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Subject: You’re Mine Chapter 1 (Incest) You’re Mine Chapter 1 I awoke to his fingers absentmindedly rubbed up and down my right side as we laid spooning on the couch. The TV blared but no sound really made its way to my ears. My whole world revolved around the feeling of his touch. No rhyme or reason as to his fingers’ placement, just trotting multiple paths in whatever direction he so chose. I could easily smell the whiskey and weed wafting off him, layering the air around us along with his natural scent. His breathing, a sharp contrast to mine, was calm and controlled as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on me. I am sure he could tell through my body’s betrayal of movement, no matter how much I willed it to not respond. For years he showed me little to no affection, not because he never had any to give, but because of the circumstances we were given in the past 5 years. Losing her was the worse thing to happen to us at that point. She was so crucial to our day to day; we took advantage of the time we had to spent together. My mother made life for the both of us comfortable, we wanted for absolutely nothing in her presence. Essentially, we were living the story book life. Happiness was an afterthought because that was just our default. They met in the 1980’s. She was an account manager for a major bank, he was an immigrant from Sicily trying to make a new life on Long Island, NY. My father, Gianni came from a wealthy family in Sicily, however wanted to make it on his own and moved to the US at 16 with only the clothes on his back. He worked in restaurants, a country club, even was hired by a local sanitation company just to scratch up enough capital to start his own trucking business. When he managed to save $10,000 over the years, he approached the bank with his proposal but was instantly met with resistance from the loan official he was applying with. His English wasn’t the greatest and yet he wasn’t a pushover accepting whatever she threw his way. She wanted nothing to do with him, thinking he would be a difficult account to manage. That’s when my mother, Kristina stepped in and gave my father the opportunity of his lifetime. Being as knowledgeable as she was, she new a great idea when one came her way. After hours of listening and asking the right questions my mother was so impressed, she decided to quit her job and entered a business partnership with my father. She had her own capital saved up and was looking for an opportunity like this in which to give her all to. While great at what she did for the bank, my mother always aspired to owning a business and giving financial freedom to herself and family. The beginning of course was hard for them both. With the language barrier and differences in upbringing (my father being Sicilian and my mother being African American), they had completely different approaches to issues pertaining to the business which often bled into their personal lives. My mother was in a dead-end relationship and my father happened to be married to his “work”. With no family and hardly making friends because of his focus, my father only had the business and relationship with my mother at the time. While he quickly developed feelings, my mother wanted no parts, escort bayan having to already deal with a nagging man at home. She only wanted to keep things professional because she saw the damage getting involved with coworkers could do based on the history of her parents. My grandparents happened to work close together within the hospital system only to go through a bitter divorce that left the family without a father. He simply checked out from their lives once the attachment of husband was let go. He still worked within the system and provided minimal financial support, pretending his family of 5 never existed until the day he died. One day, while on a transportation job to Minnesota, my father’s world would change when he had a near death experience. While driving his 18-wheeler through a fast-moving blizzard that came out of nowhere around 2am, an oncoming van veered into his lane and crashed into him head on. The driver of the van happened to be drunk and was instantly killed while my father suffered some broken bones and lost consciousness due to a blow to his head. In his delirium, he would speak the name Kristina every now and again, causing the medical staff to think he was speaking of his wife. When they finally got ahold of my mother the following day through calling the company, she rushed on the first flight to see him with her boyfriend threatening to end things in if she did. For three weeks my father stayed in a coma because of the severity of his injuries with my mother by his side the entire time. The staff treated her as if she were his wife even though they had no such relationship. Until he woke up one day and their eyes met. At that point they both knew they would forever be intertwined. They realized they were supposed to be together and they made it happen. From that point on she assisted in his recovery while maintaining the business through the drivers they already hired along the way. By giving a 10% cut of the business to each of two drivers already hired, my mother was able to grow the business and give more than enough time to my father for their relationship to blossom even further. The day my father walked out of physical therapy on his own power was the day he officially dropped down on one knee and proposed to her. He of course wanted to do it the day he opened his eyes to see her sitting there reading a trashy tabloid magazine to get her mind off things. They were extremely happy. No amount of stress ever caused a major rift between the two. When I came along a year after the proposal (9 months into their marriage), I was immediately enveloped into a stream of love. My father had gone back to long haul driving but reduced his travel time enough for him to always be present in our lives. Even when he’d be gone for extended periods of time, he was always in contact with us via telephone, letters, or gifts he would send when he was gone longer than usual to let us know he was thinking of us. When he was home, he’d always make sure to take my mother on lavish dates and spend quality time with us as a family. My mother took care of the home front as well as the house side of the business. With her extensive history as an account manager for a bank, she easily transitioned kocaeli escort bayan into running and