Stained

Chapter 147

To my horror and from the sound of it, Sarah's delight, it seems her dick appointment didn't cancel on her after all...

She screams with pleasure. I gasp, horrified, and beside me, Hannah's jaw falls to the ground. I did not want to know what Sarah's moans sounded like. I mean, good for her, but how will I ever look her in the eyes ever again without remembering this exact moment.

Panic caused by my PTSD unexpectedly and suddenly floods over me like a tsunami.

Oh no. Please no! Not now! Not this! Anything but this. How do I explain this to Sarah and Hannah? No! I can't tell them about this. I was- am too ashamed to admit this to anyone. I'm quick to put my shoes back on and get out of here.

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS IS MINE AND MY MOTHER'S TRAUMA, SO PLEASE KEEP YOUR HORRIBLE AND HEARTLESS COMMENTS TO YOURSELF

This I can't ever tell anyone. It's too embarrassing. Too messed up. No one needs to know that when I was four years old, my semen donor had a mistress whom he... whom he had intercourse with in the same room as my mum and me after she had a scary miscarriage and couldn't be left on her own.

The lights were closed, the room enveloped in darkness, the only little light coming from the moon. We had separate beds. They were pretty far apart. But not enough, it seems, because the sounds... they're engraved into my mind.

I was a kid. I didn't understand what was going on. My mum was crying, and I laid beside her, wiping her tears away. I was an only child, so I was attached to her hip and always slept beside her.

All I knew was that the sibling everyone was gushing about arriving soon, the one I was also extremely excited for — because my dad hardly let me play with my street friends — wasn't coming anymore, and because of it, she was sick; that's why she had to have these strange bottles connected to her arm and possibly the reason why she was crying.

But I think I knew. I was sensible enough — or made sensible in whatever way a kid can become from the circumstances of our abnormal situation to know I should stay silent. Was sensible enough to figure out that the sounds, along with my mothers crying and the timing, meant my possible sibling wasn't the only source of my mother's tears.

After we left him, I became a curious little kid known to be the biggest chatterbox imaginable and questioned everyone on anything and everything. But for the first four years of my life, I unintentionally kept that side of me locked away in a box.

But I suppose in that moment, it was a good thing I wasn't like that and didn't question my mum about it because what if they heard me and didn't stop. That would have hurt her more. Or maybe they would have stopped. But then again, we were in the same room as them; they should have had the common sense not to do it in the first place because they clearly didn't have a heart to be with each other when he was still married to my mum. Who, despite it, was still terribly in love with him.

She tells me they thought we were asleep, but her body was shaking with her barely muffled sobs, and I'd woken up not only from the sound of her crying but their...

You'd think I was too young to remember it once I grew up because my mum cried over him, often, before and after we left, but that memory is as vivid as ever. Still is, and now I'm eighteen.

I feel like the more I got older, the more clearer it became in my head. Mainly because my understanding of intimacy grew with my age like it naturally does for everyone.