Chapter Text
Ben was my second chance in life.
He had never thought about becoming a father, and after Homelander, he realized he wouldn't be a good one after all. It was a complete mess. They had woken him up accidentally, and three people in the room literally shit themselves just from his presence. They explained to him what had happened (the conversation was not violence-free, that’s all I know).
He was free.
Following this, he said "fuck this life," signed some paperwork Vought gave him, and fled the US for another continent. After a while of living alone (there were some women, of course, but they were all temporary), he got bored. He said to himself, "Why not adopt a kid?" Maybe he could do better this time, and even if he didn't, at least the kid wouldn't become a worldwide problem like Homelander. He would just be a little brat who harms 10 to 20 people around him. This level of risk was acceptable to him.
So, he called some people and went to an orphanage to adopt a boy. Not a baby—Homelander had been the baby, and he didn't want to go through that again. A young child would be fine. He went undercover, of course. I mean, who would just hand a child over to him? A supe who had caused so much trouble in the past, and the very asshole who had raised the monster that nearly killed thousands. His record was far from promising. But thanks to Vought, it was all taken care of.
There were many boys in the orphanage where I grew up. They didn't just show him the boys; they showed him the girls too. I wasn't in that crowd. Well, maybe I should share a bit more about myself at this point: My family was killed in a war. I was raped at the age of eight. They thought I was dead because, to quote them, "She was bleeding from all her holes." But I didn't die. I never knew why.
After these traumatic events—which I can now write about without feeling anything, as dissociation was my coping mechanism—I was taken to an orphanage. As you can imagine, I was not okay. It took me more than a year to heal physically. And psychologically, as you will see, I am still not healed, even after many years.
I wasn't speaking to anyone; not to therapists, children my age, or teachers. I was barely eating—just enough to stay alive, but not enough to grow or gain weight. Physically, I was still like an eight-year-old: small and thin. Because I was terrified of men, they didn't even bother showing me to Ben. They had tried to find a family for me before, but whenever I saw a man, I would just freeze like a rabbit. I wouldn't move or breathe. They would realize I was holding my breath after five minutes because I would faint. And when a man tried to touch me to help me breathe, I would wet myself. So, it’s safe to say my past was not pleasant at all.
So, the day Ben came to adopt a boy, I was upstairs, minding my own business. I was reading the same book for the fiftieth time: The Little Prince. I loved how he was free to go wherever he pleased and talk back to adults. I wished I could do that too. But imagining myself alone on a planet with a man would make me want to throw up from time to time. Still, I loved that book, and I love it to this day.
Ben wasn't pleased with the children. Not because they were ugly or unkind, but because there was something in their eyes—a "light," as he called it. It scared him—something he only admitted to me years later. It scared him because he knew he possessed the power to put those lights out. He knew he could easily ruin those kids. Because he was feeling stressed (for the first time in his life), he lied and said he needed to use the restroom. Our teacher explained where the toilets were and sent him into the building. The universe was working to bring us together.
He found me in the common room while he was looking for another door to escape the orphanage, hoping to never see a child again. I was murmuring something. They weren't fully formed sounds because I was still mute. But back then, when I was alone (which wasn't very often), I loved making noises. It made me feel like I still had some control over my own body—like I had power over certain parts of it, like I could create something with it.
He stood there for a while, then walked into the room and sat down across from me. I remember the very first thing I noticed about him was his scent. He smelled like freshly cut grass, cologne, and cigarettes. But because he was trying to play the part of a "dad," he was extra clean that day. Normally, his scent consisted of whiskey and even more cigarettes. Still, it remains one of the best things I have ever smelled. He just sat there, looking directly at me with those green mesmerizing eyes. I remember thinking that I was going to freeze again, that I would lose control of my body, and that my lungs would forget how to function.
But instead, something else happened. I cried. I cried as if I were being beaten. I cried as though nothing in the world could stop me.
He waited for me to calm down. He just sat there and watched me. He didn't move. He didn't try to soothe me. After I finally stopped crying, he slowly raised his hand and brought it closer to me. I flinched at first, which made him pause. But then, he continued moving his hand closer and picked up the book resting in my lap. He examined it carefully, made a comment about how boring it looked, pursed his lips, raised an eyebrow, and read the opening page out loud. There was something in his tone of voice that soothed me. I breathed quietly, as if I didn't want him to know I was doing it. It was strange, but I felt calm.
When he finished the first page, he said he had changed his mind and was going to keep the book for himself. I remember feeling upset; my book was going away. It was the only one I had, and I didn't think they would buy me a new one. I suppose that’s why, when he asked, "Do you want to come with us too?" I nodded my head yes. Suddenly, it felt as if I could go anywhere, as long as I had him and The Little Prince. It was as if they were the only two things I needed in the world.
