The Stolen Bride

Matthew's Confession

Dear Diary, it's October 16th, but I am writing about the 14th. My head has been spinning more and more since I got here. I have been feeling groggy and suffering memory loss. I remember one thing that happened, diary, after I hid you.

Michael left.

I remember crying as I sat down. I don't remember why I was crying, but I remember Peter and that idiot Joe came into the room. Joe's playmate Anna told me maybe I shouldn't cry so loud, but I couldn't help it.

I kept disappointing Michael. I didn't know the rules, and it showed. The more Michael punished me, the more I was losing my life. I now had to earn back three days or four, counting the earlier punishment. I didn't know how I was going to do it.

Peter turned to me and said, "You are a giant fuck up, you know that, don't you? If I were you, I hush up the crying. Michael hates that. Just sit silently on the bed."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"You can call me Pete or Peter."

"Yes, sir... I mean Peter."

"Matthew, I have a question."

I stared at Peter as he sat in a chair that was positioned by the door. "Yes, Peter?"

Peter opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, then reopened his mouth. "Matthew, what I am about to ask, I need you to answer truthfully. Before I ask, I want you to know I just want to help you. Your answer will help me help you make life easier for you, so please tell me, Matthew, who do you think Michael is ?"

Diary, I couldn't believe what he just asked me. I think he's Michael, of course. So I said, "What do you mean?"

Peter looked at Joe as if they shared some kind of secret. Then Peter turned back to me. "You don't remember, do you? What happened in here tonight?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Peter. My head is a bit fuzzy."

"You, um, you attacked Michael. You keep calling him daddy Michael, who does he remind you of."

I attacked Michael? Diary. I couldn't believe it. It happened again, Diary. I can't keep letting this happen.

I came to Australia to get this bastard to write me in his will, not to get him to write my name on my tombstone. I turned to Peter, grabbing his shirt. "Please tell Michael I am so sorry this happens to me sometimes. I really didn't mean it."

Peter gently put my hands down. "Answer the question, Matthew. Who does he remind you of? What happened to you before you came to us?"

I grabbed the bridge of my nose and looked away from Peter. Diary, I didn't want to, but I knew I had no choice, not if I wanted to stay alive, so I said, "Michael looks too much like my father."

"Tell us about him, will you, Matthew, and why were you talking about missing military school?"

So I did diary. I told him how the beer Michael drank was my father's favorite. How he drove a car just like Michael's the exact kind, and they even dressed the same. That it surprised me to see Michael was rich because my father wasn't.

He was an alcoholic that became, mean, and beating me was his favorite pastime besides fishing. That I had to be an angel all the time, and how my father believed to spare the rod spoiled the child.

I left out the tattoo that my father has on his forearm in the exact place and the exact tattoo that Michael has because it's none of their damn business.