My Ex's Hot Father

Brielle’s POV In the quiet corners of my childhood, shadows gathered like storm clouds. His cruelty wasn't thunderous or violent; instead, it was a slow erosion, like waves relentlessly wearing down the shores of my self-worth. My stepfather's words, seemingly innocuous at first, were whispered storms that eroded the foundations of my confidence. Each remark, a drop in the torrent, etched deep grooves into the landscape of my soul. The storm raged in silence, behind closed doors and veiled smiles. His eyes, cold and calculating, were the epicenter of this tempest. The emotional abuse was an art form he perfected, a subtle manipulation that left me questioning my own reality. Gaslighting became the fog that clouded my perceptions, and I found myself navigating a labyrinth of self-doubt, never certain if the fault lay in his actions or my interpretations. In the mirror, I saw a distorted reflection staring back at me. His judgments, like a funhouse mirror, warped the image of who I thought I was. No accomplishment was immune to his belittling commentary, and every success carried the weight of his skepticism. The once vibrant hues of my dreams faded into muted tones of self-criticism, the reflection fractured and fragmented by his relentless critiques. Behind the facades of our home, I wore a cloak of silence. The fear of his disapproval shackled my voice, turning our shared space into a suffocating prison of unspoken words. I became a silent protagonist in my own story, tiptoeing through the days to avoid triggering the storm within him. Each suppressed thought added another brick to the walls I erected to protect myself from the relentless onslaught of his emotional tempest. Today, as I stand on the shores of healing, I recognize the echoes of his emotional abuse in the gentle ripples of self-discovery. The storms may have shaped me, but they do not define me. With each step away from the shadows of my past, I reclaim the colors of my dreams and find solace in the echoes of resilience that rise from the wreckage. The journey toward healing is ongoing, a process of mending the fractures and rewriting the narrative that was once dominated by the stormy presence of an emotionally abusive stepfather. As I sat in the bar at my favorite booth next to the window, the rain was pouring outside. I am writing my fictional story about my childhood. One that I had walked away from. Even though I had been struggling to make ends meet. I was able to graduate from school and college. I am an apsiring writer. I want to be the next author out there. Those are my dreams. I lived with my boyfriend, Rick, in a fancy apartment and I worked at the hospital cafeteria. He was wealthy and his mother was part of the hospital board, and she had another company that she is running. She takes me as her own daughter, which I never had the privilege of having since my mother is out there somewhere. As I wrote about my life, someone decided to take a seat across from me. I looked up with a frown but soon that frown dissipated as an attractive man with magnetic blue eyes, dark hair sleeked to the back, sharp jawline, cleanly shaved, was now looking at me. My heart stopped beating. Was I dead? “I don’t mean to sit here, but I noticed that you were writing, and I wanted to know what that is about? I am a writer myself,” he said with a polite smile. If my jaw dropped open, it would fall to the ground, his voice was velvety and so sexy. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you,” he smirked, that made it even worse. “I, uh, I am fine. I was just writing something which is fictional,” I said, shifting in my seat, taking a deep breath. These were actually real life events added into my fictional story. He nodded, “What kind of fiction? Romance? Fantasy…” “Romance, I guess,” I shrugged as I looked down at the book. “Romance,” it was like he tested the word on his tongue. “Interesting,” he smirked. He leaned forward, still holding his gaze on me. “How about we go somewhere quiet, and you could read that to me?” he said. I scoffed, “Really? I mean…don’t you care to ask if I have a boyfriend?” I was still very much attracted to him and this pull was telling me to say yes. I fought it because this is not me. I am a faithful woman. “Come on. Wouldn’t you want daddy to spoil you?” he smirked. I laughed so hard, a few people turned to look at us. “That is the most stupidest pick-up line ever.” “I had to try for what it was worth. You are beautiful and alone in a bar. Any man would want to try,” he shrugged. “I guess they will,” I continued to smile as I closed my book. “Would you like a refill?” he asked. I looked up into those magnetic blue eyes. I swallowed. Gosh, what is happening to me? I shook my head, no, “I'm fine, thank you,” I replied. “Such good manners,” his gaze burned into me and I shifted in my seat as I felt that heat. I swallowed and needed