That Kind of Love - The Legacy Saga Book 2 Short Story

That Kind -

 Chapter 7

I'm trying to think of a time when my father showed me any affection. Sadly, I can't. Not even one.” I sigh, snuggling deeper in Adagio's embrace. Our words are spoken softly and I feel safe and at home in his cozy living room.

“I'm sorry your father deprived you of basic human affection, something that should automatically come with being a parent. What about your mother?”

I think a moment. “There were maybe a few times when I was younger, but not much more. She kind of went along with my father when it came to showing love. I don't think she meant to, but . . .” I mentally search for an excuse but can't find one.

“Your trials have made you stronger.”

“I don't feel strong. Sometimes I feel far from it.”

“You are stronger than you think, angel. And I promise you will get through this.”

Raising my eyes, I try to study his blurred outline, wishing so badly that I could see him, if only for a moment. But then again, a moment would not be enough, and I would most likely be worse off, having been gifted that ability only to have the picture of him taken away. “How do you know I'm strong?” The sensation of his lips pressing against my forehead sends warmth through my whole body.

Instead of answering, he says, “I need to get something. I'll be right back, all right?”

“Okay.”

He returns a moment later. “I would like to read something to you from my grandmother's journal. She had some major trials with her family. She was raised by an alcoholic mother and a father who molested her for years. Her self-medicating turned into a drug and alcohol problem, but she was finally able to change her life. The rest of her family would have nothing to do with her for a long time.”

“Wow! What a painful life. I can't imagine what she went through.”

“My grandmother was a strong woman, which is why I wanted to read this to you.”

“All right.” I turned to him, anxious to know about the woman Adagio was so close to.

In my twenty-two years of life, I have dealt with things no one should have to. Having been raised by an alcoholic mother and an abusive father, my childhood was miserable. From the age of six to twelve years old, when other children were laughing and playing and sharing secrets with their friends, I was a woman-child, barely surviving and telling my secrets to no one. In the afternoons after school when I should have been out playing, I sat in my bedroom, listening to the screams of my mother as my father beat her. And at night while other children were sleeping, I was forced to endure the sickening presence of my father in my room as he defiled me.

One day my mother finally packed our things while my father was at work and we moved from Charlotte back to her hometown of Asheville. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late, because I was permanently scarred. And it didn’t help that every man who entered into our home and lived with my mother thought I was part of the deal.

Throughout my life I felt dirty, cheap, and alone. I had no one to share my painful burdens. Later in life, I made decisions that only added to my misery, bringing even more shame upon me.

There were days and nights of endless partying, each one filled with drugs, alcohol, and sometimes immorality. When I was younger, my father told me repeatedly that I was worthless and only good for one thing in life. It seemed his comments found a permanent place in both my mind and my heart. My father foresaw my future and had helped as much as he could to make that future happen. But I know the choices had been my own, just as the choice to finally change my life had been.

I remember the day I made the decision to abandon the self-destructive lifestyle. I had just gotten home from work., I was tired from waiting on table after table, and I was looking forward to a tall can of beer and some rest. I had just sat down when there was a knock at the door.

When I opened the door, there was a braid-wearing teenage girl donning heavy makeup, a dirty mini skirt, and scuffed up high heels–one of them broken. My first words were, “Sorry, no customers at this house.”

She gave me a teary smile and replied, “I'm not looking for a customer . . . I'm looking for a way out.”

My heart had instantly gone out to her. I knew the life she'd lived and what she'd suffered before reaching this point in her life. I knew, because I had been there, myself. I invited her in and listened as she talked.. My suspicions about her abusive childhood were confirmed. I fed her and gave her some clothes to change into. Then I took the tips I'd made that day from my purse, called a cab, took her to the bus station, and put her on a bus to Raleigh to go and live with her aunt. When I finally arrived back home, I sat on the sofa, closed my eyes and cried. Nothing I'd ever done in my life left me feeling as much peace as that one act had.

I immediately threw away all of the alcohol in the apartment and vowed to never take another drink, pop another pill, or smoke another joint for the rest of my life. I stopped partying and made a commitment to change my life. I was determined to do this, despite family members and friends telling me I would never change. I really had no support from anyone except the counselor assigned to me when I enrolled in a free substance abuse program. No one I knew would let go of the past. I couldn't either. I couldn’t escape it because it was constantly being thrown back in my face.

Moving to Utah to stay with Jessica was the best decision I ever made. It wasn't until then that my life truly started.

“Wow!” I whisper again, a tear slipping down my cheek. “I just can't imagine going through something so painful.”

“But you are,” Adagio says, caressing my cheek. “The trial is different, but I would guess the pain is about the same.” I hear him turning the pages. “Now I would like to read another entry she wrote years later.

This afternoon I took a moment and again pondered my life and how far I have come. If someone had told me ten years ago that I would one day be living in Italy and married to a painfully handsome Italian man, I would have considered that person out of his or her mind. Then I probably would have offered the person a drink to help them regain their sanity, because that was how I always handled things back then. A drink and an occasional drug to go with it could cure anything. Thinking about that part of my life always makes me shudder. Back then, I could never have fathomed living such a life now. I did not know my worth then, but I do now. And I know my worth to God.

I'm so grateful for these times of reflection because I need to remember where I've been and how far I have come. And and though the past is full of painful memories, I will never let myself forget. I can't, because every trial I overcame served to bring me here, sharing my life with a man I love more than life–a man I can't imagine not being with, and one that I could never be without.

“I wish I could have known her,” I say, wiping my tears. “I wish I could have known both of your grandparents.”

“So do I,” he says, pressing a hand to my cheek once more.

Needing the comfort of his arms, I rest my weary head against his shoulder and he pulls me snugly against him. Closing my eyes, I think of Adagio's grandmother, wishing with all my heart I had her strength. I tell myself that one day I will.