Finding Bathsheba Book 2Chapter 15
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Finding Bathsheba: Book 2Chapter 17 free porn video
"Several days ago an acquaintance approached me about my family," Sharon said, as she looked down into the dark liquid that filled her cup. She noted how the liquid rippled as she cradled the cup in her trembling hands.
"What did this acquaintance say?" Bill asked quietly.
What did Dr. Goodwyn really say? Much of the conversation was lost in the murky depths of her frazzled mind, but she couldn't shake the feeling she got from her conversation with Dr. Goodwyn, and this disturbed her. That was why she now found herself sitting on the soft sofa in Bill's warm, comfortable office, baring her soul once again to her spiritual leader and confidant. She snapped herself from her trance and looked up at Bill.
"He, um, he told me news about my family, about my daughters, and Jack."
"Was the news good?"
Sharon nodded and then shrugged. "Analise had a baby. A boy. She named him Josh ... Joshua, I guess. That's a nice Biblical name."
"I take from your words that you weren't aware that you had a grandson."
"No."
"I didn't realize you and Analise had ceased communicating. Was that your choice or hers?"
Sharon winced. What he wanted to know was whether she had cut Analise out of her life just like she had Abigail and Allison. His question, while necessary, still cut her to the core. Sharon felt her first tears begin to fall. Bill leaned forward and held a box of tissues towards her. She set her cup down on the table in front of her, snatched three tissues from the box, and wiped her eyes and nose. Then she gave a rueful chuckle.
"I must be the worst mother in the world. I cut two of my daughters out of my life and the other cuts me out of hers." She still couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone to call her daughters—any of them. She choked back a sob.
"It must feel like that right now, but believe me, Sharon, you are wonderful mother, proven by the fact that Abigail and Allison have such love and compassion and carry themselves with a confidence that they obviously learned at a young age. And Ben, as fine a young man as I've ever seen, would defend you to within an inch of his life if that was ever needed." Bill sat back with a sigh. "You are definitely an influence for good, given the other ... negative ... influences in their lives."
Sharon knew to which negative influences Bill was referring, and truth be told, she didn't have the strength or will to defend her husband anymore. Bill's comment, however, forced to her consciousness the part of her interaction with Dr. Goodwyn that really made Sharon uncomfortable.
"This ... acquaintance, he asked me some questions about Ted."
"Oh?"
"Well, really just one question, but it held some pretty strong implications." She took a deep breath. "He asked me if I really know what kind of man Ted is. What kind of question is that to ask a woman about her husband of nearly 30 years?"
Sharon expected Bill to look surprised or even humored at the question, but he instead raised an eyebrow and rubbed his jaw.
"What do you think your acquaintance was implying?" Bill asked.
"Well, I..." Sharon stammered. She was back to that question. What DID she think he was implying? "Well, he was questioning Ted's decision to cut off our contact with our daughters, questioning other actions. What was I supposed to infer from the question? Clearly Dr. Goodwyn thinks Ted might be involved in some things that might be in poor judgment or questionable."
"And what do you think?"
"Ted has done many wonderful things." The intense look in Bill's eyes made her stumble on. "I mean, he's helped lots of people. I admit I sometimes question his choice of who he helps, and his views on some moral issues seem..." She shook her head. "I've never seen nor heard Ted do something illegal or unethical."
Bill didn't say anything for nearly a minute, content to just sip his tea. The silence seemed eternal to Sharon and began to unnerve her. She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she sipped her tea as well, and she thought. She sometimes wondered why Ted chose the people to help that he did, but as it was really related to the affairs of the bank, she never voiced her questions aloud. He often spoke of the many good things that he and the bank did for people in the community, but he never spoke of problems. Surely, he encountered some. Maybe that's what all of those late nights in his home office were about. What DID he do behind the closed doors of that office? She thought she knew her husband, but did she really?
