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He’s done it in the past – if he feels Rian hadgotten off easy,that perhaps he wasn’t entirely satisfied with the impact he’s had on him, Harris would give him a small moment of respite, just enough for the false sense of security to settle in his belly, and then he would return home, somehow in a nastier mood and would proceed to destroy the left-overs of Rian’s brittle spirit.
There is no reprieve.
Only postponed suffering.
Rian looks around the space, which echoes with the phantom sounds of slapping skin, curses, and grunts from moments earlier. This is one of the guest bedrooms that Harris normally uses for his attacks. After Harris is done with him, it is left to Rian to clean up the space and do it well enough for his tormentor to approve. It’shis mess, Harris would tell him.
You asked for this.
This is what you deserve.
I know you, Rian. This is what you want.
Don’t try to deny it. I know you love how my fat cock tears through your hungry hole.
This is what whores like you need to stay in line.
You force me to do this. You constantly need to be reminded of whose property you are.
You’re nothing without me.
Rian sits on the bed, looking at his hands clasped over his bare thighs. The poisonous words of contempt echo through his mind. The toxic loop of thoughts brings him to dangerous corners of his consciousness. These aren’t even his own ideas, yet they have taken root deep within his mind, messing with his ability to reason and see things clearly. He can’t remember when he has lost the capacity to distinguish between his own thoughts and the seeds of doubt and insecurity planted by Harris.
Rian’s eyes focus on the bulging veins of his wrists, his perfectly pale paper-thin skin doing nothing to conceal the blue maps they outline from his palms all the way up to his forearms. The old scars are hardly visible, but they are there. If not on the surface – deep within his soul – and in moments like this, Rian wonders how much more he can take before he’s desperate enough to repeat the mistakes of his past.
A static sound from the tiny baby monitor tossed on the floor breaks him away from his barely there, lingering dark thoughts.
Rian quickly snags his slacks and pulls them up while stumbling out of the room, picking his shirt off the floor in the living room on his way to the nursery. He stops at the door, hesitates, then quickly runs into the small vanity next door to wash his face. He ties his loose blond curls into a bun, trying not to look at himself too much. As long as he is clean, he doesn’t care about anything else.
He washes his hands thoroughly and pulls his shirt down, straightening it. This gives him another moment to calm himself rather than to achieve an orderly appearance. Rian is certain that on the back of the shirt, where the hem of the neckline is, there is a sizable tear now, from when Harris had reached him, grabbed him, and then forcefully dragged him to the bedroom. His nails have left a fiery trail along Rian’s shoulder and down his back. It stings as he moves, but at least it’s not visible while he is dressed. Whatever other outward damage there is, his clothes, albeit damaged and wrinkled, have covered it up. It doesn’t matter if Bran sees it anyway. Bless his innocence, he won’t know what it means.
Rian takes a deep breath and enters the nursery, where he finds baby Bran on his back, two chubby feet up in the air, one in each small hand, rolling side to side, giggling and gurgling in deep conversation with the toys hanging over his crib.
He spots his daddy immediately and rolls on his belly, then pulls himself on his knees and reaches for Rian with gimme hands, grinning widely. Bran’s smile is so beautiful and pure. His wide grin is fully showcasing the five teeth that had finally popped up last week after Rian had spent months obsessively observing his soft pink gums.
Rian’s overflowing love for his son intensified the hatred Harris seemed to feel for him. He tolerates the animosity day after day, only to be rewarded with moments of pure bliss.
Bran reaches for his face and squishes his cheeks with his chubby little hands. He giggles when Rian sticks his tongue out and makes a funny noise while swaying his hips from side to side, rocking him.
Bran’s tiny arms wrap around Rian’s neck for balance, and he pulls himself up. Rian gives him a boost, then sticks his nose in his belly and tickles him until his little one is in stitches. Bran’s laughter is infectious and sweet. He’s a little sunshine. A bright ray of light.
Anything Rian must endure is worth it if he gets to look down into those beautiful brown eyes peering back at him, sparkling with happiness like stars. That sweet five-tooth grin and the fast beat of a tiny heart calling to him, telling him that he is loved, means everything to Rian. Bran’s laughter brings light into his world, quickly banishing all memories of violence and feelings of despair.
Bran rests his gentle little head, covered with soft, dark curls on Rian’s shoulder. He tells his daddy about his dream, at least this is what Rian imagines the little one is trying to convey in half-babble half mispronounced words.
Rian plays along, gasping in pretend offense, all serious, “Well I must say, I can’t believe you told all of this to Piglet first.”
There is a plush Piglet in Bran’s crib, chewed and snuggled to tatters already. Bran shoots it a guilty look and covers his face with his hands giggling.
They keep up with their playful banter, as Rian sways from side to side, murmuring sweet things to his baby. His eyes drift to the photos on the wall. They are all of him and Bran. Bran’s dark skin and gorgeous black curls are in vivid contrast with his own light blond hair and creamy complexion.
Bran’s mother was white, and his biological father, according to the DNA tests, could have had some Nigerian genetic ancestry. There was no record of his identity on Bran’s original birth certificate, but Rian had felt the need to gather as much information as possible about him. If one day his son came to him with questions, Rian wanted to be ready to answer them to the best of his ability.
Rian kisses Bran’s soft curls and then places him on the changing table. Whatever has transpired between him and Harris earlier, he resolutely blocks the memory and locks it away deep down inside, where all the nightmares of his past live rent-free.
What he’s doing isn’t healthy. Rian is well aware of that. Refusing to break down after every abusive experience, feels like he still has some power over his life. Like Harris doesn’t have the last word after all.
Rian won’t succumb to pain and heartbreak today. He will not allow Harris to ruin every precious moment he gets to share with his son. They are both going to change and go for a run in the park.