Since the orphanage was already overcrowded and they knew no one else would want to take me, they rushed the paperwork and sent me on my way. Looking back now, I think it was incredibly bizarre for them to give a traumatized, abused little girl to a man living completely alone. Years later, when I asked Ben why he chose me, he replied with his usual, brutally painful honesty: "Because there was no light in your eyes." There was nothing left for him to ruin. That had lifted a massive burden off his shoulders. Yet, ironically, I gave him much more trouble than any ordinary child ever could have.
We were both clumsy at it; neither of us knew how to live with someone else or understood family dynamics. He didn't know how to cook, and I didn't know how to handle any normal situation without having an emotional breakdown.
On the first night, I couldn't sleep in my blue bedroom, which had been prepared for a boy, underneath Soldier Boy posters. Ben read to me; I think he was trying to copy every fatherly gesture he had ever seen in movies. He had also tried to brush my hair, but my crying fit and sudden flinches stopped him. He quickly understood that he shouldn't touch me. Besides, the orphanage staff had already warned him about that.
Still, I couldn't sleep. Every time he tried to step out of the room, I would make whimpering sounds close to crying. He invited me to sleep in his room, he invited me to sleep in the living room. He offered countless suggestions, gave me milk. Around 3 AM, I was still lying there with a stress-induced racing heart, while he watched me helplessly. The first three days went exactly like this. In the end, we both collapsed from exhaustion. When I woke up, he was passed out on the carpet right next to my bed. Despite his superpowers, insomnia had completely broken him. I wanted to ask if he regretted taking me in, but no sound came out of my throat.
I quietly left the room. We had a small house—a single-story, two-bedroom place with a large backyard. Ben didn't have to work; his agreement with Vought included regular payments. We were wealthy. Our town was small, and nobody knew who Ben was; we were far away on a different continent. Even if a few people happened to recognize him, he would shrug it off by saying, "I'm way better looking than that guy."
I wanted to apologize for keeping him awake, so I decided to make breakfast. I ended up setting the kitchen on fire. Our first few months passed with embarrassing disasters like this. He couldn't touch me, I couldn't speak, and we couldn't understand each other. But we were living together. He usually talked a lot. He would curse constantly and then immediately instruct me that I must never use those words. He always forgot that I couldn't speak.
In the third month of our life together, the townspeople invited us to a birthday party. He asked if I wanted to go. I said no with my head. But the following month, someone else invited us. When I declined that one too, the "good" mothers in town started giving Ben lectures. They explained that keeping me isolated, interacting only with him (they didn't know I didn't talk to him either), would harm my growth and harm me. Since Ben knew absolutely nothing about raising a child, he agreed. I was miserable.
We had to go to the shopping mall together for the present. We hadn't left the house in three months. Ben would go out sometimes; I later found out he was meeting up with women. He knew that if they came to the house, it would make me uncomfortable. He would only leave for an hour and come right back.
The mall trip didn't go well either. We walked in, and the security guard was a man. I froze. I stopped breathing. Since Ben knew exactly what was about to happen, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me straight out. He thanked me for not peeing on him, because he had assumed I would. That was the first time he ever touched me. He went back and bought the gift by himself. Then, we went to the party together. We stood at the entrance. I knew I was going to freeze. He knew it too. He asked, "Is there anything I can do? Do we have to do this?" I felt we had to. I reached my hand out to him. Without hesitation, he took it. My hand completely vanished inside his; holding onto just two of his fingers was enough for me.
That day, I didn't leave his side for a second. For the next year, I stayed glued to him. He still couldn't touch me freely. We were limited to holding hands. Only a few times—like when he bought me a Little Prince toy or when we went to the movies together (he had rented out the entire theater)—did we actually hug. I was happy. I felt safe.
We had finally resolved the sleeping arrangement. He would sleep on the floor in my room. His body was constantly aching from it, but he was happy too. In a way, we were perfectly compatible.
Then elementary school started, and I became miserable again. Ben had to come to the school every single day. My teacher was a woman, but there were too many male staff members. Although it wasn't as severe as before, my body would still lock up, and Ben was the only one who could calm me down. Whenever another man tried to touch me, I would wet myself again. All the kids made fun of me, calling me "the pee girl." Ben wanted to beat up the little kids. A few times, he actually beat up their parents instead. Eventually, we had to move to a different town.
