From a young age his parents had not taken care of him the way they ought to have. He'd spent most of his childhood being the caretaker of his younger sister and mother.
His father had beat on his mother. Their father never touched either him or his sister, but that just guaranteed the marks weren't physical. He'd berated them frequently. Nothing would have ever been good enough for him.
No one ever did figure out why he wanted kids. He had indeed wanted children, but he hated imperfections. What's more imperfect than children? He was never for rearing, only for criticism.
His mother had loved him, but she hadn't been emotionally mature enough to handle minute tasks, much less take care of children. The abuse didn't help.
She hadn't been capable, and he'd never hated her for it. Sometimes he wanted to, but he never could bring himself to.
She had spent most of her days curled up in the bedsheets staring at the wall. Sometimes he would come read to her, but her faraway look wouldn't change. He'd have to help her bathe, brush her teeth, eat, drink, and after their father hit her he'd always take care of the wounds.
His sister was born when he was 10. She wasn't planned, at least by his mother. He'd been outside their door with it cracked open when it happened, as he spent many nights to discretely watch over his mother.
It had been a particularly hard day for her. His father had climbed into bed and started kissing her.
Lightly pushing him off she'd softy said, "Not tonight."
He began screaming. "You never want me to touch you! I can't even touch my own damn wife? This is unacceptable. You don't give me anything. Are you sleeping with someone else, you fucking whore?"
She was quietly sobbing, "No, no you know I wouldn't do that."
He didn't stop screaming. "You're my fucking wife! You don't do anything around this goddamn house. It's filthy! You don't raise your son! He's worthless, weak! I didn't want a weak son! He's soft like you!"
She had just sat there, choking on her sobs and shaking her head.
Suddenly his hand was on her throat, slamming her onto the bed.
"Please! Don't! I'm sorry!" she'd wailed, but he didn't care.
He'd pulled up her nightgown and started thrusting in and out of her.
After about a minute, his mother had fallen silent. No more crying, no more wailing, just silence. As he watched what was happening to his mother, a single tear ran down his cheek.
His father kept grunting as he roughly shoved himself in and jerked out, occasionally saying a few words: "Stupid bitch.." "Useless.." "Can't tell me what to do in my house.."
A loud moan came from his lips as he finished in her and flopped to the side. "You're my wife, and you'll do what I say. Is that clear?"
Silence.
He sat up and slapped her. His voice felt like it shook the house. "Is that clear!"
"Yes," she'd whispered.
He spit on her. "Address me as sir. I deserve more respect in this house."
"Yes sir." Her voice was almost inaudible.
After his father had gone to bed, so had he. Laying in bed he let a few more tears slip from his eyes.
His mother had spent the next several days refusing to eat or drink anything. She barely even slept, and when she did, she'd wake up with a blood curdling scream.
After a month, his father had forced her to take a pregnancy test. She was in fact pregnant with his little sister.
After she'd given birth it was almost like she'd given up. He'd watched his mother somehow be worse than she'd ever been.
He could tell from day one how much she despised her new daughter. She refused to hold it, much less feed it.
He resorted to stealing formula from grocery stores. He was determined to take care of the new baby, and he had.
His mother died several years later. They said it was from malnutrition, but he knew it was the sorrow she held in her heart.
Once he had turned 18, his father promptly kicked him out of the house. After he was out, his father moved somewhere, taking his sister along. He'd never seen either of them since.
Maybe they were both dead, he'd never have any idea. He always did wonder what happened to that little girl he so vigilantly took care of for years. He wasn't even sure she'd remember him. She was only 8 the last time they'd seen each other after all.
No matter the case, he'd couch surfed for a couple years after that, friends, friends of friends, strangers even. If they'd allow him to stay for a couple of nights, he'd do it.
Someone eventually got him a job where he worked now, and he'd saved up enough for an apartment.
After so many years, he was truly free. No one knew about his past. No one needed to know. He preferred it that way. He tried to pretend it didn't exist himself.
Love was such a foreign concept in his life. He'd only met a few people he truly loved, but he'd never been enough for them. In his entire life, he'd never truly been enough for anyone.
He loved people so deeply. He took care of them. It's what he was made to do. He would do anything for the people he loved. He almost never asked for anything in return.
Somehow it still wasn't enough. He never understood why. He just wanted to take care of them, help them. All he wanted in return was time with them and them to be loyal. Normally, one of the two was lacking.
That's why when he'd met her, Darla, he could tell immediately this time was different. She was different. Loving her was safe. She needed someone to take care of her, and he was more than willing.
She was his soulmate, his one in a million, his everything. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she would be his end and beginning.
This was the one. He was in love, and it was only a matter of time until he told her. It would take time, but she'd realize he was the one for her.
He decided that the very second his foot had left her doorway, and look how much progress he'd made?
Building a life with her was going to be amazing.
Now, as he got off work, he laid roses on her doorstep. He'd picked each one out individually at a flower shop earlier in the day. It cost more that way, but wasn't she worth it?
He didn't want to be there when she got home. It would ruin the surprise of giving her roses.
He chuckled giddily to himself as he drove away. Maybe the roses would brighten her day. He knew she needed it.
God did he love her.
YOU ARE READING
I'll do anything
Mystery / Thriller"He's finally found the woman he loves. She's everything he's ever wanted. The problem is, he can't seem to be himself with her. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't be himself. When he finds out she has a stalker, he's determined to protect h...
