Page 3 of Like Fathers, Like Son
I didn’t understand how the word ethereal could apply to hair, but the way he spoke reminded me of how I felt when I first saw Anneka.
“Mum hates her hair.”
Daddy Dory groaned. “She just finds it gets in the way when she’s doing mum stuff, that’s all. Plus, you know, each of you pulled on it a lot when you were babies. She might say she wants to cut it short, but she doesn’t mean it.”
I decided not to tell him that I’d seen her with the scissors again this morning, and a fistful of her hair in the other hand. Being observant was apparently Daddy Dory’s thing, so if he couldn’t tell she was cutting her hair a bit at a time, then maybe I was just better than he was.
“Are you looking forward to starting school next week?”
I shrugged, but truthfully I was a bit nervous, because the few bigger kids I’d crossed paths with just never seemed to like me. They called me creepy or weird. That mean lady had said we had to be around other children though. I wasn’t sure why she thought it’d be better than being homeschooled though.
“If you have any trouble with any of the kids, you have to tell us, Blaze. Kids can be cruel, because they don’t always have all the facts, and lack of knowledge leads to them making judgements that might not seem fair.”
“Like why I have two dads?” I still didn’t know why that seemed wrong to some people, because it was perfectly normal to me.
Daddy Dory nodded. “Some people won’t understand, but that’s okay. We’re the family we were always meant to be. Your daddy Gray figured that out before me though.”
I stared at the window, sun beaming outside, and all I could think was that Anneka would be at school, so I had nothing to do right now.
“Bored?”
I shrugged again, and daddy Dory laughed.
“Come on, kid. You can help sort through some of the boxes we haven’t unpacked yet. Some of the books and stuff still need to be put away.”
I groaned, because now I had to do chores, and that didn’t seem fair at all.
The spare room was small, and my parents were calling it an ‘office’ or something like that, but it had bookshelves along one wall, which I’d watched my dads building a few days ago.
There was a stack of boxes to unpack, and I knew it’d take forever. I had no choice though, even as I felt this strange temptation to find daddy Gray’s arson kit, and make them all burn. If the books caught fire, it wouldn’t necessarily be my fault, right?Fire is good. Fire makes things better.
I opened the first box, and picked up a few books with half naked people on the covers. I shrugged and placed them on the highest shelf I could reach, and then I dug into the box again.
These weren’t the same kind of books though. There were quite a few of them, but they all said ‘Wilma’s Diary’ on the front in black ink. That was my mum’s name. She kept diaries?
Wilma’s Diary
It’s been a while since my last diary, but so much has happened since, that I wanted to start again.
Dory likes me having diaries, because the bastard has no boundaries, and thinks it’s okay for him to read them. Reading my diary got me into this mess after all, so maybe I’m being an idiot by starting again.
Dory, if you’re reading this, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Mind you, at this point, what have I got to lose by starting again with a diary? My freedom? Too late. My dignity? Yeah, right. My right to choose who fathers my baby? Nope.
I’d say I’m pissed about it, but strangely I think being kidnapped by Dory and Gray might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. That’s weird though, right?
Kidnapping isn’t love. Kidnapping isn’t how you flirt, or win a woman over. I was drunk and they forcibly stole me from my home, my life. Kept me in a cell. Forced me into sex over and over. How the hell did it turn to love? I wish I knew.
Anyway, this is my diary one month after they first kidnapped me. Maybe I’m even documenting things in case at some point my good sense returns, and I need the evidence for the police. Who the hell knows at this point?
I reread those words twice because I didn’t understand what I was reading. It sounded like mum was talking about my dads kidnapping her? That couldn’t be right though, could it? My parents were so in love, like disgustingly so, even if they had those fights now and then.
Maybe it was mum’s idea of writing a book, something she wanted to sell one day, but I didn’t know if people would like a story like this. Why would she even write it?
I heard someone coming, so I tucked the stack of mum’s ‘diaries’ out of sight, and went back to shelving the half naked people books. Mum poked her head around the door, and saw me hard at work.
“Oh, you’re a good boy, Blaze. Nothing like those dads of yours. You want me to make you a snack, baby?” I glanced at the diaries, hoping she couldn’t see them from the doorway, then nodded at her.