extending the account portfolios. Business was always booming, no matter the economy. They both just had a way with connecting with clients and going above and beyond the call of service. And then it happened… one day my mother just didn’t come home. At the age of 9, I was waiting for her to pick me up like she did every time the school day was over. The teacher’s aide in charge of seeing the kids off waited with me for an hour until it was well after school had ended. She called our house, her cell phone, and the business to no answer. My father was away on a long hauling trip, so my next emergency contact was my grandmother on my mother’s side. She also had not heard anything from my mother but, was able to come pick me up in her place. That entire day we called out and waited by the phone to hear anything from her. However, she never called or came home. In the panic of everything I stayed at my grandmother’s house until my father could be reached. A couple of days later, he called my grandmother after not being able to reach my mother or myself at our home. He had just arrived at his stop in Florida after being on the road. When he was given the update on my missing mother, he immediately hopped on a plane just like she had done for him all those years ago. Unfortunately, it was to no avail. My mother was never found. There was no trace of her anywhere. The last time I saw her was when she dropped me off at school that morning. Nothing was out of the ordinary, she even scolded me for almost forgetting my wool hat in the car because of the cold NY weather. I gave her a kiss on the lips, as I did with both of my parents when showing affection, and I went about my school day. Her car never even showed up anywhere in part with the police investigation. She just vanished from our lives as if she were never a part of it. My father was beyond devastated. Prior to my arrival, she was the only one he shared everything with since he started his new life in the US. She shared his entire outlook on life. They had promised to grow old and live out the end of their days together. It was as if the air was taken from his lungs and he no longer knew how to breathe. The business side of things suffered severely, to the point my father was forced to sell to the two drivers with the 20% share due to him neglecting the business. With no body to claim, we couldn’t use any life insurance policies attached to my mother. However, the drivers respected both of my parents for the opportunities they gave them and made sure we were left with enough to survive comfortably on top of my mother’s financial savviness. Even though we were good financially, our relationship really suffered a tough blow. When he sold the business, he no longer had to be outside of the house. And outside of the house is where he rarely was. Well, if you don’t count the bar he frequented whenever he was in the mood not to drink by himself. We switched roles when it came to responsibility. I was no longer the child learning the ropes of life. I was the child imbedded into the harshness of reality that is kocaeli escort life. I became the adult in all situations. I made sure the payments for every bill we owed was paid on time with the correct accounts after noticing late bills going unpaid since my mother’s disappearance. I made sure we at least had food to eat, ordering out or making ready to eat meals through the microwave since I wasn’t old enough to cook. My grandmother tried to be as involved as possible, but with his constant drinking and bad attitude, my grandmother ultimately decided it was best to stay away. I still had access to her whenever I needed anything major, but I kept my distance in order to keep the peace. My outlook on life changed completely just as he did. No longer did I have caring parents who looked out for my wellbeing, I was the parent. No longer did I have in person examples to model my life after, I was the example for which others could model themselves after. No longer could I live my life as a child because if I didn’t make sure things happened, no one would. From ages 9-14, I lived my life through the only means my brain could at those ages with the life lessons I’d already been given. I was fortunate enough to have both parents instill virtues in me that couldn’t be unlearned even if I tried. I kept up with my schooling, took care of the household, and even took care of my father at his worst points. Drinking had become a daily occurrence for my father. When I would arrive home, I was immediately welcomed by the smell of beer or liquor permeating through the entire downstairs. Cans or bottles would be littered all over the kitchen counter and dad would be planted either in front of the TV in the living room or if he could make it, passed out in his bedroom with the door wide open. More than a few times I’ve found him face down on the floor, unable to make it wherever he was contemplating to go. In order to make sure he was okay; I’d do my best to lift his 6’2″ 230 lbs. frame and guide him to the bathroom, ensuring he was able to use the facilities. Then when finished, I’d throw him onto his bed and go about my business until the next morning when he’d wallow and do it all over again. My life itself was wrapped around the well-being of my father. I barely had friends because I was so embarrassed to explain my familial situation with anyone. People knew of the basics for the most part, but we were left alone when it came down to excruciating details. I maintained B level grades and because of that, teachers never bothered to investigate my home life. One day I happened to go up to the attic to replace my winter clothes with my summer clothes for the upcoming spring/summer season. While putting everything away, I came across a book I’d never seen before. Inside held my mother’s version of recipes my father thoroughly enjoyed throughout their relationship. Her perfect cursive imbedded into the fragile paper looked as if a historian would one day preserve it into a museum. Inside read recipes I could distinctly remember through memory alone. From her lasagna, to her million-dollar chicken. So many flavor combinations that screamed her, situated in this one book. Along with each recipe was a little excerpt about my father’s reaction to it as well as little changes to make to ensure my father enjoyed the meal thoroughly. I decided then I would take the mantel and preserve her memory through food not realizing this would lead me down a path to no return…