Joshua was like an older brother to us — my immediate elder sister, myself, and my younger brother. We got connected through a relative and as the relationship blossomed into something beautiful, my father almost adopted him as a son — scratch that, Joshua coiled his way into Dad's heart before one could count up to three. He slept at our house at will, my father fed him, clothed him, and gave him money regularly.
Joshua reciprocated my parents’ kindness by helping us walk the childhood journey. He told us stories at night, taught us difficult mathematics, and took us to children's programs. The icing on the cake was that he had answers to every question we asked as kids.
But things began to change with time. I noticed he stopped coming to our house, and if he came, he would sneak his way to find me, and speak with me in a secluded place. He'd then send me back inside the house. When I asked why he wasn't coming in anymore, his response was simple.
“I offended Mommy and Daddy and they asked me to stop coming to the house for now.”
The night he told me, it felt like a dagger was poked through my chest. He offended my parents? How? He wouldn't say. Why won't they forgive him? Didn't they teach us to forgive those who offend us?
I returned to the house, determined not to speak with my parents. I would scout for a way to table the matter before them. How old was I? Just ten. The moment I bolted the door, I froze at the thundering voice of Dad.
“What were you doing with that devil?” His voice roared with anger, his eyes bore it all.
Mommy stared at me with disgust, her arms folded. She added. “Did I not warn you to stay away from that boy?”
I found a little ounce of courage. “But Mommy, Daddy, what did he do? You both taught us to forgive our offenders.”
Daddy let out a tight smile, accompanied by a slow shake of the head. I recognised it immediately, the type that came when he was boiling with rage. Mommy took over.
“Sweetheart, there are some things we can't tell you now. Joshua hurt us so badly and we don't want him to hurt us again. And believe me, we have nothing against him, we just don't want him anywhere around our children. Someday, you'll understand.”
I thought I got the answer I needed. My parents were cruel, they didn't want to forgive their first son. Come to think of it, what if I were the one who hurt them? Would they send me packing?
I knew my thoughts were ridiculous but I concluded that I would not be a party to unforgiveness.
Joshua and I kept meeting secretly, and to me, he was still the same sweet brother, telling me stories, taking me and my childhood friend out, and helping with our assignments.
Things went on that way until I was twelve. He invited me and my friend, Goodness, to his house on his birthday. We got there to discover that there was no celebration — no cake, no party. When we asked him, he said things did not go as he planned but he would take us out.
I remember he sent my friend on an errand and went to have his bath. I engaged myself by reading the novel he gave me. Shortly, I felt a presence around me, and when I looked up from the book, I found him strangely staring at me, bare-chested, towel tied around his waist. I shifted uncomfortably. He came closer, sending sensitive signals.
I found my voice immediately and sprang to my feet. “What is going on here, Uncle?”
“Shhhh...” he placed his index finger over his lips. I blinked in confusion. He continued. “I love you. I've always longed for the day you'll grow so beautifully and endowed.” His eyes lingered on my chest as he spoke and tried to move closer, but something like an alarm rang in my head and I fled from the room.
Outside, I found Goodness returning with a transparent nylon, and without saying a word to her, I grabbed her by the hand and continued to my heels, commanding her to join in the run.
She ran in confusion. I didn't care. I'd explain to her later, but now, we needed to run from that wolf.
That night, I couldn't sleep. It was me and the tick-tock sound of the analogue clock dialoguing through the night. I cried, wiped my tears, shifted to the far end of the bed, and returned. I didn't know how but pure love for my parents began to sprout from within me.
If only I'd known that my parents were trying to protect me. At that point, I didn't want to fathom what Joshua had done any longer. I just knew that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and it'd only take extra carefulness not to fall into his trap.
All images were generated with ChatGPT
Sending you Ecency love
Hmmm. Thank God you were able to run away from him, sometimes we might not understand why our parents say or do some certain things
You're right. 🥹🥹
Thank you for engaging.
Welcome 🤗
A lot of wolves in sheep's form these days. Trying to have an affair with a twelve year old girl was evil. Thank God nothing happened.
Aside relatives, I don't trust any relationship with any adult male or female. A lot of children were molested all in the name of "he is our family friend."
That experience will always stay with me. At least, I know that I owe my unborn kids a lot.
You had to go through a very difficult experience, but luckily you were able to escape that dangerous situation. Our parents do things that we sometimes don't understand, but it's always to protect us from evil.
Thanks for sharing your experience with us.
Good day.
Thank you so much for engaging. 🤗❤️
You could not believe your parents when they warned you to stay away from him, now you see it yourself. It a good thing you were able to escape.
I had to learn it the hard way. 😂
I'm so sorry that this happened to you as a child, but very heartened that you managed to get away from him. A word of caution: be careful of treading on these themes in The Ink Well. We have a lot of empathy and compassion for those who have experienced abuse, and while we appreciate the need for those affected sometimes to give voice to it, we also see the need to protect others for whom it remains a trigger. We are thankful that you did not endure any actual abuse and that you steered clear of this level of description. As regards your writing, it was a little confusing with regards your description of Joshua, and I couldn't work out how old Joshua was. The image makes him look a lot older than you, but then you refer to him both as a boy, an older brother, and an uncle. The voice that you use for yourself is more one of an adult thinking back on an experience rather than the voice of a child enduring the experience. When we write about a 12 year old, we need to ensure that the voice of the character is also one of a 12 year old. I hope that makes sense.