Okay, so I realise this can be seen as ridiculous. In hindsight, it has only being less than a month since last having sex with her. The thing is, the power of addiction is a force to be reckoned with; a dependence that can only be cured with fortitude. And where Alexis is concerned, my resolve is non-existent.
Feeling the build-up of pressure at the head of my dick, I explode into her like Mount Fucking Vesuvius and growl like a God damn barbarian, my release too long in waiting.
* * *
Following our love making from the night before, you’d think I’d be one happy, relaxed, and fully sated man. But I’m not, not completely anyway. Yes, my balls now feel a little more like the billiard variety and a lot less like the bowling variety, I can’t dispute that. The thing is, today I’m anxious for an entirely different reason, for today is Gareth’s birthday and I can’t seem to get him out of my mind; out of my conscience.
Sitting here at my desk, I replay the final conversation I had with him on the morning his psychotic DID alter, Scott, held Alexis hostage and nearly killed her. I’d been so wrapped up and absorbed in my own life, I had not paid attention to Gareth’s state of mind and body language, completely failing to see just how out of control his condition really was. I’d fooled myself into believing that he was taking his meds because I’d asked him to do so, never having thought to check that the pills he was actually taking were, in fact, the prescribed ones—apparently, he had been popping vitamins in my presence.
Now nine months down the track, and I can clearly see—as I look back on those weeks leading up to the explosion—that his behaviour and conduct was not only irrational but evidently disturbed. Things like the angry phone call I received after Xmas, when he accused Alexis of deliberately omitting him from our family lunch. Not to mention the numerous phone calls and emails I’d gotten while Alexis and I were in Italy—emails, checking on Clark Incorporated issues that did not concern him. All these things I’d just swept under the rug, because for once in my life—ever since the car accident occurred—I didn’t want to have to deal with Gareth, didn’t want to be responsible for babysitting him. Except, the moment I did drop my guard and responsibility, the worst possible thing happened...I failed him.
* * *
Sitting on the edge of our bed, I watch Alexis’ peacefully enjoying her slumber. She has no choice but to sleep on her back, because apparently, if she sleeps on her stomach she’ll wake up in a puddle of breast milk. As I stare at her glorious breasts which are hidden behind her maternity bra—a crime in itself—I yearn to caress the soft flesh with my tongue.
The imposed nipple prohibition is slowly killing me, eating at my sanity and diminishing my tenacity. Having no choice but to fight my nipple-need, I think of a distraction.
A smile creeps onto my face as I get an idea of something I know she loves but something I haven’t done in a while. I race downstairs and grab a yellow rose from the vase in the foyer then race back upstairs and kneel on the ground next to the bed. I am excited just like a kid on Christmas Day, all because I love waking her up with a rose.
Very lightly, I wipe the bud of the flower across her forehead, this prompting her brow to crease ever so slightly. Her taunted face is so adorable, and I have to bite my lip to supress a laugh.
Returning the rose to the bridge of her nose, I trail it down very softly. Her hand swings up out of nowhere and swipes at what her subconscious is telling her is there. I quickly retract the rose before she touches it and with a mischievous inward chuckle, wait patiently for her to settle back down again. She does, and as I take in her peaceful appearance, I melt with love. Her eyelashes are long and black, and fan beautifully atop her cheek bones. She has some very faint freckles, and the last time I counted, there were about 19 of them across her nose and cheeks. Her lips are downright irresistible, plump and semi-pursed. And her blonde hair neatly frames the most beautiful face in the world.
Swallowing the lump in my throat and smiling because I know how fortunate I am, I place the rose on her lips and sit it just under her nose, knowing that when she breathes in her next breath, the scent she loves so much will filter into her senses and begin to wake her from her sleep.
I watch with fascination as she does just that and breathes in a deep breath, her chest rising as her hands find her hair while she stretches. Her eyelids flutter open and within seconds she begins to decipher what is before her. When she does interpret what her eyes are exposing, her heartbreaking smile starts to spread across her face. And, as always when she graces me with that expression, I am conquered... done for.
