Like Roses and Oceans

Bruises bloom a lot like roses: from the center out as the blood vessels fray. Deep blues accented with green northern lights: their beauty had me craving their pain. I welcomed his bruises for months, because they reminded me of the bruises you left, and more than that, they reminded me of the ocean. Oh daddy, (Can I call you that?) you put an ocean of roses between us: a world of blues so dark they have to be filled in with fish and corals. I have to ask: was it that you couldn’t stand the sight of me, or did you crave the pictures my broken body painted? Daddy? Where were you when I needed somebody to teach me that bruises are not the same as hickeys?

...

His name was Chris, I met him on a sunny day reading to children in the library. He sat and listened to me talk, patiently waiting for it to be over. When I was done, he asked if we could go get ice cream. He was an old fashioned guy: he paid for us both. However, in exchange for the ice cream he demanded a kiss. I didn't really want to kiss him but you always taught me to pay my debts, daddy, and I didn't want to make you upset. So I gave him my number and free access to my lips. Oh daddy, I thought you would be proud that such a nice boy could love me, only I never got the chance to tell you because you got mad that I was late.

I saw Chris again, three days later, when the blue of your roses had wilted into a subtle bloom. We went to dinner, daddy, and when he walked me home his hand drifted between my back and the waistband of my pants. No one walks through our streets so late at night, I was very aware of that. each dark alley and hidden shadow made me jump because, daddy, if Chris had decided to be anything less than a gentleman I might not have been safe: even with Chris by my side I didn't feel safe. it was a strange feeling because I have walked those roads at night without fear before but everything seems much more threatening now. I wanted to tell you about dinner, daddy, but you were sleeping on the floor; a bottle of whiskey half soaked into the rug in one hand, and your favourite belt in the other. Looking back on it I don’t really understand why you had the belt in your hand, but I felt it the next morning when I burnt your eggs.

After three months, Chris took me home. He introduced me to his cat, and his coffee machine; those were the only two things I remembered about the rest of the apartment, because after that he showed me his bedroom. My heart raced and even though I knew what belt buckles felt like, they were somehow different in your hands. Daddy, I never resisted him after that, because you told me that my place was assured in life and that night Chris showed me where I belonged.

After six months Chris asked me to move in with him, and I said yes. You had already told me I needed to take the first man who asked because, daddy, I know I'm not pretty enough to attract more than one. The first night that I slept in our new apartment, he told me he wanted to handcuff me to the bed. He said it was because he had attachment issues and he was scared I would run away in the night. I wore his handcuffs for another three months.

I quit my job, and left my friends for him, because you told me that the only thing that mattered was how much a boy could love me. I did his laundry, and cooked his meals, I waited on my knees for him to come home, and I let him have his way every time. I did this for you, daddy, because I thought you would be proud.

I wanted to call you when it started to get bad, but you weren’t picking up the phone. Chris’ job was making him stressed and suddenly he was angry with me all the time. You should be thankful he wasn’t too rich, the fact that we lived in an appartment is probably what saved my life. I screamed so much that night that he put his hands around my neck. Daddy? I thought you were supposed to protect me from bad men. I almost died that night, daddy. Where were you when you were needed? Your babygirl needed you...

I woke up in the hospital, by myself. There had been no one to call except you,daddy, but you didn’t pick up so the hospital didn’t know who else to contact. It took six days for them to send me to the women's shelter. I wanted to come see you, daddy, but the fear of your judgement kept me at bay.

The road was long, and I feared a lot of things. Daddy, I feared belts, breakfast, eggs, men, ice cream, and libraries. I feared oceans and roses, but most of all I feared myself, because I am still learning what it means to be loved and every so often I forget that I’m not supposed to be in pain. Daddy, I needed a father not a drunkard, I needed a confidant not a whipping post, I needed a guardian, but all I got was a solicitor: an old man who was more than happy to beat his daughter if no one else did it for him. You gave me roses and oceans and northern lights, but not once did you give a single s**t about me.

...

I know exactly where you were: when I was trying to figure out the difference between hickeys and bruises. You were carving me up from behind, seeing lash upon lash collide: watching oceans upon oceans bloom. I don’t need your roses on my skin, not anymore, because I have finally discovered the difference; hickeys are the roses that come from consent and bruises are monsters that bloom with malicious intent.

Reviews

[aj milton]

A strong sad story. It's funny that most daughters are the apples of their father's eye. But the world is neither consistent or fair sometimes. You captured that neglect so well.

[Teresa Elde]

Thank you very much

[Jacob Clifford]

This is deeply powerful and macabre. The girl felt she was only as good as her father said she was. She went along with the first man who showed interest in her. She felt she was deserving of the pain and torment she was inflicted. She didn't know the difference between love and abuse. And the worst part... I know there are women our there whose lives mirror this story. And Chris... There are too many men like him. They seem nice at first. They get their hooks in women and then show their true selves. And the father who drove his daughter into a state of self-doubt, and he was completely inept at providing basic needs for his daughter. This story stirred some deep emotions inside me.

[Teresa Elde]

Thank you for the kind words Clifford, it means a lot.

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful and sad story told.
"I don’t need your roses on my skin, not anymore, because I have finally discovered the difference; hickeys are the roses that come from consent and bruises are monsters that bloom with malicious intent."
The above lines. Deep and strong words shared. Life teaches us lessons. Sometime too late. Thank you Teresa for sharing the story.
Coyote

[Teresa Elde]

Thank you dearly for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you enjoyed my work.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Poet.