I GUESS WE COULD PRETEND 3.

BENJAMIN.

As fate would have it, Father stopped asking Mum for cash as he had discovered another means of lining his pockets, rendering Mother's financial contributions unnecessary. This meant that after grocery shopping, Mother had only a few precious dollars left to spend on me, her beloved child - her precious baby.

Today was different, though. Today was my birthday, and Mother had lovingly prepared my favorite dish - spaghetti with meatballs. This was a rare treat, reserved for special occasions, and the savory aroma wafting from the kitchen had my stomach growling with anticipation. Little did I know, this birthday would be one I'd never forget.

Father had brought his "friends" home again, and I was summoned to indulge in their twisted games. By now, I'd resigned myself to my fate, my spirit crushed by the weight of Father's sadistic threats. He vowed to slaughter my mother, forcing me to witness her brutal demise, and then end my life as well. The terror of his words had suffocated my resistance, leaving me a shell of my former self.

I'd grown numb to the pain, my emotions cauterized by the repetitive abuse. I'd learned to disassociate, to escape into a world where the horrors unfolding around me weren't my reality. But today was different. Today, there were two of them, their lecherous eyes crawling over me like vermin.

What Father hadn't anticipated, however, was my mother's unexpected return home. The sound of the door opening, the rustle of her keys, and the soft murmur of her voice as she called out to me, "Benji, I'm home!" - it all seemed to unfold in slow motion, a sense of trepidation hanging in the air like a guillotine.

Mother had been secretly saving up for the perfect birthday gift, her eyes shining with excitement at the thought of granting my heart's desire - a brand-new bicycle. But instead, she walked through the door to a scene that shattered her world. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the unspeakable acts being committed against her child.

Her screams pierced the air, a raw, anguished cry that shook the very foundations of our home. "How long?" she demanded, her voice cracking with rage and grief. "How long has this been going on behind my back?" The room seemed to tremble with her fury.

Father's response was brutal, his fists slamming into her, sending her crashing onto the table. The sound of her body hitting the wood was like a crack of thunder, a stark reminder of the evil that lurked within our own home.

I recall Mama's desperate plea for me to fetch help, her voice laced with urgency and fear. I grabbed my brand-new bicycle, its shiny surface now a blur, as I pedaled furiously toward the Smiths' household. My screams echoed through the streets, "Help! Help! Help!" a chilling refrain that seemed to freeze time itself.

Racing back with the Smiths mere minutes later, we were met with an inferno. My childhood home, once filled with laughter and warmth, was now a blazing pyre, its flames devouring every last secret. Four charred bodies were all that remained, their identities forever shrouded in mystery.

The cacophony of sirens, the strobe of police lights, and the acrid smell of smoke and ash overwhelmed my senses. Child welfare services and investigators swarmed the scene, their questions and concerns a jarring contrast to the numbness that had settled within me.

A month passed, and the truth remained locked behind my lips, unable to escape. The authorities ruled it an accident, a tragic confluence of circumstances. I was left alone, an orphan at twelve, with only my memories to cling to. My parents were laid to rest together, their secrets buried with them, leaving me to navigate a world forever changed.

Destined for the foster care system, my life was about to take another drastic turn. But fate intervened, and the Smiths, our longtime family friends, opened their hearts and homes to me. They became my guardians, raising me as one of their own.

The transition was seamless, as the Smiths had been a second family to me. Aaron, their son, had been my inseparable best friend since we were toddlers. Together, we explored the wonders of childhood, sharing laughter, tears, and countless memories.

But the scars of my past lingered, manifesting in terrifying nightmares that stalked my dreams. Some days, the trauma resurfaced, and I'd unravel, my emotions raw and contained. I'd trash, scream, and hyperventilate, unable to escape the darkness that had haunted me for so long.

Mrs. Smith's nurturing presence was a constant source of comfort, her loving gaze and gentle touch soothing the deep-seated wounds. Her eyes, filled with empathy and understanding, silently reassured me that everything would be alright.

As the years passed, the nightmares intensified, and I was guided into therapy. But the secrets I harbored were too painful to share, too shameful to reveal. So I learned to mask my torment, to cleverly conceal the truth. I mastered the art of deception, presenting a facade of progress and convincing everyone that therapy was working its magic.

And so, I hid behind a mask of normalcy, expertly disguising the turmoil that ravaged my soul. Even in the quiet of the night, when darkness reigned, and the world slept, my secrets remained locked away, hidden from prying eyes, even from those who shared my room.

I channeled my pain into purpose, pouring all my energy into academics and entrepreneurial ventures. My driving force was a deep-seated conviction: that wealth and success would shield me from the suffering my parents endured. But life had other plans.

With unwavering support from the Smiths and Aaron's partnership, we co-founded our law firm fresh out of university, graduating at 21 with honors in law. By 25, we'd skyrocketed to the top, becoming the most sought-after and dynamic duo in the city.

Yet, despite our outward success, the nightmares persisted, a haunting reminder of the trauma I'd endured. But everything changed when I met Rainbow a year later, and for the first time, I dared to dream of a life free from the shadows of my past.

Rainbow was only twenty, a radiant vision that captivated my heart. For weeks, I'd admired her from afar, hesitant to approach, fearing misjudgment due to our age difference. But fate intervened, and after the demolition incident, our paths converged.

She became my everything, illuminating my world with her bright smile. When darkness descended, and nightmares loomed, I'd conjure her image, and the terror would dissipate. With Rainbow by my side, I felt invincible, basking in unparalleled happiness.

As we exchanged vows, our love deepened. I cherished our exclusivity, reveling in the knowledge that she was mine alone. And she, content in my devotion, knew I belonged solely to her.

Two years into our blissful marriage, an eerie shadow crept over me, threatening to shatter our serenity. The voice, that menacing echo from my past, began to whisper sinister thoughts, sowing seeds of doubt and fear. It taunted me, claiming Rainbow would soon abandon me, leaving me shattered and alone.

The voice, a constant reminder of the horrors I'd endured, labeled me a coward for locking away the truth. It sneered, suggesting I'd savored the atrocities inflicted upon me. The nightmares, once held at bay by Rainbow's loving presence, now resurfaced with a vengeance.

Even Rainbow's radiant smiles began to distort, morphing into the face of my tormentor. I was paralyzed by fear, unable to escape the darkness closing in around me. The fragile walls I'd built to contain my trauma were crumbling, and I was terrified of losing myself to the void.

Every time Rainbow walked out the door, his mocking face would materialize, taunting me with twisted lies: "She'll find someone better than you." The venomous words seeped into my mind, festering until anger consumed me.

One fateful day, my fragile grip on sanity slipped, and I lashed out, striking Rainbow. But at that moment, my mind's eye saw a different scene unfold: I was pummeling him – the monster who'd haunted my childhood – and all the others who'd tormented me.

With each blow, I felt a warped sense of vindication, as if avenging my suffering. But the devastating reality was that my fists were actually hitting the one person who'd brought light and love into my life – Rainbow.

As I stood there, frozen in horror, I gazed into the eyes of my beloved Rainbow, her face etched with pain and confusion. The weight of my shame crushed me, and I couldn't bear to face the truth. I fled, abandoning the one person who'd ever made me feel worthy.

My actions were a vicious cycle, a toxic dance of hurt and regret. I'd lash out, then retreat, unable to confront the demons driving my behavior. The voice of my father, that constant critic, echoed in my mind, reminding me that I'd never be good enough.

If I let Rainbow go, I'd be validating my father's twisted prophecy. The fear of being unlovable, of being worthless, held me captive. I couldn't release the grip on our toxic relationship, even as it continued to destroy us both.