[ WP ] Your mother never talks about your absent father . Then , you discover that is because you are the product of rape . You do some digging and find a picture of your notorious father in an old newspaper.One day you see your father , the man who raped your mother , and approach him .

Adrenalin rushed through his veins, and he felt as though he were on fire. He could feel heat radiating from him, and felt for the first time in his life what others referred to as ‘ righteous wrath ’. 
 
 Walking on air, Mark crossed the floor of the bar, weaving through the girls gathered to order cocktails, around the big men playing pool and past the raucous juke box. All he could see was the man in the far corner, leaning against the bar, wine glass in hand. Blood throbbed in Mark ’ s ears and eyes and his breath came raggedly. 
 
 He stopped. After a moment, the cleanly shaven man in the perfectly tailored suit looked his way, raising his eyes curiously. 
 
 “ Good evening, ” he called softly, raising his wine glass briefly in salute. 
 
 Mark ignored it, and instead, simply stared at the man who had raped his mother twenty-seven years ago. He clenched his fists and relaxed them, over and over, the movement in perfect timing with his pulse. 
 
 “ Can I help you? ” 
 
 “ Yes. I ’ m in need of enlightenment. ” 
 
 Blond eyebrows went up again and Mark fumed silently at this elegant man. You don ’ t look like a rapist. Bad men should look bad. 
 
 “ Have you given up raping women? ” 
 
 The change in his father ’ s face was slow and surreal. Mark watched as the mouth slackened, as the blue eyes widened and the glass nearly fell from his hand. 
 
 “ I… Don ’ t know what you ’ re talking about. ” 
 
 “ I think you do. Dad. ” 
 
 At this, the elegant man placed his wine on the bar, knocking it over as he drew his trembling hand away. He lowered his head and walked around Mark, heading for the exit. Mark, naturally, followed. 
 
 “ Hey, fucker! ” 
 
 They were out in the street. It had rained earlier, and the tarmac glistened darkly. Puddles shone, here and there, and only by stepping into each one would you find how deep they were. The road was pock-marked with pot holes, and decorated with the day ’ s trash. 
 
 “ I asked you a question. Just one. Have you quit hurting young girls? ” 
 
 He was nearly stepping on the glossy heels of his father, striding down the street to the brighter parts of town. There were no taxis here, no crowd to beg help from. Mark marched along behind, glaring at the back of his rapist father ’ s head. 
 
 “ Look, I know that this is weird, right. If it weren ’ t for you raping my mother, I wouldn ’ t be here. You gave me life, even if you did something truly fucked up to give it. I just want to know, do you still rape women? ” 
 
 He nearly ran into the tall man as he came to a sudden halt. His father turned and met his eye. 
 
 “ No. No. I don ’ t. ” 
 
 The voice was flat, resigned. Suddenly, this elegant man in his clean suit, with his salon cut and smooth cheeks seemed weary. 
 
 “ There was only one. Just one. Your mother. I ca n't even explain why. She was just so beautiful, and I was just so... ” After searching for the right word, he gave up, and simply sighed and shrugged. 
 
 Mark ’ s fist caught his father on the chin before he knew what he was doing. Staggering back, and cupping his mouth in his hands, the man nodded. 
 
 “ Okay. You ’ re going to kill me now. Beat me to a pulp and leave me here to bleed into the gutters. Fine. I suppose I deserve it. ” 
 
 A second blow landed on his nose, and Mark felt the crunch as it broke beneath his knuckles. 
 
 “ Fuck you old man. I wouldn ’ t kill you for all the money in the world. You think I wan na go to jail for *your* crime? ” Mark spat, pleased when his wad of saliva landed on the lovingly shined shoe. “ Like I said, you gave me life, and I love my life. I love my mum, and I ’ m not going to do something stupid and get locked up. Leave her out here on her own, defenceless again? Never. I just… Well, I guess I just wanted to see the cunt that did it, face to face. And now I have. ” 
 
 His third blow cut open his father ’ s eyebrow. He watched the blood trickle down his cheek. 
 
 “ Not even such a pretty face, if you don ’ t mind me saying. ” 