She felt renewed anger towards Phil Goodwyn for raising these doubts, as well as disappointment in Ted for giving her any reason to doubt in the first place. Her anger was interrupted by Bill's next question.
"Sharon, do you feel loved by your husband?"
"My husband loves me," she answered, automatically.
"That's not the question I asked, though," he said gently. "Do you FEEL loved by your husband?"
Sharon paused to think about his question, and she was overcome with the all the feelings she'd been trying to repress for more than a year. She felt that Ted was more devoted to his work than his family, that he was more intent on doing things to show the community how good he was than on trying to show her how much she meant to him. She felt that he was becoming increasingly self-serving.
There was only one way to answer Bill's question, if she was being honest, and she had no reason not to be.
"No. No, I don't feel very loved," she said, as new tears silently trickled down her cheeks.
Bill frowned. "I'm sorry, Sharon, to come back to these difficult questions. We've discussed the state of your marriage before, and you had concerns then. Before you can truthfully answer Dr. Goodwyn's question, you need to work out your feelings towards your husband." He leaned forward. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Don't worry about thinking beforehand exactly what you want to say. Just answer, verbalize your feelings, and we'll work through this together."
She dropped her head in defeat, but nodded for him to continue.
"How does your husband make you feel?"
She fought down the instinct to try to form the "right" words, and just started talking. "He makes me feel like a subordinate, like I'm an employee who provides good service to him. Kind of like how he refers to Jean, his assistant. Jean manages his office; I manage his home. She gets his coffee and schedules his lunch reservations; I cook his supper. She keeps his life organized; I birthed and raised his children." She felt the anger begin to swell inside her again, and she laughed derisively. "He's as happy with me for giving him three daughters as he is with Jean for establishing an efficient filing system. Oh, but giving him two sons? That's akin to Jean helping close on a successful business venture." With the wounds laid open, she bled it out. "I married him because my father wanted it, even though he wasn't the man I really loved. But when I made those vows, I committed to him completely, and I quickly grew to love him. I hoped he would grow to love me, but now I wonder if he even has it in him to love anyone but himself. I've been telling myself lately that he's not really the man I married anymore, or that I wasn't really sure what kind of man he was. I was lying to myself. I've always known what was most important to him. When a business partnership ceases to be beneficial to him, he ends it as quickly as he feasibly can. Allison and Abigail, they were a business partnership destined to lead him to bankruptcy."
Sharon stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. The tears were still there, but now they were fueled by righteous anger. Though she had not planned any of her words, she knew with certainty that everything she said was true. Sure, she would second guess her statements in the days to come, would be overcome with guilt and feelings of betrayal, but none of that would change the fact that sometime in the last year, not only had she lost her love for her husband, she had come to loathe him. That thought brought a sense of hopelessness, even as she felt relief at finally being able to speak her feelings. With a new understanding, she looked up at Bill.
"What do I do now? I've given up my children for a farcical, loveless, marriage with a man I hate."
Bill placed his hand on Sharon's knee and squeezed it gently.
"Sharon, I have sensed for some time that you are not truly happy or at peace with yourself, nor with God. God wants his children to be happy, and by that I mean true, eternal happiness. I don't know what's going to happen to you. I don't know where things are going to end up with your husband, or with your children. What I do know is that there IS hope. What God wants for you is still attainable. Whether you search for it with or without Ted, is left up to you to decide. Through faith and prayer, Sharon, and courage to follow your heart, you will know what is right. Just remember, you will never be alone in this search."
Bobby wondered if he was making the right decision. Truthfully, he knew he was, but he was scared. Not that it mattered anymore, since his mother now knew everything. That had been the hardest part, seeing the horror on her face, the supreme disappointment. That she kept wondering aloud how she had failed as a mother was like a knife to his heart.
His mom choked back another sob. "Your father would be so ... devastated," she whispered, despair evident in her voice. "Your aunts always talk about how good a brother he was to them, how he tried so hard to protect them from boys like..." She bit back the obvious last word with a whimper and a sniffle.
