Flowers in the Basement

Hello all,

This is my first story on Literotica. The short, staccato writing style is inspired by "Riptides" written by NoraFares. Hope you enjoy.

—

The sticky air clung to my skin, washing a fresh sheen of sweat across my face as I laid there in the burning car. I was looking up at the sky in a car that had been clipped in the back, tipped over and rammed into by an eighteen-wheeler. What remained of my body was a broken, bloody mess. The flames spread from the hood to the dash. I could feel the heat, could feel the way the flames licked desperately at the air, hungrily reaching for me.

I was dying.

"Help is coming," said a voice somewhere from my left. I couldn't turn my neck. I think it was broken.

"Okay," I croaked. God, I sounded like shit. I wasn't going to make it.

There was a dull constant roar in my ears and I could still hear the crackling of the flame and the groaning of the metal. An acrid stench filled my nose and I began to panic thinking it was my burning skin. The flames danced closer to my face. I was trying not to scream. I was burning from the heat. Blood trickled down from my mouth and nose. I couldn't do anything but let myself die.

I didn't see my life flash before my eyes. I didn't see anything but the darkness.

—

My name is a palindrome, which just means that it spells the same backwards and forwards. The name was for a sweet girl, maybe a church-goer who sings in a choir, but instead you've got me, Hannah, the girl who grew up to become a drilling engineer who works on offshore oil rigs. That was where I belonged, out far away from people, working on drilling operations. I hated being on land, and now you can see why.

"Hannah? Can you hear me, Hannah?"

My head was throbbing.

"Open your eyes, Hannah."

I didn't want to. I knew it'd hurt, that it was bright.

"Hannah, this is Dr. Monroe," the voice persisted. "I need you to open your eyes."

Doctors meant that I was in a hospital, that I'd survived. I didn't know how I felt about that yet. I'd given in to the darkness, had accepted that death had come for me, but what now? How could I move on with my life if the second I opened my eyes, I'd see my broken body? I was an active person, someone who liked using my hands, and now I wondered if I could even move my fingers. I was too afraid to try.

"Your father is here with us."

My eyes shot open.

—

I almost married a geologist.

Love was for fairytales, was written up by advertising guys to sell engagement rings and flowers and cards, but somehow, slowly, it crept up inside of me, setting fire to my heart.

His name was Benjamin Mathers. Ben.

With a smile that lit up even the darkest nights on the rig, and a laugh that rang inside my ears long after he'd left, I could almost let myself believe that even girls like me were allowed to fall in love. It took me months, almost a year, to finally admit that I had feelings for the guy.

"You're quiet tonight," he'd said. I'd been working up the nerve to tell him all day.

"I, uh, have to tell you something."

His eyes, warm and hazel, had glanced at me, his expression softening when he saw how nervous I was. His brown hair, which had been neatly brushed in the morning, was now in disarray from being out in the wind. I wanted to walk over, take his face in my hands, and kiss him.

"Okay," he said, leaning back against the wall. There wasn't much room in the bunks, but he always managed to find a spot for himself, as if he could belong anywhere so long as he tried. He'd done that with my heart. He'd moved in where there hadn't been any room.

"I like you," I blurted out.

Ben smiled. "I like you, too, Hannah."

"You don't understand. I like you."

"I think you're the one who doesn't understand," he said, kicking himself off the wall. He walked over, standing directly in front of me. I was tall for a woman, and so we weren't too off in height. He was maybe an inch or two taller.

"I like you a lot more than you like me," he said.

And then he kissed me.

—

"Hannah."

Standing at the end of my bed was the one man I'd never expected to see: my father. I couldn't speak, but if I'd been able, I probably would have screamed. I found out later it was because my throat and lungs had been seared by the heat of the flames.

"I flew down as soon as I heard," he explained. "Hannah, baby, I thought we'd lost you."

Who was we, exactly? There was no one else. Just me and him. There wasn't any other family. They'd all died.

"Maybe we should give her some time to rest," the doctor said. "I don't think she's ready to interact yet."

I didn't think I'd ever be ready to interact with my father, but I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

—

Ben and I had been dating for three months when he'd whispered the words during sex.

"I love you."

I stiffened, surprise taking me by storm. I loved him, too. I'd loved him for a long time. Now was the time to say it back.

