Always - A short tale of erotic discovery

Always

A short story

By Scarlett Redd

All rights reserved. This
book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in
any manner whatsoever
without the express written
permission of the copyright owner and the
publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual
people and/or events is purely coincidental.

Adult Reading Material (18+)

Contains some scenes of sex and domestic
violence. Unsuitable for people under 18 or people who may be upset
by these themes.

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to
Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own
copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright
© 2015
Scarlett Redd

I’d like to thank my awesome editor Paul
Jennings. Thank you for all the hours of your time spent fixing my
story and making it fantastic. Without all your poking and prodding
encouraging me to write, I would never have put my work out there.
Thank you for all the encouragement otherwise I would never have
hit publish without you. I’m glad to be able to call you my friend
and treasure all the hard work you put in for me and still do.
Managing to even find time to help me with some great teasers and
bringing my book cover ideas to life.

I’d like to also thank the readers who give
me a chance and take time out to read my work.

Let me introduce myself. My name is
Belle. I’m a twenty two year old brunette that many consider to be
pretty but I don’t believe that. I am just me. I work as a waitress
in Café Rouge in the town of Grassville, south of Bellingham, the
125
^th
largest city in North
America. I am the oldest daughter of 5 children.

This is my story. In my own words.

I have lived a hard life from childhood due
in part mostly to sketchy and violent parenting thanks to my
father. Unfortunately all the side effects of that carried on into
my adulthood and greatly affected my love life. I cannot say that I
had a happy childhood, not even close. I have a real problem
trusting men. And I blame my father. My father worked during the
day at the local lumber yard under a terrible boss and at night, he
ruled at home like a terrible father with an iron fist with all the
frustration his angry loud voice could deliver. When he wasn’t
hitting my four siblings or me, he would be yelling at us fueled in
part to his heavy drinking or severe frustration in having to be
the sole parent. Too often just for little things. Stupid,
unimportant things. Whether it was leaving crumbs, streaks or
missed corners while cleaning up or doing our chores, or boisterous
horseplay, he would blow his top according to his mood. He was also
pretty skilled with the insults and put downs; when words failed,
the hitting would start. That usually left us with little
self-esteem but many bruises.

As I developed as a young woman, I am certain
he had designs on me to fill a void in his life having been long
without a wife or girlfriend. He did try to do more and come on to
me but I don’t want to get into that. I have put that in a vault
and will never open it. It’s painful to live but even more painful
to relive it but talking about it, I am not ready yet.

I am positive my older brothers had their own
issues. I was too wrapped up in mine to notice theirs. However, as
my two older brothers got bigger and wiser than our father, he
tended to leave them alone knowing they might hit back. Harder and
more often. That left my two sisters and me being too often the
only targets he continued to pick on knowing we couldn’t fight back
or too afraid to tell anyone.

My mother had died years earlier when I was
younger, too young to remember. We never knew what took her and any
questions, well our father would never elaborate on the matter
should someone dare to ask him. I did have some vague memories of
my mother remembering her delicious cooking and her loving arms,
always hugging us and taking care of life’s hurts. Some say I even
looked like her. Alas the more that time passed, the more I forgot
about her, her touch and her smell long fading into a distant
memory. Any photos that may have existed had disappeared over the
years as if my father wanted us to totally forget her, or that he
wanted to forget forever. I know I had one picture that
mysteriously disappeared.

I was glad when I finally left school. I did
surprisingly well at school although most was just a quick series
of events I soon wished to forget. I was very studious but socially
inept. I was quiet and tended to blend into the background often. I
never had many friends and the few I had, I would never ever have
been courageous enough to have any of them come over. And
boyfriends, forget that. I would have been too embarrassed and
afraid that my father getting a hold of them, would mark their
lives so badly and I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. I had
one thought in mind and that was to be free of my father’s grasp
and be independent, as fast as I could.

I got a job quickly at the café in town with
one goal in mind: trying hard to save lots of money as quickly as I
could. I wanted to leave home as soon as possible. That was my main
goal. My only goal. I didn’t think about where I would live and how
I would make ends meet, I just wanted out. Out of the house, away
from my father and all the bad memories. I felt terrible leaving my
siblings there but I figured they could fend for themselves as I
had. Hopefully having learnt some of my survivor skills. I wasn’t
and couldn’t be much help to them. Whatever advice or help I could
ever give would soon be forgotten as soon as our father detected a
challenge in his authority and applied himself to crush any hope
for a change.

Soon, through hard work and well-earned tips,
I eventually had enough saved to share an apartment with my best
friend Baylee. I was proud of myself. My friend Baylee and I have
been best friends since kindergarten. We were always hanging out
together. Over the years I spent a lot of time at Baylee’s often
trying to keep out of my father’s way with his temper and drama of
the day. Along with the never-ending personal attacks, he made me
feel shame with the result being it made me feel totally worthless
and unwanted. Luckily for me her parents were very understanding
allowing me to stay the night if I needed to flee. And flee I did,
often. I always wondered if my father missed me or didn’t care. He
had other victims he could pick on. Plus his alcohol fog he got
into every night probably dulled his thinking anyway. I’m not sure
how he managed to forget I was missing but he never said anything
about my absences but his verbal and physical abuse would just pick
up from where we had left off.

