Parenthood

The next weekend found Sheila and me, out for an enjoyable afternoon, walking through a local art gallery, then having a late lunch together before going back to the same pub with a combined group of friends. We ended up drinking, chatting around the Instagram reels and laughing through more of the night. A little tipsy by the end of the night, Sheila hinted at heading back to her place, but she dropped the idea when I shut her down and told her quietly there would be no additional dates in the future if she pushed me. Instead, she accepted a small kiss with a promise of more dates in the near future if she behaved herself.

For the next two months we dated, every Friday and Saturday night. Yes, she was attractive and was pushing for more than the heavy petting we were doing. I got my hand in her bra once and she managed to get her hand down my pants, but I just didn't feel that connection, that spark, that said we were a forever couple.

In the end I broke up with her. She was sobbing and telling me how much she loved me, that I was her soul mate, but after a little over two months of dating, I knew that we were not meant to be and I knew I had to be the bad guy and bring the relationship to an end.

I thought that we were done, and in time she would come to see that we didn't have a future. In the weeks following, she was still calling and texting, but I was ignoring her. I felt like a bit of a prick, but I figured leading her on by continuing to be friendly with her would just cause more issues.

It was four weeks after our breakup, the messages had all but stopped and I thought I was clear, until one afternoon I had just left work and Sheila accosted me outside of Queensland Police Headquarters.

"Tommy, why are you ignoring me?" she pleaded loudly from the sidewalk as I was walking down the front steps.

I sighed; this was becoming too much of a headache.

"Sheila," I told her quickly before she could start talking again. "I've told you; I'm not dating you. Seriously, all the texts and emails, they need to stop. I'm sorry, but if it's any consolation, put it all on me, but outside of mutual friends, you need to leave me alone."

"I'm sorry Tommy I can't do that. I love you," she proclaimed loudly and expressively as the drama unfolded further.

I shook my head. She just wasn't taking the hint, in fact the look in her eyes was a little worrisome.

"No, you don't Sheila," I told her. "We only dated for a couple of months; I told you why we broke up."

The look she gave me told me that she thought I was stupid for disagreeing with her. I sighed, quickly growing tired of her obsessiveness, but before I could say anything Sheila responded. "Tommy, you told me you didn't feel that spark," her voice sounding contrite. "But I can help you feel it baby. I can make us connect if you will come back to me."

For the next few minutes she was so expressive in telling me how great we would be together, the life we would share. I was just standing there waiting for it to end when two police officers that I worked with had come out of the building having finished their shift and saw me upset while Sheila talked at me.

"Is there a problem here Tommy?" Senior Constable Douglas asked.

"No problem Marty," I replied. "Just talking with my ex before I head home. Sheila and I have finished talking now and we're going our separate ways."

At last, with a couple of boys in blue standing there watching, she took the hint and with a couple of stern looks from Marty and his partner, Sheila and I started our walks home, thankfully in opposite directions.

I didn't hear anything from Sheila after that.

The next time I saw her was at dinner one Saturday night. I was again enjoying eating with some friends, sitting in a little open bistro and she walked in with two girlfriends. She saw me, hesitated when I saw her and gave me a little wave, but didn't make her way over to me, which I thought was progress. I gave her a tight smile, nodded and I thought that was it.

Not long after I finished my dinner of a medium rare steak with a bacon topper and beer battered chips on the side, the waiter brought a round of drinks up for the table.

"Compliments of the lady over there," he said gesturing to Sheila. We politely accepted the drinks and raised a toast to Sheila. Again, she didn't try to talk to me, so I thought I was safe.

A little later in the evening, I decided it was time to bury the hatchet and say a formal hello. I excused myself and walked up to Sheila and her girlfriends, exchanging greetings.

We spoke for about ten minutes and Sheilas girlfriends asked me to stay for one more drink. I think they were advocating for Sheila, but she apologised.

"Sorry Tommy," she said with just a hint of sadness. "Their hearts are in the right place, but I know you don't feel that way about me."