But I couldn't.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his breathing heavy. I writhed beneath him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Hush," I whispered.

—

It took me almost a week to gather the strength, mental and physical, to say anything. If the doctor worried, his face didn't show it. He reviewed my vitals twice during the day, said some encouraging words and went off to his next patient. He didn't seem to think the world was ending, not the way I did.

"You're breathing on your own," Dr. Monroe said. "Talk when you're ready."

"I'm ready," I'd said, the sounds foreign. Had my voice always been this husky?

"I've got some questions for you," he said. We went over my medical history, my allergies, how I was feeling, what my pain level was, and then he left me in peace.

Now that my eyes were open, I could see that I was more bandages and plaster than anything else. I couldn't see skin anywhere. My hands didn't look so great. They were burned badly. By now, I had found out that I'd lost all feeling in my fingertips.

Still, I kept those eyes open. I observed the room I was in. Stared out the window to my right. Looked the nurses in the eye.

The only time I closed my eyes was when my father walked into the room.

—

Ben and I worked together, and so it was no secret that we were dating. We held hands in the break room, ate our lunches together, and shared what moments we could spare.

"This isn't going to get in the way of your work," the site manager said. It was a statement, not a question.

"No, sir," Ben said.

"Of course not," I replied.

Our jobs were too important. If we did them wrong, lives could be lost.

But still, we made time for each other.

"I was thinking, maybe we'll go to the mainland together," Ben said when my days off were nearing.

"We could do that," I said. Usually, I went and grabbed a hotel for a few weeks or months, living out of a suitcase until my next assignment. I loved being on the rig. I hated being on land.

"I want you to meet my family."

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" Ben asked.

"I don't know. I can't do the same. I don't have any family."

"None at all?"

I thought about my dad, the man who'd raised me on his own. My mother had left us when I was seven months old. I remembered what it was like being a teenager in that household, how Dad and I had never been able to see eye to eye. I couldn't shake the horrible feeling I got when I thought about the last time I saw him. We'd ended it with a fight.

"No," I said to Ben. "None at all."

—

I dealt with the pain most of the time. I was too proud to ask the nurses to administer more pain meds in front of my father. I couldn't appear as if I'd become exactly what he'd thought I would become on my own.

Weak.

"How are you doing today, Hannah?" Dr. Monroe said every morning.

"Better than yesterday," I always answered. Sometimes it was a lie.

The physical therapist started coming around after a few weeks. My bones had healed some, and she wanted me to walk.

"I don't think I can."

"You have to try," she said. Dad would stand quietly in the back of the room, not bothering to back either of us up. I was fine with that.

I tried to walk. I really did. They gave me a walker with wheels and slowly, I made it out of bed each afternoon. At first, it'd just be a few steps around the room. Gradually, it became the hospital ward. Before long, they had me on crutches. My arms had healed faster than my legs.

"Your father moved here for you; you know that?" the good doctor asked. No, I didn't know, but I didn't say anything.

"You should talk to him. He's going to be the one taking care of you when you get out of here."

I still hadn't spoken a word with Dad. I didn't even look at him. But still, he stuck around.

"I rented a house down here," Dad said. "It's small, but you'll like it."

How the hell would he know what I would like?

—

I met Ben's family.

His family was what I thought a family should be, not that I even knew what that was. Mother, father, a sister and a brother. They were all friendly, pleasant people. They greeted me with hugs, told me they'd heard so much about me, and served me more food than I could eat at dinner. They fussed over me and doted on me the three weeks I stayed in their home.

"You're good with them, you know," Ben said.

I'd always wanted a family. Now that I knew what it was like, I felt a deep, aching sadness. I'd never had this growing up. I'd been alone. No family reunions, no big Christmases and Easters, no family outings. When they took me to the beach with them, when we all piled into the car to go to Disneyland, when they dragged me to Big Bear mountain and flew to Vegas for the weekend with me, it all felt so... right.

I wanted Ben's family. I wanted what he had.

And I wanted him.

—

Dad and I didn't look alike. He always said I took after my mother, and I always wondered if he resented me for it. Flaming red hair, a splatter of freckles, and green eyes the color of fresh blades of grass. I was tall, knobby-kneed and my smiles never quite reached my eyes. Sometimes I wished I were someone else, someone beautiful.

