by Eden Fortae
If you’re reading this, the Lord has called me home before bestowing the courage upon me to speak the truth. That being my identity as your biological father. As you’ve matured, I saw myself in you and hoped you’d see me in yourself and ask the questions that would undoubtedly make this conversation happen. At the same time, I was thankful you didn’t. Asking Sandra to take you in did irreversible damage to my marriage. She never looked at me the same, but I still loved her. I learned that as long as you weren’t the topic of discussion, we were okay. To atone for my sins, I put more focus on the woman I took vows before God with and the children born of our union, but I still saw you. I watched you from a distance as you learned to crawl and cheered in silence when you began to walk. Little did I know that sooner than later, I’d be watching you run away from me.
The shame that I’ve felt for letting you down and not being the father you needed has haunted me. I have not asked God for forgiveness and accepted my failing heart as vengeance. He makes no mistakes, yet I allowed my wife to regard you as such.
What I’m gifting you will never make up for what I should have been for you. Your protector. Your defender. Your proud father. I ask that you try to forgive me. As I said, God makes no mistakes. You were born for a reason. Do not let your rightful anger for me block your blessings. I’ve held you back long enough.
It would be fair for you to think of me as a coward. With you, I have been. You cried to me far more than you should have, and I never gave you the comfort or encouragement that little girls need from their fathers. When you were old enough to understand me, I should have told you the words I whispered to you every night of your infancy.
Rosalie Masterson. I met her while Sam and I were visiting Los Angeles. She stayed in Brooklyn until shortly after your birth. I suspect she returned to California. Sam has your original birth certificate and everything you might want.
1 Peter 2:24 He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.
I love you, daughter.
The letter fell to her feet as Eden dropped her face into her hands. Hearing her sob, Donny consoled her like he always did. She couldn’t accept it. The pain was too great. It consumed her as she pried his clothes from him and took what she needed. After an orgasm on both ends, Eden rolled onto her side and cried. The pain hadn’t gone away. It hurt even more.
THIRTY
Each night that Eden closed her eyes, she prayed for peace. Every day that she awakened to the same feeling of dread was another day she couldn’t get out of bed. All she wanted was to feel like her old self again. To smile and mean it. To not envy everyone who could. To not feel so hopeless. Donny was trying to love her through it. His kisses and words of encouragement were evidence of an eagerness for her to return to normal. Meanwhile, he drew her baths, fed her, and tended to every need as if it didn’t weigh on him.
The darkness controlling her thoughts forced Eden to look at him that morning. As he got ready to go into the office, she took in the stress and strain withering his handsome face. Tired was an understatement. He looked drained. Just as her father had the last time, she’d seen him alive. The darkness removed her father from that casket and put Donny in it, her name listed as the cause of death.
“Donovan?”
“Yes, Hermosa?” He didn’t look up. His attention was on his belt and holster.
“Are you ok?”
He looked up, this time with his brows drawn inward, “I’m good. Why do you ask?”
She swallowed visibly, bringing her knees to her chest. “What’s the difference between being loved and being a burden?”
He frowned more and almost looked pissed, “Where is this question coming from?”
“You stopped hanging with your friends, and before today, you haven’t gone to the office in a while. You’ve altered your entire life to accommodate me. What’s the difference between being loved and being a burden?”
His annoyance displayed itself through the yanking of his belt and the way he turned his back to her while he sat down and put on his shoes.
“I’m going home for a few days, Donovan. Your life shouldn’t be on hold because of me.”
“I never said you were a burden, Eden.” No, he didn’t. He’d never say that. He was too good of a man. “My friends know you need me. The office has been fine. Any other changes were made because I wanted to. You’re not a responsibility that happened to fall into my lap, and I have no choice but to deal with. That’s the difference.”
The urge to cry was always a blink away. Instead of hearing what he said, the darkness latched onto how he said it. There was a slight edge in his tone, and his back was still to her. The kiss he planted on her cheek felt off. Forced. Maybe it was all in her mind. Perhaps she was misreading things.
“I’ll see you when I get home.”
To save him, she wouldn’t be there. For them, she was going home to try to work through it on her own.
Things always got worse before they got better. Eden’s brief smiles and small conversation were a positive sign. Then she read the letter from her father and went back to sleeping most of the day and ignoring calls. Torn between selling his soul to make her feel better and letting her go through the motions, Donny’s moods were up and down.
“What’s the difference between being loved and being a burden?”
That question pissed him off and ultimately led to his short temper. He noticed his staff tiptoeing around him. During the meeting, they exchanged looks and hesitated to ask questions. No one stuck around to laugh and talk. They couldn’t wait to get out of his space, and it showed.
Their assignment was clear. They were providing security for a celebrity-hosted charity dinner. That required a refresher of the rules, regulations, and review of the building’s layout. He didn’t plan on staying for the practice run. It was best for the health of his company’s environment. Once he assigned their posts, his chief of staff, Paula, could manage the rest.
While the woman he charged with overseeing the upcoming event did her walk-through, Donny headed out. Still too unsettled to go home, he pulled up the group text.
