The Lobster

It took me years to realise that he was anything but solid concrete

That he was more like a lobster.

A hard shell with soft flesh.

He would pick at my flaws, viscous claws gripping its prey and shaking me until i was a weeping mess. The the kill slow and playful and he visibly enjoyed each step.

Little fish

Little fish

Come to Daddy.

There were no secrets. He would scuttle around my room, while I was at school, read my diary, search my cupboards and drawers. I learnt to store sensitive stuff in a locked box or at friends. That or face the humiliation of hearing my words quoted for his friends entertainment or framed and exhibited to be chewed over and ridiculed.

My step father had entered our lives when i was 9. I hadn’t known my father And for years I had decided that he hated me, and I him

He was always cross, always on my case and quite frankly I was scared of him.

He was quick to anger and would turn scarlet in minutes with fury. I learnt to enter the house and gauge the scent of the room. The scent of fish was to be avoided at all costs.

As a teenager, boyfriends had a specific time to call, when he wasn’t around and my social life only happened outside our four walls.

And then when I was 17, I was dumped by what i thought at the time was the love of my life.

I had told my mum that it was likely to happen and i had come home defeated. i went straight to my room and wept, the tears of a broken heart, of broken pride and teenage hopelessness

My step father entered my room, no knock, what a surprise. He had in his hand a glass of sherry.

He gave me the drink and sat next to me on the bed.

He put his arm around me and said quietly

I’m sorry

But there are so many other fish in the sea.

Not for me George, I sobbed

Well i still love you He replied

Always will

And as I looked at him in surprise, his hand gripped my hair tight,

And he made me cry even more