Therapy wasn't doing any good. Still, we got used to this lifestyle too. Even though I didn't speak, my grades were good. Ben would talk to my teachers, lift me through the classroom window to drop me off, and pick me up the same way. I never left the classroom and saw no one except my classmates. Even though I was teased for being mute, it was still better than being teased for wetting myself.
Then, during my second year with Ben, something happened that hadn't occurred in a long time. The nightmares returned. Blurry nightmares that vividly recalled that night, the blood, and the pain. The first night it happened, I woke up screaming. Ben, who was already half-awake on the floor, rushed straight to my side and witnessed my very first word: "Stop." Our third hug happened that night. He lay in bed with me and talked about random nonsense all night long. Some of it consisted of horrific things—war memories. Things you should never tell someone suffering from PTSD. But Ben's mere presence and the tone of his voice were enough to soothe me.
After that, he asked me to call out "stop" to him. What started almost as a joke continued with me constantly saying "stop." Soon, other words joined in. After every nightmare, the words "don't," "please," and "wait" were added to my vocabulary. My trauma somehow brought my words back to me. It was a painful process, but since Ben turned everything into a joke, the troubles passed quickly.
Through therapy, I transformed into someone who could speak. I spoke sparingly, but Ben devoured my every sentence like a starving man. Every time he heard my voice, a smile I grew to love would flash across his face before vanishing. I would still call him "stop" sometimes; I had called him "dad" a few times, but I noticed expressions of deep discomfort on his face when I did. So, I gave up on that. We preferred "Ben" or "stop." He was not my dad after all, my dad was killed years ago. I did not needed a new one. I needed Ben.
We started going to my friends' birthday parties. I still wouldn't wander too far from him, usually trying to stay in physical contact with him if possible. Nevertheless, my personal freedom was steadily expanding.
At age fourteen, another crisis began: my period. I knew about it from school and from my therapist. Ben was far too old-fashioned to discuss such things. Although his sexist remarks had decreased now that he had a daughter, he was still fundamentally a man from the early 1900s. Even so, the first time I saw the blood, I froze while sitting on the toilet. My breath left me. Ultimately, I fainted. Ben, who had rushed in at the sound of the commotion, held me tightly and whispered soothing things into my ear. We weathered another crisis.
I was growing up.
Ben was unhappy about this. I couldn't understand why at the time, but he had his reasons. As I grew older, he increased the hours he spent outside the house, which made me miserable. I would ask him where he was going and beg him not to leave. It usually worked; most of the time he would give in, call someone to cancel his plans, and stay with me. I found out later, while listening to the other kids' mothers gossiping, that he was meeting women at a hotel and that they were making "a lot of noise."
I hated those women. I was jealous of them. For having time with Ben. For stealing him from me. Highschool went on like that. Me being jealous. He wasn’t saying anything but I always believe he was jealous too. Not that I had a boyfriend, I was still stressed around men. But because of some compulsory homeworks, I had to team up with some boys from the school. Ben did not wanted me to went to their home so they will come to us. He would not let us stay in the same room alone so we would study in the sitting room. He would sit across us, watching the boy carefully for any chance to say something mean and dispose of him.
We would have so much fun. We went on swimming on a lake close by. We would talk. Share everything. I was relaxed with him. It was easy for me. He would hug and touch me, on my cheeks and on my waist. I could not name the feeling of those touches. It would burn every cell in my body.
My therapist started to underline that we shouldn't sleep in the same room after my period. I knew she had talked about this not only with me but also with Ben. We were used to sleeping in the same room for years, and no matter how uncomfortable Ben was, he was happy too. He had gotten used to sleeping on the floor. We were used to hearing each other's breath. Sometimes when I woke up I would find him watching me. I would smile without getting tense and reach out my hand. While I thought I could never touch another body again, time had healed me. Even though I still couldn't touch anyone else, I was comfortable with Ben. He would hold my hand, whisper 'Go back to sleep, dear', and I would listen to him. I hated my therapist for trying to separate us.
At first, when we directly separated the rooms, we both spent a few sleepless nights. In the end, I gave up. Because he thought this was what was right for me, he wouldn't give up. I silently went to his room and slept on the floor on the side of the double bed where he slept. He told me to come to the bed. I went up next to him. He explained to me at length that this was necessary for me to be healthy. Saying 'just for tonight', I got out of it and we slept. We had slept for 15 hours that day, or it would be more accurate to say we passed out.
