been something worse than I recognized. I should have seen it, should have stopped him, then nothing would have happened. I was so fucking blind. I wanted to believe him, wanted someone to be honest and real with me.
My mother’s words ring in my head. ‘Your biological father, he wasn’t a good man.’ Now I know without a doubt that
she was telling the truth. Although, describing him as ‘not a good man’ doesn’t seem fitting. He’s crazy, sick, and dangerous. I fucked up. Everything.
My thoughts are spinning and his words are replaying in my mind. ‘You didn’t even see it coming when I pressed the pillow to your face, smiling up at me.’
Pain rips through me, replacing the anger and guilt. He tried to kill me without remorse. He wanted to get rid of me. I don’t understand. The thought of Archer so much as injuring himself is tearing me apart. How could someone who was supposed to love me try to hurt me? Why the fuck didn’t he love me?
The pain is suffocating me, boiling under my skin, ready to tear me apart. I turn toward my workbench and with hurt pumping through my body, I swipe everything on it to the ground. Tools are clanging, glasses filled with nails and screws break. I watch nails, screws, and broken glass scatter across the floor, just like my fucking life is falling to pieces.
Taking two steps, I tear down the shelves, leaving big gashes in the wall. I slam them to the ground before I grab what I can get my hands on and throw it against the opposite wall. I need to let out the destruction that rages inside of me before it fucking consumes me.
“Ben?” Frankie’s soft voice makes me stop mid-throw, a jar of varnish in my hand. Lowering my arm, I turn toward her. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. She can’t help me. She can’t undo all of this shit. She can’t make my father love me.
I watch her walk up to me, her arms snaking around my waist. I want to be strong for her, want to be the one she can lean on, but I have nothing left inside me. The anger that kept me upright disappears and leaves behind the pain I want to ignore so badly. The kind of pain that brings me to my knees. I sag to the floor, taking Frankie with me. I hold her tight, not letting go for one second.
Unable to control it any longer, I cry in Frankie’s arms asking her the one question I can’t find an answer to: “Why, Frankie?”
I don’t know how long we sit like this, but when I finally look up, it’s gotten light outside. Frankie doesn’t let me go as she leads me back to the house and up to our room. I let her take care of me, let her hold me while she snuggles Archer up to us. As I look at them both, I realize the destruction my father caused might have just been the beginning. The thought hits me hard; the consequences of what this might mean tearing apart what is left of me. My father is a crazy man, a madman, but I’m his son and I might end up just like him. I’ll leave them before that happens.
Chapter 40
Losing Balance
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me out of my thoughts. We’ve barely left our room the past two days. The others understand, bringing us food and allowing us to stay locked away.
I look over to the armchair where Frankie’s reading Archer a goodnight story. Just like last night, I don’t participate. I’m too worried to get close to him, too fucking petrified I will snap and hurt him. Frankie tried to get me to give him a bath, but instead I told her that I was going to tidy up the room.
Picking up the phone, I see it’s a message from Dave.
Dave: Hey man, how are you holding up?
I guess someone filled him in on what happened. I type a reply, every word a fucking lie.
Me: Fairly good, considering the circumstances. No need to worry.
Dave: Yeah, right. We both know that’s bullshit. I’m here if you need me.
I wonder if I should tell him to be there for Frankie once I make up my mind and leave, but decide against it. He’d tell her and things would only get worse.
Me: Thanks.
I set the phone aside, but it vibrates again with an incoming call this time. Turns out it’s the police officer assigned to our case. That’s what our life is now—a case.
“Mr. Gibson. Officer Roberts here. I just wanted to give you an update.” I remain quiet except for an encouraging grunt. When Frankie comes to my side and sits down, I turn it on speaker so she can hear.
Officer Roberts continues, “Your father is still in the hospital, but he will be released shortly. He will be transferred to a high security psychiatric hospital to determine the state of his mental health and his treatment.”
“Okay. I don’t really care what happens to him. What I care about is knowing how the hell this could happen?” I get louder, ignoring Frankie’s hand soothingly stroking my arm.
“It turns out he tricked an intern at St. Michael’s and managed to escape. By the time the hospital noticed, he had already been gone for a few hours. They hoped they could find him, or he would come back. That’s why they didn’t alert you. The institution is being investigated, as well.”
I let out a breath. “Well, that’s fucking great.”