I was about to reply, and her friends were looking a little hurt, when she raised her hand.

"No, it's okay. I was a little too intense," she admitted, blushing slightly. "I really do care for you, but I know it needs to be returned before there can be a real romantic relationship."

I smiled and agreed, feeling that we had turned the corner. Perhaps we could be friends. I let the ladies know I needed to hit the bathroom, but I would drop by on my way out to say farewell.

When I came back there was a final round of drinks and I agreed to a single round of shots.

Sheila handed me mine with a huge smile and the four of us saluted and it went down the hatch. We spoke a few more minutes and then I'll admit I started feeling a little weird.

That's the last I recall until what I assumed was a few hours later.

As I came to, I felt like the entire world was pulsing and swimming through turbulent waters, and right through the middle of my brain at the same time. I was also surprisingly horny, not the feeling I would have thought with what had to be an epic hangover. I felt a thin sheet over me but was alarmed that when I tried to move, I couldn't. My hands and feet were tied to the large bed I was laying on. Testing each limb, I found each was secured, the same with my torso. I could move my head a little, but that was about it. Despite the pounding in my head, I was beginning to panic and had a growing sense of dread.

Off to the side I heard a giggle.

"Good, you're awake," Sheila told me. She was sitting naked on a chair; her legs spread and had a toy that was making a faint buzzing sound. She noticed my eyes and laughed.

"It's alright baby, this is just keeping me warmed up," she told me, placing the vibrator on the table beside her. "You're the only thing that's going inside me tonight."

"Sheila," I said a note of panic in my voice. "What did you do to me. What are you doing?"

She again laughed and came over to me brushing the backside of her hand over my torso.

"It's alright Tommy my love, you're going to be perfectly fine," my deranged ex-girlfriend told me. "I love you and I know that after tonight you will love me too. I'm sorry, but I put something in your drink to get you here, but I need to bind you to me. You can't see it yet, but we need to be together."

I didn't like the maniacal look in her eyes.

Sheila pulled back the sheet and exposed my traitorous member, standing at attention from whatever mix of drugs she had given me. She smiled at me, and even as I tried to resist, she climbed on top of me, grabbed my shaft, and giving it a rub over her moist lips, impaled herself on me while I screamed the word "NO!" at her. Over and over again, she loudly moaned out her orgasms, taking some type of perverse pleasure in my unwanted participation.

I pulled and pulled against my restraints until my wrists and ankles started to bleed. The straps across my torso and chest holding me firm felt like they were bruising my ribs. But still Sheila continued to ride me, her ecstasy in bedding me against my will overriding her concern for me. I emptied myself inside her against my will and was appalled that I stayed hard. She must have given me something pretty strong, because despite the pain in my body and my continued pleading to stop, I stayed at attention for this unhinged woman taking something I did not want to give her.

Almost two hours later, she had used me, filling herself up four times. Myself, I was feeling faint from the drugs in my system along with some amount of blood loss. Only when she had come down from her euphoria did she noticed the blood staining the sheets and became somewhat troubled, but even then, Sheila appeared largely indifferent. She didn't even appear to notice I had been dry heaving, having thrown up twice during the episode. My chest was on fire, my limbs all numb, with the pain and agony that I was in. At least my manhood was spent and softening, so she was done.

Seeing my distress, Sheila bent down to carefully examine me. I now understood that she was also high on something as her eyes were slightly glazed. She dabbed a clean part of the sheet over my left wrist that was still bound and tried to kiss me on the lips.

Through the therapy that proceeded later, I understood that I was somewhat detached at that point. I let her kiss me, as by that time I was largely catatonic due to the trauma. Behind my eyes it was like I was in a dark room alone in the corner, each noise, each movement was just another anticipation of pain.

I heard her tell me again and again that she loved me, that it would be alright because we were bonded now. She told me she would look after me. Thankfully through sheer exhaustion I passed out as Sheila began to sing happily to herself.

