Part 13
"Your dad?" I repeated, staring wide-eyed at Paul. I tried not to think of the worst possible thing he could be talking about - I couldn't bear the thought, let alone having my fears confirmed.
Paul nodded, gnawing on his index nail. "Yeah."
"What...when?"
Paul inhaled deeply and rested his head against the passenger seat, staring up at the roof as the memories came flooding back to him. I could sense that the recollection of these memories was painful, as shown by the expression on Paul's face.
"I was born into a good family. My mother, my father, my siblings and I all got along wonderfully in preschool through to fourth grade. In a way I was my parents' 'favourite' - I would do almost anything to make them proud of me. I got excellent grades at school, behaved like a little angel and never gave them any grief.
But as soon as I hit fifth grade, things changed. I knew I was Dad's favourite, but little did I know how much he really favoured me. It started out subtle - extra kisses and cuddles when I left to catch the bus for school, lavishing gifts on me, spending much more time with me than he ever used to. At the time I thought it was great, having a dad that loved me this much."
A small smile appeared on his face, only to vanish a short moment later. "One night Mum went on a Girls' Night Out and my siblings were having sleepovers at their friends' places. I was playing in my room when Dad came in."
Daddy sat on the edge of the bed and watched his son play happily on the floor with his toys, smiling to himself as the little boy giggled delightedly. In some ways he couldn't believe that he would produce something so beautiful. It made his heart swell with pride. He knew he shouldn't really be favouring any of his children, but Paul was special. Very special.
Paul turned to him, holding up a yellow-and-red truck. "Would you like to play with Bobby?" he asked in the sweet voice that Daddy never grew tired of hearing. Paul referred to his toys by named he had christened them with upon recieving them. Bobby was a truck he'd had since he could walk, and he cherished it dearly.
Daddy shook his head, still smiling. "No, thank you...I'd like to play another game, though."
"What kind of game?" Paul asked.
Daddy patted the bed beside him, and Paul sat obediently, his legs crossed and his tiny hand slipped into Daddy's larger one. Daddy glanced out of the window and to the door to see if anyone was approaching the house. When the coast was clear, he raised Paul's hand and gently kissed the palm.
"This is a very, very special game," he explained, stroking his son's hair. "Only you and I can play it."
"Why only you and I?" Paul asked innocently.
"Because it's a secret game," Daddy whispered into his son's ear, tickling him. Paul squealed and wriggled around. Daddy stopped and became serious again. "It's secret. Just for you and Daddy. Nobody else can ever know about this game. Daddy will be very cranky if you tell anyone. Do you want to make me cranky?" Paul shook his head. "Can you promise me that you won't tell anyone about our little game, Paul?"
Paul nodded, expressing keen interest in learning about this 'secret game'. "How do we play?"
Looking adoringly down at his son, he scooped him up on his arms and placed him upon his knee with one arm winding around his tiny waist.
"I'm the leader," Daddy said. "You have to do everything that I tell you to do. If you do that, then at the end of the game you'll get a big prize. Okay?"
Paul smiled and nestled his head into Daddy's neck. He really loved his dad. His mummy too, but she didn't spend as much time with him as Daddy did. Daddy was his best friend, and he trusted him completely.
But he knew something about this secret game wasn't right when Daddy slid his hand between his thighs.
"Oh my God..." I mouthed, feeling my body go completely numb at the story unfolding. How could his own father, who was supposed to love him, do something so horrible? "Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you tell anyone what he was doing?"
Paul shrugged, feeling foolish. "I knew he was being bad, but I still loved him and thought this is what all daddies did with their children. That's what he told me, actually. When we were playing his little game I asked him whether what he was doing was right. He told me to trust him, and I did. I felt uncomfortable but was too scared to say anything, because all my life up until then, i'd been Daddy's little angel and never wanted to make him angry with me.
This kept going for a year. It got to the point where I would plead with Mum not to go out at nights because I knew Dad would want to play his secret game with me. I didn't tell her why. She never thought Dad could do something like this. She brushed it off and thought I was going through that 'clingy stage', though that particular stage had come and gone years before. She went out, i'd retreat to my room...and Dad would come in a little while later wanting to play."
Paul felt tears brewing in his eyes, and he took a deep breath and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. "Jesus, I need to compose myself here. Anyway, after about a year the game got worse. Dad started becoming very demanding and he asked me to do things I couldn't even dream of doing. When I disobeyed him, he would hit me. Hard. If I cried, he hit me again, and again and again until either I shut up or couldn't feel any more pain. Mum and Dad were starting to have frequent fights at this stage, but Mum still had no idea of what was going on.