On my 18th birthday, we organized a tiny party by the force of my few friends. Only my friends. Ben wasn't invited, he couldn't be. I knew he was uncomfortable with this and I was uncomfortable too. For the last 8 years I hadn't gone anywhere without him. When he dropped me off at school, he would usually wait outside. Even though I hadn't experienced very serious problems for the last few years, he would always wait for me just in case. I would tell him not to wait, he would answer saying he had no work to do. When he did a favor for me, he would give the impression that he did it because it was already an easy option. I never felt indebted to him, he wouldn't let me feel it.
On that day, in the morning he made my favorite crepes specially for me. He talked about his own 18th year. His 18th year that was now a century behind. Sometimes I would forget Ben's age. Sometimes I would even forget he was an adult. He would be my friend. Then he would talk to someone around or see a behavior in me that he didn't like, and then he would put on his serious facial expression. His tone of voice would change. He would transition into his cool state that I saw in Soldier Boy movies. I loved that side of his too.
He gifted me a beautiful necklace with a moon pattern. It had diamond embroideries on the edges and looked very expensive. He would frequently buy me gifts, usually they would be cheaper but special gifts for us. A book that caught his interest, a toy we talked about, a dress that reminded him of me the moment he saw it because it was in my favorite color. Usually he would see and buy my gifts while he was already with me, as I said, we spent very little time apart.
My first party hadn't gone very well. Because they knew I was uncomfortable with crowds, my friends had completely closed down the restaurant we went to (later I would learn that this was Ben's idea, that he paid all the money, anyway no teenager could ever form such a gentle thought). The night that started beautifully at first, had started to make me tense with the arrival of the boyfriends of a few friends of mine. Then their male friends came. In the blink of an eye, there started to be a bunch of guys I didn't know in the environment.
I remember wanting to escape to the toilet and call Ben crying. But I was constantly being told that I needed to be with my peers to be 'healthy', and I knew Ben gave importance to this. You can endure it, I said to myself. Because I was tense, I drank a few alcoholic beverages given to me without thinking much.
It wasn't my first time taking alcohol. When I first started talking, I had reached for one of the beers Ben frequently drank, and when I didn't get a warning from Ben I had tasted it, and when I didn't like it I had left it. Ben had watched me smiling. Afterwards, when I was 16, waking up one night (we still hadn't gotten used to sleeping apart, we never fully got used to it anyway, I would sneak away a few times a week and he would silently accept me) and not finding him in his room, I had gone down to the living room. He was drinking whiskey. He generally drank beer when happy, whiskey when unhappy. He never talked about his troubles with me. From the stories he told to calm me down when I was having a crisis or crying, I knew he was in at least as bad a situation as I was. He didn't easily give himself permission to be bad. I only knew that sometimes he had nightmares, his breathing would change, he would get up tensely. On those kinds of nights I would wake up and look at him, I would reach out my hand and we would stay like that for a long time. That night too, focused on a point in front of him, he was sipping his whiskey. I silently went next to him, he looked at me and whispered ‘no problem’.
I did something I hadn't done for a long time and climbed into his lap, curled up and settled. Despite growing up, I still remained very small compared to his body. Settling well into his lap, I talked about irrelevant things just like he did to me, hoping to do good for him just as he did good for me. I had tasted the whiskey that day too, I hadn't liked it again. I remember feeling very safe in his lap that day, I could stay there forever, surrounded by his warmth and smell. We slept that way, I woke up in the morning with hair strokings.
Coming back to the party, because I was relaxed with alcohol, I had gotten up to dance by the request of my friends. I had already pushed away a few boys who tried to talk to me with my weirdness. Generally without me needing to do anything, my distant and scared looks, my excessive silence were enough to repel men. They wouldn't want to be with a girl they couldn't touch anyway. And nobody could touch me. Except Ben.
With the effect of alcohol I was very relaxed and I was dancing. I closed my eyes and imagined Ben's presence in the room, I thought of the protection area he provided with his eyes and I got more and more relaxed. Even his imagination relaxed me for a few minutes. Then that bullshit happened.
It is impossible to explain the stupidity of teenagers, but still I don't blame my friends. They didn't know me and the truth. Still, their involving me in a bet they made among themselves was just cruelty. A boy, I his name was Joe, quickly entered the dance floor, and without being invited grabbed me by my waist, pulled me to himself and kissed me on my cheek. He had been bored by my frozenness for hours and had felt that this was a logical and 'fun' solution. As for the rest, it was a bit chaotic.
I froze. Not only did I just freeze, I locked up completely and my muscles let go of themselves as if failing and I passed out. Because Joe was slow in catching me (he couldn't understand what happened), I hit my head hard on the floor. With the combination of all intense emotions, I can't remember the continuation clearly. Ben rushed in, it turns out he had been watching us from afar. Silently. Just like a hunter. With a few punches he knocked out Joe and all the other guys. All of this must have happened very fast, because even though I had held my breath, I still hadn't passed out. I couldn't hear the voices, the screams being thrown. My ears were ringing and my brain was only trying to comfort itself with Ben's presence. Still it wasn't enough to get over the shock my nervous system experienced.