I awoke in what I believe was the next morning, whatever drugs she had given me had largely worn off and I had an almighty headache, worse than before Sheila had taken my innocence from me. But I noticed that my bonds were cut. Someone, I assume Sheila, tried to bandage my wounds but did a poor job, the wounds on my hands and feet still weeping.

Looking around the room I couldn't see or hear Sheila, so I took the chance that it was safe to get up. Getting up was so painful I winced as I got off the bed. Weak and naked, I grabbed a towel that was laying over a chair just outside the bedroom and stumbled my way to her front door.

Wearily, I made my way out of Sheila's apartment and into the morning sun. I winced once again, this time the bright sunlight hurting my eyes. Without thinking I put my arm up to shield my pain filled eyes. That was when I notice some of the blood from my still weeping arm, dripping onto the flushed skin on my face.

I could feel that I was swaying backwards and forwards. When I dropped my hand down, to see where I was going, there was a mother with three children in front of me. The four of them looked at me, in particular I noticed the concerned expression on the mother's face. I must be a sight to her, clad only in a towel and with obvious bloody wounds .

"Hello," I said, before collapsing to the ground unable to stay upright anymore.

Within the next fifteen minutes, an ambulance and two police cars arrived. The family that had discovered me brought me a blanket and, even covered, it wasn't long before I was shaking and weeping like an abandoned child.

While the medical team worked on me, their frowns along with the words of 'severe trauma' and 'blood loss' were mentioned a number of times.

The next day I learnt the police had defined Sheila's apartment as a crime scene and Sheila herself was arrested as she happily returned to her apartment, with groceries and medical supplies to try and treat me, unaware of what was awaiting her.

The Police found my clothes, phone and wallet on a shelf in her spare bedroom. Sheila apparently told authorities that she was planning on nursing me back to health now that we were bonded together forever. She was surprised when less than a week later she was formally charged with aggravated assault, grievous bodily harm, deprivation of liberty, drug offences and oh, yes, rape.

I spent almost a week in hospital, and after that, my parents arranged for me to spend some time in a rehab facility. They got me into a program that was tailored towards victims of sexual assault. I was one of three men in the program. Yes, men are sometimes the victims of sexual assault, the river can flow both ways I found out.

Fortunately, being a government employee and working for the Police, they had excellent insurance and they gladly covered the cost of my treatment. In the first month I think there wasn't a night I didn't awake at least once screaming, sometimes it was several times. But fortunately, the centre knew this would likely be the case and there was always a nurse on call and counsellors to help me. By the time I left the facility I was on a range of new drugs, most of them anti-anxiety/anti-depressants, aiming to help me deal with the ongoing nightmares and self-loathing that I felt.

My parents were there for me, as were several of my co-workers who had been told enough about what had happened to support the broken man I had become. Even before I was back at work, my manager spent a lot of time with me to make sure I felt as safe as possible as they eased me back into my job.

It took a few months after that night before I went back to work. Just working through IT migrations, doing documentation, nothing to intensive. I didn't tend to do anything but go between work and home. I even ordered my groceries online rather than have to go out in public. I had managed to buy a cheap car and work allowed me to park under the building in their secure car park, so I was pretty much never outside where people I didn't know could surprise me.

On the legal front, Sheila was going through the court processes. I provided a victim impact statement for the prosecution and I am told that the evidence of the gore in her bedroom along with my blood toxicology and photos of my wounds had more than one member of the jury throwing up as the prosecution did their job well.

I was granted a formal restraining order, Sheila was not allowed anywhere near me, not that it would be an issue as I was told she was sentenced to over twenty years with all the charges combined. Sheila would be past the prime of her life by the time she got out.

I wished I could have wanted for her to get help and get well, but I'd be lying. The thoughts I had about her were dark, most of them I could not write down as just thinking about what I wanted to do made me disgusted with myself. The initial shrink I was seeing, had a good idea what I was struggling with, and tried to pry it out of me, pushing me session after session, telling me it was better to let my darker thoughts out, because anger and hatred was common among victims and those poisons needed to be delt with if I was to move forward.