Party at Tony’s.
He didn’t wait for anyone to respond. He texted Eden his destination and drove there deep in thought.
After Donny filled them in without exposing Eden’s deepest secrets, the others were quiet. Too quiet. Antonio was more pissed. Chris appeared to be appalled. Jay, emotionless but the first to speak.
“This is a fucked up situation.”
“I know. That’s why it’s been so important for me to be there. She’s been dealing with this on her own for so long it’s almost as if she doesn’t trust me to stick it out or expects me to abandon her.”
“I’m not saying you should walk. You need to understand, though, that you’ll never undo years of mental abuse by waiting on her hand and foot.”
“You sound like her,” Donny replied bitterly. “I’m not trying to undo it by taking care of her. I’m trying to show her she’s not alone anymore. This morning she asked me if I was ok then the difference between being loved and a burden. I got so mad it took everything in me not to snap. It’s like she’s looking for any reason to push me away.”
Amara pulled herself up with a grip on Donny’s jeans. She grinned at him, earning herself another chip despite her mother’s threat when they arrived. Everyone, including her father, took turns supplying her each time she came their way. Donny used her for a quick smile and laughed at himself when he thought of her and Eden’s correlation. All they had to do was smile, and he’d give them whatever they wanted.
“She lived her entire life with her biological father, thinking she was adopted because it was better for him to appear like a saint rather than an adulterous, hypocritical piece of shit. She wasn’t treated like a daughter or a sister, but an inconvenience. Can you not see why she’d ask?”
Antonio had a point. Donny shook his h
ead, bringing his beer to his lips. Broken down like that, it made sense but didn’t. She wasn’t a blip in his life. She made it worth living.
“Nah. That isn’t me. I don’t tolerate Eden. I live and breathe her. That’s the fucking difference.”
“And that’s what you should’ve said. Women are deeper than us. You can tell her you’d lay down and die for her, but if your tone says otherwise, they’re going to read between the lines.” Antonio scooped Amara off the floor. He plucked soggy pieces of potato chips off her onesie to hide the evidence just in case Kya came down. When he wouldn’t give them to her, she stretched out and started crying. Antonio ended up giving her another chip to stop the tears. Jermaine laughed.
“These girls know exactly how to run you clowns.”
Chris smirked, “We’ll see if you’re saying that after Julie wraps you around her finger.”
Antonio frowned, looking between them. Karrina had everyone on the Jay and Julie ship but him.
“Relax, killer. It’s not like that.”
“No?” Chris grinned, “I’ll be sure to ask Anthony.”
There was a ghost of a smile before Jermaine pulled out his phone, “That’s my little homie. Ask him.”
While they joked with each other to piss Antonio off, Donny called Eden. He hoped she would turn her phone on when he left. Apparently, he wasn’t the exception. As he ended the call, a text notification popped up and caught his eye. The words, “Isn’t this your girl,” had him holding his breath. Following the text link, he barely had the chance to take in the title and first few sentences before another text followed. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, it did.
The odd glares were getting on her nerves. Small glances from one of the trainers turned into blatant gawking. When Eden walked in, the smoothie girl stopped her conversation. She didn’t speak or wave. The look on her face was indescribable—a smirk mixed with something else.
Eden shrugged it off. The point of being there was to try to regain control of her mind. Her apartment was too quiet. When she got there, she found nothing but room to sulk and think negatively. Donny deserved to return from work without having to take care of her. He deserved to be taken care of. He deserved better. He wanted her to show him she loved him. She saw no other way than to give him space.
Changing for the second time in one day and making it to the gym was a small victory worthy of pride. For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope—remembrance of contentment and motivation to try harder.
Ten minutes with the punching bag was another baby step. She’d forgotten how therapeutic it was until she passed her goal. Twenty minutes turned into thirty. Thirty turned into forty. At the hour mark, she sat down, intending to rest and go again but overheard her name and couldn’t take it anymore. She let her attitude show as she pushed up and stormed toward the lockers. While grabbing her things, the smoothie girl approached from the left. Behind her, the small group of women gathered just inside the door like a bunch of instigators waiting for a fight.
“Hey.” Since the girl hadn’t spoken to her when she entered the gym, it was only fair to return the favor. Blonde braids licked at Eden’s arm as the girl glanced over her shoulder to her audience. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You could have done that an hour ago.”
The girl bit her lip then held up her phone. “This is you, isn’t it?”
Eden barely looked but recognized the picture from her interview with Maxine. “Yes.” She rolled her eyes, stuffing her towel into her bag.
“So you, like, were you really molested by Reverend Kenneth Meyer, or is this fake?” The girl put the phone in Eden’s face again. Shook by the question, Eden froze. Surely, she heard her wrong. It was all in her mind. The bright screen mere inches from her face, she swatted it, nearly knocking the device from the girl’s hand, without an answer. Eden rushed out of there so quickly, and so out of it, she went the opposite direction of her apartment. Eden stopped at the first corner she encountered, beneath the awning of an old antique shop. Digging through her bag, she found her phone.