Ben came, he hugged me. He was whispering things in my ear but I couldn't perceive them. Still, his scent was around me again and I was safe. This was enough. He put me into the car and calmed me enough and made sure I was breathing. To make this happen, he would take my hand and put it on his heart and put his hand to my heart. He would calmly count his breathe and wait for my answer. Wait for me to choose to take oxygen with him.
We went to the hospital and a lot of tests were done. Sedatives were given. Despite my crying crises, the doctors somehow - under Ben's harsh looks - did something to help me. We both hated hospitals. We came home. I cried more. Ben calmed me down. For a few days we just lay down without leaving the bed. I wasn't talking again and Ben was tense.
"If silence was medicine, sweetie, you wouldn't be standing here bleeding internally. Try again." Sarcasm was his little thing. I continued the silence. My back was turned. Holding my chin with soft movements he turned my face to himself. There was a pain in his green eyes that I very rarely saw.
“If you want me to beg I will beg babygirl, please don't leave me quiet again.”
“I don't know what I need to say” I said, I didn't want to kill him with the same silence again. He was the only person who deserved my words.
“You can tell me to kill him” he said smiling slightly, I knew he was talking about Joe.
“I don't think killing him will normalize me.”
“You are not abnormal sweetie, I don't like you calling yourself like this.”
“Should I say I am not healthy?”
“I don't like that either, nevermind your damn therapist.”
He didn't smoke next to me but we hadn't left the room for 2 days and I knew this made him tense. Reaching over him to the drawer on his side, I took his hidden cigarette pack and lighter. While his eyes were watching me I carefully took one out of the pack and placed it in his mouth. He happily accepted the cigarette. I fired the lighter in a few tries and lit his cigarette as he took a breath inward. He drew the smoke in and turning his head the other way he blew the smoke. I always loved watching him smoke. There were something poetic in this scene. Something that made me feel things.
“Can I try?” I whispered. He handed me the cigarette he took between his two fingers by turning it. He watched me with his green eyes as I clumsily drew my breath in. The harshness of his looks always made me feel weird, but this time they were even darker.
When I gave the smoke back by coughing, he pulled the cigarette to himself and brought it closer to his lips. He drew it in as if it was his last breath and watched me throw out the poison by coughing. When my coughs gradually turned into crying, he put out his cigarette, pulled me to himself and hugged me like a baby. When my crying ended, I whispered silently. “I will never be able to be with someone.”
“You don't have to be, I exist.”
“You won't always be."
I don't know if this was my fear. But until Joe touched me I hadn't realized this. I hadn't even thought about it. Because there was Ben. Yes he went to other women but eventually he was mine. At least that's what I thought. But when Joe kissed me, I had realized there were things I couldn't offer him. In my dream world we were everything with him, but in reality we weren't.
I had kept these toxic thoughts of mine away from my therapist, from Ben, and even from my diary. Sometimes I had even hidden them from myself. But when Joe kissed me, that terrible thought had covered all of me. The one who kissed me wasn't Ben.
“What does it mean you won't always be?” Ben frowned and pushed me away from himself gently and looked at my face. He really looked angry. I silently continued to sniffle. He got even angrier. “Explain,” he said silently. It was his first time talking to me harshly. The man who always hit on comedy was gone, and he was using the tone of voice he talked to bad guys with in the movies.
“There will be women. You will want me to go. I will have to go because it is healthy. You will agree with my therapist and... and you will send me away and.—“ My words were interrupted by Ben silencing me with his two fingers. Shh he said.
“There won't be anybody baby. I won't want you to go. Damn it, I didn't even want you to go to that party. Nevermind being healthy and your therapist too. Nobody and nothing will be able to separate me from you. You won't go anywhere. You will never be without me. I swear.”
I was crying into him and he pulled me to himself. Taking refuge in the crook of his neck I cried at length. He stroked my hair. We got over another crisis.
After these even, I stayed at home for a while, not going to school and made paintings at home. This hobby of mine that I liked since my childhood was gradually growing. Most of the time Ben would sit silently and watch me. Sometimes he would comment. Sometimes he would ask me to draw him.
With Ben's support too, I enrolled in a nearby course. Ben came with me too. The women in the class were hitting on him. Everywhere, women were hitting on him.
WILL CONTUNIE (IF YOU WISH ;)