“Mornin’,” she mumbles, and sits up on her elbows while taking the rose from my hand.
“Mornin’,” I reply, leaning down to kiss those perfect lips.
She drops back onto the pillow and wraps her arms around my neck, securing me tightly to her. “You’re dressed. Why are you dressed? You should be butt naked and underneath me.”
Wanting to be butt-naked and underneath her, I contemplate that actual scenario before reminding myself why I am dressed and ready to leave. “I have an appointment.” I’ll be gone for an hour.”
“Okay,” she pouts.
“Don’t do that.”
Her pout increases. “What?”
“You know what,” I lean forward and suck on her pouty lip. “I gotta go,” I say sadly.
She unwraps her arms and places both hands on either side of my face. “Is everything alright?”
Feeling her enquiring stare pierce deep into the depths of my eyes, I lie. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just want to get this done so that I can get back here to my favourite people in the world.”
She nods and kisses me lightly then lets me go, and just as I stand, movement from Brayden’s bassinet catches my attention. I creep over slowly—probably looking somewhat like a fucking cat burglar—and find my little treasure trying desperately to free his hand from his tightly confined wrap. Smiling, I notice the little Houdini has already managed to release one of his hands and is sucking on it ferociously.
“Good morning, little buddy. I’m sorry to tell to you, but it doesn’t matter how hard you suck on that hand, you’re not going to get what you want out of it.”
He lets out a frustrated cry.
“I know. Life’s not fair. I want Mummy’s boobies in my mouth all the time, too.”
A sharp sting to the arm registers as I incur Alexis’ swift slap. “Bryce!”
I lift Brayden up, giving him a quick cuddle and kiss before handing him to his mum. “Right,” I say with annoyance, wanting to stay with them. “I’ll be back soon.
Making my way out of the room, I prepare myself for my visit to Gareth’s grave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
To feel contrite one would say is a humane and moral virtue, but in order to experience this form of repentance you must first acknowledge your sin then show remorse for your wrongdoing. Jessica has made it quite clear that she does not agree with my feelings of contrition where Gareth’s death is concerned, saying I have no sin to feel remorseful over in the first place—but she is wrong.
For the past nine months, Jessica and I have had session upon session where she has tried desperately to conquer my inner battle of guilt with her own personal army of professional advocacy. The thing is not all battles are fought and then won.
A perfect battle would result with a resolution always being achieved, whether by annihilating the opposition, or by forcing them to abandon their mission and surrender their forces. And that’s exactly what Jessica’s warfare strategy—where my battle is concerned—has been of late, implementing tactics to break my resolve and renounce my fight with myself. And I have to admit, that it’s starting to work.
Not having wanted to, I humoured her and put myself in Lucy’s shoes, looking at the entire situation from another perspective. Did it make me feel less guilty? No. Did I still feel contrite? Yes, I did, because at the end of the day, I could’ve prevented Gareth’s death. However, the reason for me deci
ding to wave the white flag after so long, was more a result of what Jessica had said during our last session about not letting the guilt ‘eat me alive’. It helped me realise that for Brayden and Alexis’ sake, I needed to ask for my own forgiveness. Jessica had said that if I couldn’t find it within myself to see that I was not at fault in the first place, then I had to apologise and make amends for what blame I felt I had. And the first step in doing that was to visit Gareth’s grave and say sorry.
Hearing my phone ring through the Bluetooth of my Lamborghini, I take note of Lucy’s name on the LCD panel on my dashboard.
“How’s my favourite sister?” I answer, going for the buttering-up type of approach.
“You’re only sister is fine. It’s her brother who she is worried about, today of all days.”
Shit! Why was she born with an IQ to rival Einstein?
“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, baby sis. I’m fine.”