This continued even while I was starting ninth grade. By then I was doing Sex Education classes - they were compulsory - and during one particular lesson the teacher was telling us about sexual abuse. The moment she described what this meant, I felt myself freeze. Everyone else was sitting calmly while I was shaking from head to toe. I realised that my fears were true - what Dad had been doing all these years WAS bad. I wanted to tell somebody but I remembered Dad's words. 'Nobody else can ever know about this game. Daddy will be very cranky if you tell anyone. Do you want to make me cranky? Can you promise me that you won't tell anyone about our little game, Paul?' But I wanted him to stop, I didn't want to play anymore. He wouldn't listen, of course, and the violence grew worse over time. After one Sex Ed class, I approached the teacher and told her what was happening. She wanted to call the police right away, but I stopped her just as she was picking up the phone. I didn't want Dad to find out that i'd told someone about the game. She made me promise that i'd make Dad stop on my own, and if it didn't work, I could come to her and she would put a stop to it using higher powers.
By then I was discovering my sexuality as well, and had started experimenting with a couple of boys in my circle of friends. I felt a little awkward at first but then I gradually become comfortable with it. But one afternoon, I invited one of these friends to my house. We were in my room, just kissing, when Dad came home. He walked into my room and when he saw us, he started bellowing at me and ordered my friend out of the house. He told me I was bad for doing what I had, and I retaliated by telling him exactly what i'd wanted to say since fifth grade, when this all started. I even told him that i'd told my Sex Ed teacher about his game. When I finished, he didn't stop and consider my words - he threw me to the ground and beat me senseless, yelling incoherently. Almost five minutes passed until he grew tired and stood back. He spat down at me and told me that I didn't deserve to stand upright again. He said I was a slut; I would always be a slut."
Paul turned his head into the passenger seat, shaking his head slowly. "Mum found out what he was doing and got a divorce immediately. She took me and my siblings with her. You can't imagine the relief I felt at finally being away from my dad, stopping this game he'd been playing with me. He's tried to contact me since then, but i've barely exchanged words with him, let alone seen him again. He says he's sorry, but i'll never forgive him.
Since we parted ways, i've grown to expect that every relationship I enter will be a violent one. I've learnt to defend myself, but there are some people that I just can't fight against. These are the people that reminded me of Dad. I saw his face each time I looked at them, each time they advanced towards me with their fists. In a way i'll never be completely rid of him, because he's lived on in the people I thought I loved. I suppose i'll spend the rest of my life going in and out of these sorts of relationships. I always seem to attract them."
He looked at his hands again, and a lone tear spilled down his cheek. "I've lived up to Dad's accusations, too. I am a slut."
Still in shock from what Paul had confessed to me, I shakily raised my arms and tenderly cupped his face in my hands. "No, don't say that, Paul."
"I am!" he insisted. "That's what I always have and always will be. I can't change it. It seems like I think all of life's problems can be solved with a simple one-night stand, with meaningless pleasure. I know it can't, but I don't stop doing it." He choked back a sob. "And I hate myself for it. I hate myself more than I hate Dad."
I shuffled over and began to cradle him in my arms, soothingly rubbing his back as he trembled and sobbed. I wished I could do something more for Paul than just be his shoulder to cry on. I wanted to take away his pain and make everything better again. But how could I do that when there was so much pain? I was powerless, and I felt bad. His tears stained my shirt and I felt as though his tears were cathartic. Lord knows how many years he'd kept this troubles bottled up inside him, and now they were finally being released. How many other people had he told? Not many, I assumed.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird," Paul began singing softly, his voice quivering. "And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."
We sat in the car for what seemed like an eternity as I gently rocked him in my arms, giving him as much comfort as I could. The poor darling. He'd had to go through so much pain in his life ever since he was a child. No-one should have to suffer like this. And to be abused and betrayed by a member of his own family, someone who was meant to love, protect and cherish him, was possibly the most awful thing anyone could do.
After a while he leant back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Shit, i'm sorry, Rich," he sniffed. "I shouldn't have unloaded all of that onto you."
"No, no, it's okay," I assured him, brushing stray hair away from his red and tear-stained face. "Thank you for trusting me with your secret. I know it must be so difficult for you to trust anyone."
"I trust you," he whispered.
As I pulled him closer for another comforting hug, Paul's mobile phone rang.
Part 14