But Dad said he loved me just the way I was, that I was beautiful. Maybe if I'd gotten his face, I would have been. He was handsome, the kind of handsome that was embarrassing because it meant all my friends, teachers, colleagues—everyone—always thought he was attractive. He had that George Clooney salt and pepper look, hair graying and dark, and eyes a deep, chocolate brown. Taller than even me, and he had tanned skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight. My dad was good-looking, but he pretended he didn't know it.

"Stop hitting on my teachers," I'd have to remind him. "Stop flirting with my friends' moms."

But he wouldn't stop. It was infuriating.

Our differences started there, and then grew.

—

Ben proposed.

We'd just gotten back to the rig, and he didn't even have a ring, but he got down on one knee and did it anyway. I preferred it that way. It wasn't like I could wear a ring there, and besides, I never liked flashy things.

"I love you, Ben, but this is way too fast," I said.

His smile didn't falter. "I figured you'd say that."

"So what now, then?"

"Move in with me. Take the next step. We don't have to get married if you don't want to, but I know I want to spend my life with you."

I flushed with happiness. I wanted this. I wanted him.

Why was I hesitating?

Because of my mother? Because she'd abandoned me? Because Ben could do the same?

Ben wasn't her.

"Okay," I said, "let's move in together."

—

I hadn't looked in a mirror in months.

"You look beautiful," the nurse told me, holding up the mirror. I looked much like myself, although my nose was different from being broken in the accident. It was healed now, and although the bridge was a little crooked, it wasn't too noticeable. I'd been expecting a lot worse.

"Yeah," Dad said from his chair beside me. "Beautiful."

I willed myself not to look at him. This time I wanted to. There were things I needed to say. Things like go away.

—

There was no moving truck. There was no furniture. Everything Ben and I owned, we had in suitcases and duffel bags. Clothes. A few toiletries. A comb. Shoes.

"This is... bare," Ben said with a laugh. We were standing in our new empty living room. We left immediately for IKEA. We could have bought more expensive furniture. We could definitely afford it with our salaries, but we liked using our hands and building things. We bought all our furniture from IKEA and then spent a week putting it all together. By the time we were done and the home was furnished, it was time for me to go back on the rigs.

We didn't have any decorations, and the place didn't really look lived in yet, but it was ours. Home.

I would have a home to come back to.

—

I was moved into a room with a shower.

"You sure you don't need me to come in there with you?" a nurse asked. I shook my head. I could do this on my own. I would have to, if I had any chance at surviving at Dad's. Who was going to bathe me there?

There were bars in the shower. I held onto them as the water rained down on me. I tried shampooing my hair with one hand, but that's where I'd made my mistake. With only one hand on the bar, I began to sway.

"Shit," I hissed, reaching out to regain control. I closed both hands around the bar, but one of them was slippery from shampoo. Before I could stop it, I began to fall to the tiled floor. I let out a muffled cry as my head hit the wall.

The door flew open, and standing there was my dad. I guess he'd heard me fall. He quickly covered me with a towel, turned off the water, and picked me up from the shower floor.

"It's okay," he told me, slicking my hair back from my face. "I've got you."

I stared at him angrily.

"Why couldn't you just call a nurse?"

Dad grinned as he walked us back into the room.

"What? What's so fucking funny?"

"Those are the first words you've spoken to me in years, Hannah."

—

"It's been two and a half years," Ben said, lacing his fingers with mine. We had just made love in our bed.

"What do you mean?"

"We've been together two and a half years," he said. "We've lived together for almost two. Don't you think..."

"If you talk about taking our relationship to the 'next level,' I'm going to punch you."

Ben didn't laugh. I had expected him to, and when he didn't, I felt my stomach clench.

"I want more, Hannah."

"You're a guy," I reminded him. "Guys aren't supposed to want this stuff. They're supposed to want to be unattached and have nothing but sex all of the time."

"That's terribly sexist," Ben said, sounding just a little amused. "Are you trying to tell me that you're a guy?"

I looked down at my breasts. "Obviously not."

"But you don't want commitment. You don't want to settle down. You don't want..."

"I don't have to want those things," I snapped. "And neither do you."