“Don’t pull that shit with me. We made a promise to each other a long time ago, remember? Telling each other everything goes both ways, not just when it suits you.”
Inwardly groaning to myself, I click my neck to both sides then fess up. “I’m on my way to the cemetery, Luce. I need to get a few things off my chest...” I pause for the slightest second then continue. “...It was Jessica’s idea, and for once I’m listening to it,” I finish, with not much enthusiasm in my voice.
“Do you want me to meet you there?”
“No, really I’m fine. I just need to get this done so that I can move on and live my life. A life I have waited so long to live unburdened.”
Lucy sighs. “Okay, but if you need me, you know I’m here.”
“I know,” I sigh back.
I’m about to say my goodbyes when her choked voice sounds quietly through my speakers. “I love you. I respect you. I look up to you and only want the best for you.”
Feeling that horrid thump in my chest when I know I have to rein my shit in before I cry like a kid, I take a deep breath and focus on the traffic ahead. “I love you too, Luce. Always.”
* * *
The light spring breeze whispers across my face as I walk the gravel path I have walked many times before. It’s a sombre walk full of sadness, and no matter how many times or how long I have done it, it still leaves me feeling partly empty.
With a bunch of Lillies in my hand, I stop by Mum, Dad and Lauchie’s graves first. This is the first time I have been here since becoming a father and for some reason unbeknown to me, I bear extra emotion.
I lay the Lillies down for my mother and whisper to her headstone, never really understanding why I do it. Deep down, I know I’m talking to a slab of granite.
“Mum, guess what? I have a son and he’s...he’s perfect. His name is Brayden...Brayden Lauchie Clark.”
I look over to my little brother’s resting place, “Did you hear that Lauch? Yeah, he shares your name.”
Taking a small photograph of Brayden out of my pocket, I place it at the base of Mum’s headstone. “You can have this for now. But I promise, I’ll bring him by soon.”
I don’t want to linger too long, because I hate coming here on my own. So I stand back up and take a step closer to Dad’s place of rest. Touching the top of his headstone, I say four words that now hold so much meaning. “I get it now.”
As I’m about to move on to Gareth’s grave, I hear footsteps on the gravel path behind me. They could belong to only one of two people, and as I feel her hand slide into mine, I have no doubt who she is—warmth and a sense of fulfillment now flowing freely though me.
“You should’ve told me,” Alexis whispers into my ear as she rests her head on my shoulder.
I squeeze her hand, knowing that I should’ve confided in her.
“It’s okay, though,” she continues. “I understand you need to do certain things on your own. But I want you to know, you are never alone. I’ll wait for you over there until you’re finished, okay?”
I nod and she releases my hand before kissing me softly. She then bends down and places a new book on Lauchie’s grave. I notice its title: Tomorrow, When the War Began and smile—unbeknown to her, it was one of his favourites.
While Alexis stands patiently by an Elm tree, I say the few words to Gareth I’d planned on saying. “I let you down, Mate, and for that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you were the one in the car with Mum, Dad and Lauchie all those years ago. I’m sorry that you were the one to hold Lauchie in your arms while his life slipped away from him. I’m sorry that you never got to live the life you deserved. And I’m sorry you died because of me.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I will the tears not to fall. I refuse to let them fall, I don’t deserve to cry. “Gareth, I’m sorry, but I’m a father now, and my son deserves a dad who knows how to accept responsibility for his own actions yet also forgive himself and move on with his life. I hope you can forgive me too.”
I wait for a minute and turn around to find Alexis push off from the tree and start walking toward me. She’s wearing a long flowing pale pink dress with a cream scarf tied around her neck. Her hair is twisted back and held together with a clip. As she closes the gap between us, a gust of wind sweeps her dress and scarf to the side, taking what breath I have along with it. She is just beyond beautiful.
“Are you ready?” she asks, holding both my hands in front of us.