Within seconds of being powered on, social media notifications were popping up. She noticed the texts and voicemail notifications. Her heart was in her throat long before she followed the tag to a broken blog link. Whatever it was, it no longer existed. The other tag went to an Instagram page with screenshots of an article and copies of the seven-year-old police report watermarked by a notorious gossip blogger. The caption, “Dirty Laun-gerie,” the subtitle mentioning the clinic in Atlanta sent her heart stomach to her feet.
She dropped her phone, finding it hard to breathe, teary eyes blurring everything. It vibrated against the pavement, rang with a name blurred by more tears. Eden picked up the device, attempted to call Donny, but shut it off while aimlessly walking. In her mind, everyone she passed knew. They were leering. Judging. Blaming her.
Like a child lost in a sea of people, she couldn’t find her way. She wandered with her head hung low, drawing attention to herself every time she took in a deep breath to stop the crying. Tires screeched. Someone pressed down on their car horn. Headlights heated her legs. People were staring.
The person pulling her from the street forced her head to their shoulder.
“I saved you again. Time to thank me.”
That voice.
Eden tried to scream, and he immediately covered her mouth.
“Shh. It’ll be ok.” He said more for the people they passed.
She bit at his hand, pushed, pulled, and tried to get away, but his grip was too firm, giving off the appearance that he was trying to console her. As they moved toward an alley, she allowed her body to go limp. The deadweight made it harder for him to walk naturally. To get her where he wanted, he’d have to let go of her mouth and carry her. Instead, he dragged her.
Eden stomped at his feet and bit at his fingers. Anything to gain the upper hand. The elbow to the groin did the trick. Kenneth dropped her but not before swinging her toward his car. Her forehead connected with the bumper just above her right eyebrow. Black spots danced along her escape route. Then the view fading completely.
Small dots of orange and red lights peppered the darkness. They were at a strange angle, going in and out of focus. Dull sounds of traffic increased as the images cleared. A shadow blocked her view, standing in front of the broken window. With a foot on either side of her, the image cleared slightly. As she tried to lift her head, pain shot down her neck like a lightning strike.
“Took you long enough. “Kenneth pressed his foot into her chest to keep her down. A glass bottle dangled from his fingers, the lights from outside beaming down on him. He looked disheveled. The hair on his face, unkempt. In place of his expensive suit, a dark t-shirt, and dark sweatpants. He seemed unsteady on his feet, swaying as he pushed her into the floor.
“Funny, I had so much I wanted to say to you. Now that you’re finally awake, I don’t think there’s anything I could say that would be news to you. Except what’s being said on the internet. You’ve been out of it for a little while so let me brief you: You’re a liar, a whore, and a baby killer.” He chuckled, pressing the bottle to his lips. “You released that garbage to destroy me, and they don’t believe you. The police didn’t buy it, but you thought strangers would? Why? Because they like your skanky underwear?”
He paused to take a swig, giving Eden the chance to take in the scene behind him. They were in her father’s old church. The high windows were still boarded up, but those ground-level windows were broken out.
“I didn’t.” she whispered, “Why would I leak that?”
He chuckled, taking another drink, “Same reason you told my wife and Sam’s entire office about your abortion and that you’d never want me as a husband. That’s funny, too, actually. You were happy when you thought we’d be a family.”
“Help! Somebody help me!” As loud as she could, Eden screamed, the echo hurting her ears.
Kenneth jumped, looking around again, then tip
ped the bottle over her face. She choked on it. Instinctively tried to roll onto her side to clear her airway. It felt raw from her screams, her lungs burning from vodka going down her throat. He pushed his foot into her harder, using the weight of his body.
“Here’s the deal. You need to recant. I don’t care how. Tell them the police report is a fake, I never touched you, and you don’t know who you were pregnant by. Then you go back to wherever you came from and stay there. If you don’t, the media that’s become so invested in you will mysteriously come across a copy of the notes I kept. It’s filled with dated details, including how desperate you were for attention, the constant comparisons to your sisters, and symptoms of a personality disorder. The public thinks you’re a liar now. Wait until they read about your misreading of social cues leading to compulsive sexual behavior and promiscuity. They’ll turn on you faster than your little boyfriend can discard you. Thanks to Daryl and his P.I friend, I have recent pictures to prove your hypersexuality.”
She tried to scream again, the sound barely reached him, but it was enough to make Kenneth look around then down at Eden with a smirk.
“First, you need to apologize and tell me you love me.”
Eden leaned up as much as his foot would allow and spit at him. It barely reached his knee, but the intent was evident.
Kenneth pressed his foot deeper into her chest, and he leaned down cocking his head to the side.
She whispered hesitantly, her throat still burning, “I’m sorry. I—I—”
“Show me. The way I taught you.” He grinned, removing his foot. With a handful of her hair, he forced Eden onto her stomach. She felt around in the dark for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing: only dust, dirt, and a worn carpet.
At the feel of his body on her, Eden zoned out. By the time it was over, she could barely form a cohesive thought. Shattered mentally and hurting physically, she laid there as he stood and pulled his pants up.