Protect them from boys like ... YOU, she was going to say, and Bobby was too ashamed to even acknowledge her comment, which was like so many she had said since he confessed earlier that evening.
He looked down at his hands in his lap, turning one to look at the photo cupped in his open palm. He lovingly rubbed his thumb over the visage of Melissa, the one girl he ever truly loved. She was now attending an alternative school while she received counseling to deal with her trauma. He was pleased that she seemed to be recovering, no matter how slowly, and she seemed more and more comfortable with his visits.
A solitary tear splashed onto the photo, and he quickly brushed it off. There was no way she would want anything to do with him when she found out that not only did he witness Tyson's "sex game" and do nothing about it, but that he also participated. Much to Bobby's distress, he was sure Melissa was lost to him forever.
"Where did I go wrong, Robert?" She never called him by his given name, always using his nickname instead. Hearing it now thrust another dagger into his heart. "I did the best I could, after your father died. I taught you to respect girls, to respect yourself, and then this? That poor, poor girl." Another strangled cry as she turned her head away from him.
As it often did, the images flared into his conscious mind, and he was unable to repress them. Chrissy had already been naked, and clearly out of her mind. Matt Painter, Bobby's former best friend, held her face tilted up, his fingers clamped tight on her cheeks so she couldn't close her mouth, while Seth Jordan poured more booze down her throat. Her face was stained with tears, but she was laughing, Bobby had told himself, she was smiling and it wasn't hard to ignore the fact that the smile never reached her glassy eyes.
Matt let her go and she collapsed onto the floor at his feet. Bobby couldn't remember who picked the tiny girl up and put her on the coffee table, or who the first guy to fuck her was, but pretty soon, it was a free-for-all. Bobby should have stopped them or something, but he didn't. He didn't even leave. Instead, after everyone had had a turn, they looked at Bobby. They plied him with more liquor and taunted him, until he gulped one final mouthful of liquid courage and took his turn with her. Per Tyson's rules, though, he pulled out just before the end and finished in her mouth, and thus completed Chrissy Pelphry's gang bang.
Gang rape.
Bobby scrunched his eyes shut and fought to keep the vomit down, desperately trying to erase those images from his mind. He wiped at his eyes and winced from the residual ache of his black-eye, another unwelcome gift from Tyson and his sycophant, Adam.
"We had high hopes for you, Robert," his mother said. "College, track scholarship, and now..." She looked at her watch and sighed in frustration. "Where is Mrs. Lewis?"
Bobby ignored his mother and focused his attention on Melissa's picture. It was a small one, given to him after freshman year. He didn't turn it over to read the message she wrote on the back, but he knew what it said.
'Bobby, thanks for being such a wonderful boyfriend. I love you because I know you'll always treat me right. Oh, and you're damn cute, too! I love you always and forever ... Melissa XOXOXO'
Another, different message entered his thoughts.
"You have to come forward with what you know," Brianna had said, in the waiting area outside Melissa's hospital room.
It was too late for Melissa, Chrissy, and all the other girls, but maybe Bobby could stop it from happening again. This was the hardest, scariest thing Bobby had ever done, but he owed to all those girls. He owed it to his mother and the memory of his father. He owed it to himself.
"Mrs. Jensen?" Bobby didn't look up, but he recognized the voice of Officer Warner, the female officer who had handled Melissa's suicide attempt.
"Yes, hello, Officer Warner."
"Please, why don't you and Bobby come back to my desk?"
Bobby somehow found the strength in his legs to lift himself and carry his body after the two women. They stopped at an office with four desks, two of which were already occupied.
"Do you think we could talk in privacy?" Brenda Jensen, asked the officer.
"Sure, sure." Officer Warner didn't say anything else, but the other officers gathered some things and left the office. She closed the door behind them and gestured to the seats between the desks. Bobby pulled a chair next to his mother's in front of Officer Warner's desk.
