*When you lose your family, do you ever find another?*
(Thanks to Steve150177 for the editing which I so desperately need)
(This tale uses racial stereotypes for the sake of the story; these are not things I hold to be true)
(This is not really an incest story as there is no blood relation and little familial bond)
*
My Mother met my Dad their sophomore year in college. Mom was worldly; more a free-spirit than a hippy. My Dad was a super geek. Mom was the first woman he ever slept with and the only woman he ever slept with until he remarried my Stepmom many years later. Neither parent denied that they made a plan for their future after graduation. Mom got pregnant but persevered to finish her Botany degree. They got married. Dad went into Genetics and started blazing a trail which became the source of so much of my grief.
After graduation, they were supposed to take a year off to travel but Dad broke his promise to Mom and pursued his career. Mom soldiered on for three more years before it became one too many solo dinners and she filed for divorce. Mom only asked for a little child support for me. He received visitation for any date with 24 hours' notice. I saw him four days in the next fourteen years.
Dad earned his doctorate, founded a business, got a second doctorate then made a train-load of money. We lived in the same city but on opposite sides. I had a moderately comfortable lower middle-class existence with no real idea what Dad did or owned. Mom had to explain to me how Dad had re-married some society lady because I never got my invitation.
When I was sixteen cancer snuck up on my Mom. She struggled to keep it together as long as she could but she eventually lost the house, all her savings and finally my college fund. I later learned that she had been in constant touch with my Father for most of the ordeal. She asked him to take over my care but his new wife didn't want me around and he didn't fight all that hard for me.
Only on her deathbed did he finally show up with his new wife and daughter (from my stepmom's previous marriage). She decided then and there that I was a 'dangerous' element, but Mom made my Dad swear to see me through college no matter what and he caved in to my Mom as opposed to his wife this once. The moment I graduated high school it was off to college with a small apartment and an unspoken warning to stay away. I never even saw the inside of my Father's house.
Nothing fucked up lasts forever it appears. Late in the fall, me and two of my buddies got in my car, went out and got drunk. I was sleeping in the back when the idiots decided to get their weed stashes. Then they picked up this third asshole who decided to get his stash as well. We got pulled over and suddenly my car had a 'distribution' weight of marijuana. Since I had a history of violence in my juvenile record, I was boned.
My public defender -- Dad didn't answer my one phone call -- turned out to be pretty kind and clever. She worked out a deal that would keep me under house arrest for twenty months and I could still do my course credits on-line. The catch? I had to have parental supervision (I was still under 21 and Dad paid for my domicile). Dad still didn't return my calls but my overly ambitious public defender actually caught Dad in his driveway one morning and had him sign the paperwork. I really owe her. I also was to discover that he 'forgot' to tell my Stepmom before taking a business trip to Japan for a month.
I will forever recall my Stepmom Zuiko (she's Japanese-American), arguing like mad with my lawyer, the two sheriff's deputies and their technician about letting them on the grounds so they could establish their parameters for my ankle monitor. For the first month I'd be under tight monitoring -- 100m, then they would take it out to 500m for two months and then finally I would get 2km starting month four if I was good.
The big thing Zuiko harped about once they got inside the grounds was 'would her daughter be safe'. My lawyer kept asking if I'd made any direct threats -- we had exchanged less than twenty words at the hospital and she hadn't seen me since, but she tried to weasel around it somehow. I was definitely not wanted but according to the state and county, she was stuck with me.
Now her and her daughter being in danger from me wasn't a total pipedream. When my Mother first started feeling ill we started going to the YMCA. Mom eventually became too worn down to do more than spend a few minutes on the treadmill. She rested then went at it time and time again. She encouraged me to do my own things. I lifted weights and took a women's self-defense course -- I was the only guy but since I was a teenager they assumed I was the victim of bullying.
One girl, who was often my partner, told me she was going to take a Krav Maga class at a downtown rec center. She wanted a buddy to walk her to the car and I needed the ride (I didn't have a car until much later). She was old -- 25 -- and I was young - 17 -- so nothing happened. It wasn't until my Mother's funeral that I saw her dressed as a city cop. It also clarified that her boyfriend was her training supervisor and the reason we were taking a violent self-defense course.
As I said, I had some issues with my Mom dying and they caused me to lash out. I played soccer my junior and senior years. I was good but not great; I did fill out the roster in a positive manner because I could play either side of the field and my passing skills were impressive -- I sucked on the final approach though so I had no college hopes.
I had a friend who did though; he had college level talent and with some experience and growth, maybe he could go pro. Starting the last third of the season, a rich HS with a great record played on our campus and we were giving them hell. We were up by one and a win was a real possibility when one of their star players 'accidentally' put his cleats into my buddy's knee, taking him out of the game and threatening his career.
He was assessed a penalty then laughed and was patted on the back by his teammates as he went to the sidelines. What followed was the best game-play of my life. I scored for the first time that year and only my second time in High School. I was ferocious and merciless and made me just enough of a pain that when their bastard came back on the field he came gunning for me.
I wasn't in his league and I knew it so I got one of my teammates to set him up. We were charging up field, when I passed to my guy. The bastard shifted focus then my guy kicked it high and behind my target. He was only beginning to adjust when I leapt -- my cleats struck him in the face with all the force of my body behind it. I dragged my foot over his ear on the way passed him.
I stood over his body and smiled down at the ruin I'd made of his face. I was 'glad' that his rich parents could pay to repair the raw meat his right side had become. He would get most of his pretty looks once more but he'd never see out of his right eye perfectly ever again and his hearing was never 100% either. His confidence and control were shot as well.
A few of the bastard's teammates pushed me around before my side arrived to back me up. Their coach, who had idly sat back and let my poor friend get crippled, rushed off the bench and wanted to press criminal charges. My coach benched me immediately and the referees reviewed the play and decided that I'd been 'approaching the ball' so I had a penalty, but I wasn't ejected from the game or the league.
I was done though; the Coach knew what I had done and it was unsportsmanlike conduct. I would never play under him again. My buddy did heal up and played the last few games of the season and played well. He got a college scholarship and he was not too far away even then though our relationship was a bit strained. I damn near killed a guy for him but then...I damn near killed a guy. That was my only episode when my rage got away from me and I had kept it in check ever since.
So, my Mom died, I went to college, got in a fucked-up situation and now my long absent Dad had agreed to sponsor my twenty month house arrest without asking is new wife. She stuck me in the pool house, not the guest house, which was farther back on the property in a place she couldn't monitor me and speed dial the cops the moment I stepped out of line. She didn't want to deal with me; she definitely didn't want me dealing with her daughter Cybil aka Scout.
Denis La Roche (40) is my father, a freaking scientific genius but an utter failure in the social medium. Zuiko La Roche is my Stepmom, a very hot 37 year old MILF, who basically hated my very existence. She did seem to have some affection for my Father but Dad seemed to be as emotional responsive and supportive of this wife as he was with my Mom.