"But I do want those things," Ben said. His eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes, looked pained. I hated that I was the one doing that to him.

"So what do you want?" I asked. "A kid?"

Ben laughed. "No. I was just wondering if you've given any thought to my proposal."

"The one you made two years ago? I thought you were joking."

Ben kissed my cheek. "I wasn't."

—

After the shower incident, I went back to ignoring Dad. It was humiliating. He'd seen me naked. He'd seen me vulnerable. He'd seen me weak.

"Hannah," Dad would say. "Please talk to me."

I asked a nurse one day if she could make him leave. I don't know why I hadn't thought to ask that before. Maybe there had been a part of me that got some sick satisfaction from forcing him to see me close to death. But now I was getting better, and there was no need to have him around.

Dad was in the room when I asked the nurse. He didn't wait for her to ask him to leave. He just left.

I stared after him, unable to look away. It had been a long time since my father had respected my wishes. I almost didn't know how to react.

—

"Ben, I can't wear this on the rig," I complained. We were in the jewelry shop picking out a ring together. Ben had his eye on some of the gaudier-looking rings. I wanted something simple. Something plain. Something like me.

"You deserve something nice," Ben protested when I'd shown him a simple band. "This is supposed to be your engagement ring. It's gotta have a stone."

"I don't want a stone."

"How about an emerald? To match your eyes?"

"I hate my eyes."

"That's not true," Ben said. He looked a little embarrassed. The salesperson was quiet, pretending not to listen by busying themselves with organizing the rings under the glass display.

We stayed in the jewelry store for an hour going back and forth before we finally settled on a band with a single, small diamond. I liked it enough to wear it out of the store.

Ben grinned, happy that he'd found a way to please me.

"I still can't wear this on the rig, you know," I said.

"I know."

We walked in silence to a restaurant to have lunch.

"Just think about it," Ben said, taking my hand. "In just a few weeks, you'll be my wife."

Panic rose up my throat.

—

"Your dad's in the waiting room, honey," the nurse told me after two weeks. "He's been coming every day."

I swallowed. Why the hell did that make me feel bad?

"Why don't I call him in?"

I decided to not respond, and ten minutes later, Dad walked into the room. He had a smile on his face and two coffee cups in his hands. He handed me a cup, and I took it without a word. We sipped our drinks together.

"I heard you've been visiting every day," I said stiffly.

"I have."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your father," he said. "I should be here, even if you don't want me around."

"So long as you're aware."

"That I'm not wanted?" Dad scoffed. "Of course I'm aware."

"Then why do you bother? Why does it even matter to you? Why do you come here every single day when for months I've been ignoring you?" I was beginning to get angry.

"Because I love you, Hannah."

My anger deflated.

—

"Ben... I can't," I said, tears streaming down my face. "I can't do this."

"Are you serious? Everyone is out there waiting for you. It's the rehearsal dinner, for fuck's sake!"

Ben never cursed, especially not with me. This was the first time.

"I can't go through with this."

He took a step towards me and tried holding me in his arms. I pushed him away, ignoring the deep look of pain in his eyes.

"I'm serious, Ben."

"Don't do this to me," he said, his voice cracking. "Please."

"I can't. Don't come after me. Don't look for me," I said, and stepped away until my back hit the door. Then I turned and fled.

—

It was finally time for me to be released from the hospital. I wasn't particularly excited to be leaving. I'd gotten used to my sterile surroundings.

Dr. Monroe told me to stay on my feet when I could.

"You need to keep walking," he said. I told him I would, and a nurse had me sign the release papers. Dad had already picked up my medication from the pharmacy. He brought his pick-up truck around to the front of the hospital, and a nurse wheeled me to him. She helped me into the truck, and then stood and waved as Dad drove us away.

"The house isn't far from here," Dad said to fill up the silence. "If you're hungry, we can grab Wendy's. Is it still your favorite fast food place?"

It was, but I answered, "No."

He figured out I was lying. We pulled up to a Wendy's less than five minutes later. He ordered my favorite combo, the bacon jalapeño chicken sandwich with fries and a coke. He also ordered me some nuggets with sweet and sour sauce. My dad might not know me very well, but he knew my stomach. After months of hospital food, I was salivating at the smell of french fries.