My Dearest [HWC2013]

Disclaimer:
You won't enjoy this. I certainly didn't enjoy writing it.

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To my dearest Olivia,

I want you to know that your mommy and I love you very much. You were and will always be our little angel, and our whole world. If I could give my own life to have you back, I would, and it kills me every day that I can’t do that for you.

I wanted to tell you all the things I would say but never had the chance, so I’m writing this for you. Mommy has a lot to say too, but she can’t right now. She will in her own way, when she’s ready. She’s trying to work through what’s happened, and I know it’s going to take some time. We have to be patient and give her all the time she needs. Your mommy is an amazing woman. I knew she was when I met her. I’m sorry you couldn’t have gotten to know her better. I want you to know how amazing your mommy is, because I want you know the woman you would have grown up to be. Even as a child, you were already so much like her.

I always hoped that you’d be like her and not like me. I know you’re watching over me now, and I know you see me for who I am, and I don’t want you to be ashamed of me. I was so proud when you were born. I don’t want that precious face, that always shone so bright when it saw me, to be ashamed of having me as a father. You’ve always made me so proud. I love you so very much.

I’m so glad your mommy loves you like she does. I didn’t have a mommy who loved me like that. Mine sometimes scared me, and she would hit me when I was a child, and yell at me. I grew up being afraid of her, and hating her, and I never wanted you to go through that. If I could have kept you from ever knowing fear and hate, I would have. I wanted you to always be innocent. I wanted you to never have to go through what I did.

I won’t deny being a bad man. I had so much hate inside me, I didn’t know what to do with it. It affected me so deeply. And for so long. I held it in a long time, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I made every woman a release. There were too many to count. Almost every night, I found some girl out late on her own, usually in parking lots or near college campuses. They were always young, and always pretty. But none were as pretty as your mommy.

The faces of all the others are lost to me. I remember their looks of terror and fear, and I remember how helplessly every one of them would scream and beg, but I remember everything about your mommy on the night I met her. She’s always been foremost in my mind. Her blue dress that shimmered in the streetlight. Her auburn hair tied up in the back. I followed her longer than I had anybody else, watching as she walked, and her not knowing I was there. And in that moment when we met, and I forced her to the ground, she wasn’t like the others. Not once did she scream. There was no begging for me to stop, no crying for help. All of my anger, I took it out on her, and put it all into her, and she let me. She took it all. No matter what I did, she wanted more. She liked it. And I felt something for her that I hadn’t felt before, for any woman. I felt love for her.

After that night, it was her alone. She was always there to take the hurt that I had. She took all I had to give. She loved me through it. And even more than that, she loved me for it. I don’t know if you can understand all this. I’m not even sure I want you to understand it. Just know that your mommy is a remarkably strong and compassionate woman, and I was lucky to find her. And you were growing up to be just like her, my precious angel.

The day you were born, I made a promise to you. I promised I’d never let any harm come to you. I meant to keep that promise. I never intended to hurt you in any way. You were so tiny. So innocent. When we brought you home from the hospital, I was scared. I felt like you might break in my arms. Like you were some fragile little doll that I had to be so careful with. Mommy and I watched you grow as the months past. We couldn’t believe it. We would look back at pictures we had taken just weeks before, and you had grown so much in that time. You were a miracle to us, and we were thankful for every day we spent with you.

When you turned four, you drew a picture of you, mommy, and me. I have it here with me as I write. You even drew your hair in little pigtails, and wrote your name on it in big letters. You were becoming so grown up. And you were so like your mother. Whenever she did something, you wanted to do it too. She went shopping, you wanted to go shopping. She made supper, you wanted to make supper. You wanted to wear your hair up, just like her. Whenever she hugged me, you would pull me down on my knees so you could give me the biggest hug ever.

The same night you drew this picture, you came to me as I was working in the garage. You were so cute, with your hair in pigtails, just like the picture, and your little blue dress on. It shimmered a bit in my work light. I guess you had snuck into mommy’s room and put on some of her perfume. I could smell it on you. You smelled just like her. Still so tiny, and yet you reminded me so much of her.

I never meant to hurt you. I thought you were like her in every way. I swear I never meant any harm. You were standing there, pretty and smiling, and smelling of her, and wearing that dress. But you screamed. My god, you screamed so loud. And I didn’t stop. Something in me just wouldn’t let go, even though I heard you screaming. You were pleading, and begging, but I had you in my arms, and I just couldn’t stop. I couldn’t. You were crying, and I couldn’t stop. The tears ran down your face. There was blood on the floor, and on me, and all over you. Why the hell couldn’t I stop!?

Mommy found us. Then she screamed, and she cried, and she begged for you to wake up. She grabbed you, and she cried all night. She screamed at me, and hit me over and over, and I just sat there. She wept over your precious little body, and I sat there.

Your mommy still cries for you. I didn’t cry then, but I’m crying now. My dearest, dearest Olivia. I miss you. It hurts that I can’t hold you anymore. I just hope I get to see you again someday. Then we can all be together, like we were before.

Until then, I hold you in my heart always.

Love, daddy.

reply to post by CLPrime

reply to post by CLPrime


Holy sheet dude.

Please tell me that's a piece of fiction

reply to post by SomethingsJustNotRight


It is a work of fiction.
I wanted to illicit emotion. I came up with the idea during some long hours at work, and wrote it after doing a bit of disheartening research on psychopaths and rapists. Like I said, I didn't enjoy writing it, and no sane person will enjoy reading it. It's emotion that I'm after.

The disturbing fact is, in this world, there are people for whom it is not fiction. That such people exist is true horror.

reply to post by CLPrime


I have studied sociopathy in quite a bit of detail and I think you did a great job.

Just the right amount of description and a theme that needs to be out there for people to understand.

Gutsy and well told. Bravo.

S n F

reply to post by Tsu322


I appreciate your understanding, both of the topic and of my putting into writing.

I watched two interviews. One was of a man who had raped two dozen women. The other was a sociopath who had begun raping his own step-daughter from 4 months. The father in my story did so at 4 years, and with not nearly as much apathy as that man showed. I presented the toned-down version...the reality is worse.

In all honesty, I considered making the child younger, but a mental block prevented me from doing so. Even to write what I did, I had to disassociate from my own morality. I wrote with my left hand, so it wouldn't feel to me like me writing it. As I said, I did not enjoy it.

I can see a few little clues that give away the fact that your idea is from research and not from real understanding so I wouldn't be worried about people getting the wrong idea.

Have you heard of the pedo scandle in UK? Jimmy Saville was in the public eye for a long time and was all over young girls on live TV. No one spoke out until it was too late to get justice.

This sort of thing should never be brushed under the carpet.

The best stories always get people thinking about real issues.

Kudos again for the issue you raise and the style you raised it in.

Short, yet to the point and charged with an important message, I must applaud your story. It was painful to read, but your emotional precision as a writer is just incredible. Once again, you prove yourself as the master of emotions.

CLPrime
The disturbing fact is, in this world, there are people for whom it is not fiction. That such people exist is true horror.

Well put.

S&F

reply to post by CLPrime


That was very well told. I can understand how it was difficult to write; but you wrote it very well. I could feel the hate, the sadness and the bitterness the father had for himself, for what he did to his only daughter; I already had tears in my eyes when I arrived at the middle of the story and realised what was going to happen next.
And, as you said, it is very awful to know that some people are like that, and will never have one ounce of horror for what they did.
And even if there's no mention of Halloween, its scary and horrifying enough to qualify for it.

Anyway, S&F!