"Well, I was surprised to hear from you, Mrs. Jensen. What can I do for you today?"
Bobby couldn't look into the eyes of the officer, so he glanced at his mother. She looked back at him with red-rimmed eyes that suddenly seemed unsure. Their interaction must have intrigued the officer.
"How is your friend, Bobby?" Officer Warner asked, as she settled into her seat.
Bobby looked at the picture of Melissa in his hand and tried to gather his courage. "She's ... OK. Doing better," he answered, without looking up.
"That's good," she said. "Looks like you have a nasty bruise, Bobby." Bobby flicked his eyes to her, and her eyes opened wider. "Oh, nasty BRUISES, I should say, though they appear to be healing well. Get in a fight?"
The images from his altercation with Tyson just a little more than a week ago flashed into his mind. In hindsight, it was stupid to confront the bastard in front of his friends, but Bobby hadn't been thinking straight. He was angry and demanded Tyson confess to what he did to Melissa. Tyson laughed at him, so Bobby got in his face. He didn't see Adam behind him, but he felt the pain as the huge guy's fist sank into his side. Then he held Bobby while Tyson basically beat the shit out of him. Countless blows to the stomach, two shots to the face, even, one that split his lip and bruised his cheek, and the other which blackened and swelled his eye shut. Between punches, Tyson gave Bobby the detailed description of what happened at the party where Melissa got knocked up. Then he told Bobby WHICH party, and reminded Bobby that BOBBY was getting drunk in the backyard, while Tyson and a dozen other guys were upstairs fucking his "slut ex-girlfriend". Adam gave Bobby another kidney punch and let him go. Even as angry as he was, Bobby had no fight left.
"Well, that's part of why we are here," Bobby's mother finally answered the officer. She glanced towards the closed door behind her, clearly hoping that their attorney would show up at that moment. "Bobby has been ... involved in some things, and he, um, he would like to talk to someone about them."
"Oh? What kind of things?"
Bobby felt Officer Warner's eyes on him, which made him want to shrink into his chair.
"Officer Warner, Bobby is a good boy, always has been. His father and I have tried to teach him right from wrong, but when his father passed away four years ago, Bobby became a bit ... misguided, I guess. I tried to raise him the best I could, and he has good grades. He is going to college on an athletic scholarship ... er, at least we hoped he would, but..."
She let out another strangled cry, unable to continue.
Officer Warner came from behind her desk and leaned on it in front of Bobby.
"What's going on, Bobby?" she asked firmly, but gently.
"Maybe ... we should wait ... our attorney..." Brenda choked out.
Bobby looked at the picture of Melissa again, focused on the beautiful smile and the light in her eyes, and vowed again to stop Tyson from stealing those two things from any other girl. He looked up at Officer Warner.
"I want to talk to you about my girlfr--um, about Melissa." Bobby was surprised at how strong his voice seemed, and he felt emboldened by that. "I know some things I didn't tell you, about some guys that, um ... I used to be one of them, but just the once, and I don't want to be, you know, be like them ... anymore. I'll take whatever happens to me if it means they can't do stuff anymore, like what happened to Melissa..."
Detective Warner motioned for him to stop. "Hold on, Bobby. I think your mother is right. You really should have your attorney present."
There was a knock on the door just before it swung open and a young woman rushed in, short of breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was detained by a traffic accident." She glared at Officer Warner. "Has anything been said?"
Officer Warner sighed and moved back behind her desk. "He was just beginning to tell me, but I suggested he wait. Would you like a few minutes alone with your client?"
Allison was squatting down next to her backpack, rifling through the textbooks and papers, looking for her missing page of notes.
"Did you find it?" Wendy asked, as she came into the room. Allison glanced over her shoulder at her friend, who was setting a can of Mountain Dew on the desk where Allison was studying.
"Nope," she answered, and turned her attention back to the search.
"Ooh, what have we here?"