I was glad to leave home as I knew it. Sure
there was lots of words about how I would fail, ungrateful and
uncaring whatever. Sure my father objected, sure he wanted me to
stay home and contribute to the household income, do more cleaning
and cooking. It almost got physical but my brother Shane stepped in
and off I went never looking back once. It was difficult adjusting
to this new life but the long hours, the sore feet and sore bottom
from the overly flirty gentlemen seemed to be a breeze compared to
the life I had left but I didn’t care. My goal at the moment was to
be free to choose whatever I wanted, enjoying my new living
arrangements with Baylee and having fun, finally. I had decided to
leave and start a new life and I would do what it took to make it
work. And with my best friend Baylee, I felt safe.

But life happened, reality set in and
boyfriends started to pull us apart. Baylee met her Mark and was
away more often than not and I met Davy having relented after a
long and intense pursuit on his part. I so wanted to live
everything he was promising and fell in love.

Once he got me, Davy turned out to be a real
asshole. The novelty of our relationship soon faded. The moment we
moved in together his attitude toward me totally changed. I became
his doormat. Just a piece of shit to scrape off his shoe. He bossed
me around. Telling me what, where, when, how to do things according
to his strict unrealistic standards. Also very controlling on how I
should do things around the house. His house. All that despite the
fact I was paying for almost everything. His control reminded me
too much of my father and I felt trapped. Baylee could not be of
any help, when was so wrapped up with Mark I doubt she would have
heard anything I would have said.

When he started telling me what to
wear, it finally started breaking me.
No
woman of his was wearing something like that out in public.
A couple of months into our relationship, he lost his job and
things became even worse. He would sit home all day doing nothing.
Just sitting there all day drinking or smoking dope, either alone
or with his friends. He couldn’t even put himself out doing
anything which resembled a chore. No cleaning, no laundry, no
shopping for groceries, nothing. Not even lifting a finger to start
prepping for dinner. I’d come home from hard day at work being run
off my feet then having to cook dinner, the clean up after him and
his mates was just getting to be too much. I hadn’t signed up for
that.

Dinner would be another whole battleground.
Should he decide what I’d cooked wasn’t good enough or wasn’t what
he felt like, he’d yell at me. If I was lucky he’d empty his
unwanted dinner in the trash. If he was in a really angry mood, he
would just throw his plate food and all in the sink. If he felt
like it, his plate would get thrown at the wall. Just pushing his
plate on the floor from the table gave him great delight since he
smirked at me while doing it. Deja vu. I had lived the same thing
at home and now here it was again. It felt as if I had traded one
barbarian for another.

As for sex he just took whatever, whenever he
wanted it. I was naïve and inexperienced and I hated his idea of
sex. Too bad if I didn’t want to or I was not ready for it, he came
first, well he was the only who came. Just grabbing me to do the
deed in under a couple of minutes if that, before rolling over
going to sleep. Leaving me laying there hurt, deeply unsatisfied
and wanting with tears rolling down my face. Every time. Not
exactly what I was hoping it to be.

After a while he got sick of that for
entertainment, he started hitting me. Always very careful making
sure it was where my bruises wouldn’t show so no one else would see
them and question me. When I went out in public or to work it was
very hard for me to contain my unhappiness and fear too. I felt so
trapped. Things were getting more difficult for me to snap back to
normal. I tried to cope with everything happening just like I had
before with my father hitting me. Now it was the one that was
supposed to be the love of my life. I eventually gathered up the
courage to tell Baylee what was going on at home. She was horrified
often repeating to leave him straight away and move back in with
her. I tried to tell her I’d think about it. I always had the hope
things would get better. Of course she was having none of that
nonsense. And I was beginning to believe it was nonsense; it never
would get better.

After some more coaxing, she convinced me to
come live with her the next day. Since I wouldn’t go with her that
night. It meant it would have to be after I had finished work, I’d
escape with nothing but the clothes on my back she told me. She had
a wardrobe full of clothes I could go through. Luckily we were both
the same size meaning I could fit in her clothes she had. I
wouldn’t need to go back and collect anything. She would have never
let me anyway.

Unfortunately for me that night. He must’ve
had a bad day or sensed something was up. He was in a really foul
mood. Everything I did or said was wrong. Dinner was the worst
thing he’d ever tasted. He even accused me of trying to poison him.
This time, instead of the wall, he decided to throw his plate at
me. Unfortunately I didn’t have enough time to react and his full
plate hit me in the head knocking me out. Thank god so I didn’t
feel any pain and was oblivious to whatever he did to me next.