to get out of here. The rain was pouring much harder, but I didn’t care, I cannot be here in this bar with his insanely attractive man. I started to pack my book in my satchel. “Are you leaving?” he asked. “Yeah, I need to get home to my boyfriend,” I replied as I took my satchel and stood up, eager to leave. “Ah, the mysterious boyfriend, perhaps he is your fictional boyfriend,” he stated as he nodded towards my satchel. He must think that I was lying, which I’m not. “Take what you will with it.” I smiled at him politely. I didn’t even want to leave, but I forced my feet in front of the other, when his hand came into contact with my flat belly. The heat of his hand burning my skin that was revealed from my little cropped top, I stood there glued to the spot as we held each other's gazes. He kept his hand there, and it was only inches if he moved further down. In response to that thought, my core throbbed with want…not need. It was a want. “Stay,” he demanded. His eyes became darker. “I-I can't. I need to go,” I said, but then the power went out, and it was dark. All of a sudden, I got this delicious scent of his cologne and I closed my eyes, inhaling it. Electricity-saving lamps were being switched on, and I saw him a bit clearly now. He was standing, just a little move and my body would be touching his, but then I noticed his hand that was on my lower abdomen was now resting on my hip. His lips were inches away from mine, his lips were parted, and I wanted to kiss him. I bit my bottom lip and his other hand came up and removed my bottom lip from between my teeth. “Don’t do that or else I will bite it for you,” he rasped. That was not what I had expected to hear, and it made me want him more. This is so wrong yet it feels so right. “Get a room you two!” a bartender called out,” I snapped out of it as I turned to look at the bartender, Craig. He was familiar with me as I write here mostly on my off days. I pushed away from this man. “I need to get home,” I said softly, and he grabbed my wrist. “Sit,” he demanded again. We were still so close, “I can't,” I whispered. “You can. F^ck your boyfriend and have a seat.” I yanked my hand out of his grip. “I don’t appreciate a man who demands me to do what I do not want to do, especially when he knows that she has a boyfriend,” I said, and I walked away. My heart was beating at a rapid pace because it took all of me to leave. I step outside the bar and the rain got me as well as the wind. I was soaked instantly. My hair stuck to the sides of my face as I moved to the edge of the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab, but they just wouldn’t stop. “F^cking assh^les,” I muttered under my breath as they still continued to ignore me. I lost hope as my shoulders sagged, the power was out too, so all the headlights of the cars passing by were shining brightly. Perhaps it was because they couldn't see me in the dark. “Get in my car,” I jumped in fright, my hand against my chest as I looked at this stranger who was hot as f^ck, soaked with rain, his hair wet and one strand fell over his forehead, even if I saw him partially, he was hot. “You can't stand here in the storm, it will only get worse tonight. You will get sick. These cab drivers will not stop for you now, they want to get to where they need to be. So, get into my car,” he demanded. He had a point, “Fine, but you need to take me to my place nowhere else,” I said. “I will take you home, I promise,” he replied. His car was parked further down the road. The lights to his car flashed as he unlocked it with a remote in his hand. I opened the passenger side door for me and I got inside, and then he jogged around the front of the car, getting inside too. I inhaled that cologne instantly, and I closed my eyes just enjoying it. But then I noticed that the car hadn't started yet, so I opened my eyes. I looked over at him, he was already staring at me with hunger, his eyes were dark. It felt as if eternity had past by as we held eye contact. “Your boyfriend is so lucky to have you,” that snapped me out of it… Rick. I looked to the front at the car parked in front of us, and then he cleared his throat as he started the car. "I know he is fictional, so enjoy him before you have me." I swallowed at his words, yet there was no use in telling him that I really have a boyfriend, because he won't believe me. So, I kept quiet, eagerly wanting to get home. "I'm Daylan, by the way." "Brielle," I replied as I continued to look ahead of me. "Brielle," he said, it rolled perfectly off his tongue. Did he like to test words aloud? Yet, it was a turn on. The tension in the car was on another level, we could've been all over each other if I wanted to give him that. But I couldn’t, I had Rick to think about, and I would not do that to him. I am only getting a ride home from this stranger. A man that I had never met before and hopefully will never see again.