Sometimes I chastise myself for the times when I believed the façade. That he cared for me, that he was a man in pain who needed my help. He was a completely different person when he was in church; he was charismatic, he was strong, he was passionate. But sometimes when we were alone he collapsed, he was weak, he cried, he felt alone – except for when I was there. I believed for a time that I was the only one who could help him, because that was what he told me. I was taken in by the façade because I so desperately craved a father in my life, and to begin with that is what he was. In time his perfectly formed mask began to crack and glimmers of lust for me and for power came through. I clung to the façade as I clung to who I thought he was, someone who cared for me. A couple of years later I finally realised the truth. It’s been two and a half years, and the investigation is still ongoing. His public façade continues, but I see the true man behind the mask.
In response to The Daily Prompt Façade.