In retaliation to him trying to pry it out of me, I tried to overdose on my meds. My mother found me in a puddle of my own puke. Fortunately, they were not that strong. I spent overnight in hospital before being released to stay with my parents for the next month, along with more approved time off work. A new psychologist was required that would work with me rather than try to force me to relive my trauma as the first one had.

The second time, I didn't even realise I was doing it. It was about eight months after that horrid night and I felt I was getting better. But then someone at work mentioned that Sheila had tried to hurt herself in her cell but was unsuccessful. I wasn't sure what to think and I went home that night via a local liquor land and bought myself a bottle of Jack Daniels. The next thing I knew I am waking up in hospital with the sourest and the most upset stomach I had ever had.

Apparently, when I didn't turn up for work in the morning, my boss became worried and with a couple of officers came to my house finding me on my kitchen floor, again in a puddle of my own vomit. After a night in hospital, I spent another fortnight in the rehab facility. I ended up buying my manager a huge bunch of flowers from a very upmarket florist as a thank you for saving my life.

Now, almost a year later, I am still a shell of what I once was. But as long as someone I know well is with me, I can tolerate going out into public. My parents are worried, but they know what I went through and while they want me better, they know it's going to take a long time to get over what Sheila did to me.

Its then, one afternoon as I am watching a movie at home, that Britney came into my life. Now we're back to where I was struggling to fall asleep, a single father, broken, but knowing that I needed to look after Britney even as I warred with myself between on the one hand wanting her and on the other wishing she had never been born.

[:::: 3 - Life moves along ::::]

As the months went by, Britney and I became used to each other, and I found my heart warming to her. Despite the torment of my feelings, I began looking forward to holding her when I got home in the afternoon from the office.

My mother being a doting Grandmother, looked after her when I had to go into work and in those early months, I don't know that either Britney or I would have made it without her help.

"It's alright Tommy," she would encourage me. "No first-time parent gets it right; you're doing perfectly fine. Britney is a very healthy, happy baby."

I love my mum, and of course she takes a lot of photos of Britney and she tirelessly worked on me to get me posing with Britney in a lot of photos as well. She, more than I, knew I was growing to love my daughter but was worried about the undercurrent of resentment I had for her now dead mother.

By the time that Britney was three years old, I had fully accepted her as my daughter and it became us against the world. Not surprisingly, Britney became my key to recovery and at almost twenty-five, I am one of the younger dads around her daycare. But now I could not imagine life without my daughter. Even at that young age, Britney knew I was a little different than the other dads, but that brought a very protective streak out in her. Cuddles and hugs were her love language, letting me know how much she loved me and I never said no.

Three days a week, I would drop Britney off to a local day-care centre on the way to work and the other two days I worked from home on reports and documentation while looking after Britney. Mum and Dad were often around to look after their granddaughter, but due to our circumstances she is very much a daddy's girl.

By the time she was coming up on three and a half, my daughter was walking, talking, and even helping me a little around the house. I could be out in public with her and could even stand to walk through a crowded supermarket or shopping mall for short periods of time if she's with me. I found it exhausting though, and she always thanks me for taking her out with lots of kisses and hugs afterwards.

One afternoon after finishing work and heading to pick her up from daycare, Britney came running to me with a smile a mile wide waving a piece of paper in her hand like it is the most important paper in the world.

"Daddy," she exclaimed in her cute little voice, waving an invite at me. "Dend-da-ney is having a birthday, we going?"

I smile at my daughter, and got down on one knee, to be at her level for better eye contact.

"How about we call Denny's mum and have a talk to her?" She responded with one of her heart-warming hugs.

It is strange that while Britney is now looking a lot more like her mother, I no longer equate her to Sheila at all. She still has my eyes, and I can see one day she's going to be a heart breaker with long blonde hair and a stubborn attitude.

That night I called Mary, Denny's mother. Though his father works with me, I know it is the mums that put these events together, and with Britney beside me, I confirmed the party and that Britney and I would be there at the play centre in two Saturday's time.