Allison suddenly yelped as she felt a tug on the waistband of her panties just above her butt. Her baby tee was short enough, and her low-rise jeans low enough, that she'd obviously given her friend quite a view.
"Hey!" She quickly stood as Wendy tugged the panties and laughed.
"A THONG?! Ooh, naughty girl!"
She let go of Allison's underwear and plopped back to her study spot on her bed.
Allison grinned and rolled her eyes, as she tried to reposition her panties. "What, you don't have at least one thong?" she asked. "Great, now I have a wedgie. Thanks a lot, Wendy."
"No problem. And no, I don't have any thongs. Don't you always feel like you have a wedgie?"
"I didn't mean I had a BUTT wedgie," Allison shrugged, as she unbuttoned her jeans.
"Ooooh," Wendy said knowingly. "THAT kind of wedgie."
Allison noted that her friend at least had the decency to blush.
"As for feeling like you always have a wedgie, not really. You get used to it after awhile." She slid her fingertips under the cloth that disappeared down the front of her jeans and tried to rectify her problem.
Allison had been skeptical, as well, when she and Abigail decided to spice up their wardrobes. One of the first things they'd changed was their underwear. Now, all Allison wore were thongs. She loved the way it looked--no panty lines--and especially loved the way it made her feel ... so damn sexy. It really seemed to increase the incidents of spontaneous intimacy that she shared with her lovers. Just the day before, Abigail had gotten a view probably just like Wendy's a second ago. Instead of yanking up on Allison's thong, Abigail jerked her jeans down without warning, pushed her over so her elbows rested on the dresser, yanked the panty's crotch to the side and ate Allison to a screaming orgasm. Then, while Allison stood panting and quivering, Abigail innocently fixed Allison's panty, pulled the jeans back up, patted Allison's ass and went back to what she was doing, whistling contentedly.
Another side effect to the sexy clothes was that Allison found herself becoming less inhibited around others. Here was a perfect example. She had no qualms with unbuttoning her jeans, reaching inside them and fixing her underwear, even as Wendy watched. If Wendy was uncomfortable, it didn't show. She just went back to reading her notes and sipping her Diet Coke.
Allison pulled the smooth fabric of her thong from between her labia and repositioned the panty until it was more comfortable. "Ah, that's better."
"Hey, Babe's, what's--oh, shit!"
Allison shot a look towards the bedroom door. Ryan and Chris stood in the doorway, both wide-eyed as they looked at Allison with her hands stuffed down the front of her pants. She blushed. Maybe she wasn't COMPLETELY uninhibited yet.
"Quit drooling on my carpet, you thugs," Wendy said, with a laugh.
That pierced Ryan's shock, and he blushed and looked away. Chris, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued to Allison as she quickly buttoned her jeans and zipped it up. His blush had crawled up his neck and practically radiated from his face. Allison pulled the scrunchie from her hair, ran her hands through it a few times, and reformed her ponytail, hoping that this innocent action would ease the embarrassment all the way around.
"What are you doing here?" Wendy asked. Ryan leaned over her and met her with a kiss.
"Movie ... we need to go see a movie," he answered. "I'll drive, we'll pay." He nodded to Chris.
Allison glanced over at Wendy, and thought she caught a hint of guilt in her friend's eyes. That was all Allison needed to confirm her suspicions: Wendy and Ryan were playing matchmakers. This was the third time the boys had just "shown up" while the girls were studying, and the first two times--once to grab a bite to eat, and the other to go to the school basketball game--Allison had gone with them, thinking that it was just a group of friends hanging out. However, Ryan and Wendy somehow found a way to leave Allison and Chris alone each time. Whether he was in on it or not, Chris wasn't stupid. He had stepped up his flirting quite a bit in the last few weeks.
"Sorry, guys," Allison said. "We're studying. It's what serious students do."
"Is that what you were doing just now? Studying?" Ryan teased. "Come on, you are both A students. You'll be fine to take one evening off."
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