I think about the simple question she just asked but interpret it in a different way. Yes, I am ready. I’m ready to live the rest of my life with the woman that I love.
͠ PART TWO ͠
Thief of my heart
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Since becoming a father I have felt many wonderful things: awe, pride, satisfaction; the ability to take on the entire world and those who are in it. Unfortunately, the wonderful joys of fatherhood seem to go hand in hand with the not so wonderful joys, such as: confusion, panic, and complete exhaustion—all at the hands of one tiny little human being.
Today, my baby boy turns one. Yes, one; as in 365 days old, those days being the best in my life. It feels as if it were only yesterday that I heard his cry, touched his face, looked into his eyes and held him, all for the first time. I just can’t believe how quickly this past year has flown by.
Since that miraculous day, I have experienced so much more of what life has to offer. I’ve experienced hearing the words ‘dad dad’ spoken in such rapid succession that no matter how many times Brayden said it, it still took me several seconds to register that he was, in fact, referring to me as his dad for the first time. I’ve experienced severe sleep deprivation, sex deprivation, and that scarcity of pure silence. I also now know what it feels like to freak the fuck out, and I mean really freak out.
When Brayden was ten months old, he somehow managed to get a pea stuck up his nose while he was eating his dinner. And do you think for the life of me that I was able to get it out...not a chance in hell.
I remember trying to dislodge it with my fingernail, which was inevitably a failure due to his nostril being too bloody small and my finger resembling one that belonged to a giant. So there I was, completely stressed out, panicked, and with my phone in my hand ready to dial 000 when in walked Alexis; calm and composed.
‘What’s wrong?’ she’d asked, obviously sensing from the petrified look on my face that something was clearly out of the ordinary.
Not wanting to waste any more precious time, I’d explained...‘Bray has a pea stuck up his nose. I’m calling an ambulance.’
She’d then rolled her eyes, took one look at Brayden and, I shit you not, smiled at him. I had started to voice my concern that perhaps it was not the time for smiling, when she gently pinched his other nostril and blew in his mouth, sending the pea flying out onto the bench top. Alexis then scooped it up, placed it in my hand and picked up Brayden, walking off with him jiggling on her hip and saying ‘silly dadda’. Let’s just say I stood there for God knows how long, looking incredulously at the pea that was now in my hand.
Another freak-out moment was only the other day when I was cooking dinner. Brayden was playing by my feet banging on the pots and pans I had given him together with a wooden spoon. One minute he was there and the next he wasn’t. I swear the kid has a hidden turbo button which allows him to crawl at high speeds when you turn your head for the smallest of seconds. Needless to say, I found him moments later in the walk-in pantry playing with the potatoes.
Despite the fact Brayden knows how to stop my heart from beating several times a day, and that I’m sure he is the reason for a few new grey hairs on my head, I wouldn’t trade becoming a father for anything. A life I once thought was condemned by the wrong decision is now a life I will do anything to protect.
* * *
With Brayden sitting comfortably on my hipbone, I stand in the middle of his bedroom, pointing out different stars and planets from the painted mural on his ceiling and walls. “What’s that?” I ask with over enthusiasm, which just happens to be the universal speak-to-your-child tone of voice.
He smiles and replies with “Star” while simultaneously clapping his hands because he knows he’s already correct.
“Good boy,” I praise him, holding out my fist for him to bump. He playfully obliges but misses my hand entirely, inevitably punching me in the chest. “And what’s that?” I ask again, pointing to the moon.
“Star,” he repeats, again clapping himself cheerily. Everything that is painted on the walls around us, to Brayden, is a star.
Not wanting my son to start his astronomy education with the wrong information, I correct him as per usual. “No, Bray. That’s the moooooon,” I say, practically mooing like a friggin’ cow.
He giggles at my stupidness and watches my lips intently as I sound the word. His concentration level amazes me, together with just how much information he absorbs at such a young age. Brayden—just like his older siblings—is shaping up to be another little human sponge.
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