“There is something else.” He hesitates. “Looking into your dad’s case, I found out he wasn’t in the hospital of his own volition. He was committed after…” he pauses again, and I finish for him. “After he tried to kill me?”
“Yes. He never passed an evaluation in all those years. I’m really sorry. I wish I had better news.”
“Thanks, Officer Roberts.” I take a deep breath. “And thank you for saving us.”
“It’s my job. If you have any more questions, you have my number.”
We hang up and Frankie snuggles up to me.
“I’m sorry all this happened, Ben. I know how much he meant to you.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, placing a kiss to the top of her head. “You look tired. Why don’t you take a shower and get ready for bed?” She lifts herself off me, nodding weakly. Her eyes are sad and the corners of her mouth pull down. Before she enters the bathroom, she stops and looks back at me as if she wants to say something, but then shakes her head, walking inside and leaving me alone in the room.
I exhale, hating how hard it is to pull myself together when she’s around. I look at Archer’s crib, hoping he won’t start crying. I’m fucking terrified of hurting him. I don’t know what happened to my father. How am I supposed to know it won’t happen to me as well?
When I hear the shower, I grab my phone and dial the number of the hospital my father is currently at. The same hospital we were at after it all happened.
It takes a while to get through to someone who can give me some answers, and even though it takes some convincing that I truly am his son, I succeed eventually. I find out my dad has been treated for psychosis, though the doctor is still waiting for the medical records from St. Michael’s. When he starts to tell me about my father’s current state, I excuse myself and end the phone call. I don’t fucking care how he’s doing. I don’t care if his arm falls off due to the bullet wound in his shoulder. I don’t care if he falls over dead.
Frankie comes to bed, lying down next to me. She takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.
“Ben?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it. “Why don’t you call your mom? Talk to her, get more information?”
“And tell her what, Frankie?” I snap, but immediately regret it. I know she’s just worried, but I went over this in my head countless times since we came back from the hospital. I treated my mom like shit. Yes, she lied to me, but as it turns out she had a good reason.
“What should I say? Sorry for treating you like shit while you tried to keep me safe? I can’t…” I take a deep breath. “I can’t risk her telling me to fuck off and to never come back, something I would fucking deserve. I’ve had all the rejection I can take.”
Frankie squeezes my hand. “She’s your mother. She’d never do that, Ben. She loves you.”
I scoff, “Well, my father didn’t seem to have any parental feelings for me. There is no guarantee of parental love, is there?”
I watch Frankie close her eyes, fighting for composure, her lip quivering slightly.
I tug her closer. “Sorry, babe. I’m an asshole.”
She shakes her head. “No, you’re just hurting. We’ll get through this.”
I wish I could believe her. But I don’t see how we can come out of this sti
ll standing.
Once Frankie falls asleep, I sit down at her vanity currently doubling as a desk. Opening the browser on my laptop, I start my research on psychosis.
Two hours later, I’m sick to my stomach. Between the possible symptoms and the fact that it can have genetic causes, my worst fears are becoming a reality.
I can hear rustling behind me. When I look back, I see Frankie out of bed and on her way over to me, so I quickly close the browser and turn the laptop off.
My Metallica shirt engulfs her body. She tilts her head, worry etched into her features. “You okay, Ben?” Her voice is low in order to not wake up Archer.
Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Yeah, let’s get to bed.”
She snuggles up to me, her head on my chest, her leg thrown over my hips as she drifts off to sleep again. I hold her all the while trying to quiet the voices in my head telling me I’ll end up like my father.
Chapter 41
Time to Fight
Waking up, I take a look around the room. Frankie is still sleeping, but Archer isn’t in his crib. I guess Dean or Alex took him downstairs already. I quickly brush my teeth and splash some water on my face before pulling on my sweatpants and walking downstairs. I’m puzzled that I don’t hear any voices and my confusion turns into worry when I don’t see Alex or Dean anywhere and Archer isn’t in his playpen. Doing a double-take I notice my father sitting on the couch, Archer cradled in his lap, a pillow pressed to his face. He isn’t moving, his little body totally still.
“Dad? What did you do?” I scream. My voice sounds foreign and distorted.
“Now he won’t take anything away from you,” my father replies, turning his face toward me.
“No, Dad, no,” I plead, closing my eyes, hoping when I open them again my father will be gone and Archer safe in his playpen. But when I do look, I suddenly see myself sitting there with Archer, holding his lifeless body.