“Maybe in your world. Your mother has had a succession of rich husbands and is clearly the instigator in her divorces, moving onto bigger, better and richer so maybe it was easy for her to allow your father to remain a part of your life, although he could probably have had her taken out if she’d fucked with his access so maybe she had a greater incentive to let him stay around.”
I’m shouting again and I can see Mase is pissed off with my comments about his mum if not his dad. The worst thing here is that I don’t want to argue with him or compare my parents to his because apart from anything else mine will come up short and I don’t want to be bitchy about his mum, she is nice and welcomed me into her home, freely, and the fact that all of those stepchildren still have a place in her home makes her a good person.
“You don’t know anything about my mother,” he replies defensively, slamming his glass down on the counter. “But guaranteed she would never have allowed herself to marry a paedophile who was going to fuck her own child and if she’d been faced with a child who was claiming to have been abused she would have believed her, no matter how rich he might have been. Even if she was the sort of woman not to, then my dad would have been there to see what was going on and to intervene and he would have killed anyone who did that to me, Dec or Bethy, so you see, there are no excuses.”
I sob as his words hit me, the blame he apportions, equally to my mother and father for what happened not to mention my actual abusers. The only one he hasn’t blamed is Scott, Scott and me, and then I replay his words and think that maybe he does level some blame at my feet. He referred to Raymond asa paedophile who was going to fuck her own child.He hadn’t referred to him as abusive, someone abusing his position, nor did he refer to assault or rape. He’d said fuck, the same way he’d say it about us.
“You are contemptuous,” I screech at him with tears and snot flying. “How fucking dare you? I did not fuck Raymond. I thought you got that. When I was pinned down by my throat while he touched me, assaulted me, it wasn’t fucking. When he used his size, strength and weight to force my legs apart so he could rape me, it wasn’t fucking. When I bore bruises from enduring what he’d done to me, it wasn’t fucking and when he tied me to a chair so he could sodomise me, it wasn’t fucking! What we do, against doors, in the shower, on your desk, on the sofa, in our bed is fucking.” I shout so loud that it startles us both and then I slap his face, hard, before pushing past him to storm off to the bedroom, unsure if I want him to ever follow me.
Chapter 45
Mason
This is not how I anticipated our fight going. I expected some shouting, maybe some name calling, definitely some differing views and opinions. At no point did I think it would end with Olivia slapping me before storming off with tears running down her face. The realisation that she slapped me rather than punched me would suggest she is as hurt as she is angry, maybe more so and that means I have fucked up again, big style.
I was angry with Nigel earlier. I am permanently angry with her mother. I move onto simmering rage with the doctor, but my pure, unadulterated hatred and fury is saved for Raymond. But Olivia? Never ever do my angry feelings extend to her over anything that was inflicted upon her by any of them.
She did piss me off when she started turning things on my parents, implying negative things about my mum, things she doesn’t deserve. I allow myself a single short laugh when I think of her comment about my dad having a contract taken out on my mum, not that he couldn’t.
I said her mother had allowed it and her father hadn’t prevented Raymond fucking her, but what I meant, well, what I hadn’t meant to suggest was that she was in anyway compliant, complicit or responsible for anything he did, but that is precisely what she thought I meant. No wonder she is mad as hell.
She needs to hear my apology, for her misunderstanding, for my stupid, ill thought out words, but I don’t think she’ll listen yet, so I’ll wait.
I’m not good at waiting so the next forty minutes of the hour I promised myself I would give her kill me.
I have cleaned the coffee machine, unloaded the dishwasher, rummaged through the fridge and freezer as well as checked if the bin is empty. All of that between wandering from the kitchen to the bedroom that I am currently standing outside of, listening for something, anything, but I get nothing, although these doors are thick—
The door flies open, startling me.
“What do you want?” Olivia’s face is no longer wet with tears, just a little stained.
She looks as though she has just woken up, maybe she cried herself to sleep. I hate myself a little more at that thought, especially when I recall her mentioning having done that before, in the past, after she’d been hurt, by him. I really need to stop thinking of Raymond and anyone else who might have ever hurt her or facilitated her hurt or I am likely to get drawn into further altercations and that is the last thing I want. All I want is to hold her, comfort her, make amends and love her.
“We should talk, baby.” I lean against the door frame, making no attempt to enter. Waiting, wanting Olivia to invite me into my own bedroom.
“I don’t want to talk, and you, well you’ve said enough.” She turns away to go back into the bedroom, but at least she leaves the door open.
“Can I come in?” I ask with my most equitable tone, still hoping to hand some control of this back to my girl.
“It’s your bedroom,” she replies curtly.
This is going to escalate again if she keeps this up, the churlish,it’s your roomshit because it’s not, it’s ours, mine and hers. She no longer has a bedroom aside from this one. That reminds me that I need to get her to give notice on her flat and empty it.
“Olivia, can I come in?” I repeat, a little more firmly.
“Yes.” She sighs. She’s pacing, nervously, as she turns to face me. “This is a bad idea—”
“No,” I say with a sharpness I hadn’t intended. “I love you. I fucked up. I responded to what you’ve been through and what you were saying.”
My words sound lame and fraught and I all but dare my inner voice to say a single word. It doesn’t.
“I didn’t mean us forever. I meant this right now; my dad, the fucked-up responses to what the other is saying,” she reassures with a very weak smile. “Maybe we should make a little space, I could go home—”
I am done with this conversation already because she is home. Here is home, with me, nowhere else, nor anywhere I’m not so we are going to clear the air now.
“You are home, baby. It’s you and me together and we stay together to face these things, not apart. I am sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean to imply that what Raymond did was anything other than bad, that you were anything other than a victim. I hate these people Livy, all of them to greater or lesser degrees and I won’t have anything to do with them, you know that. Obviously, if Scott is a victim and not a perpetrator then so long as he treats you right now, I can get on board with him…and your dad,” I manage to say without a sneer. “He was stupid, ignorant, apathetic and a little selfish,” I say and watch her raise a questioning brow.
“This is you getting on board with my dad?”
