Beside me | ONESHOTs

Did I say I'd start with Rafael? That was a lie.

It's already been a week, and here I am, finally standing in front of my parents' house. I wasn't even sure I wanted to see them again. After finding out about their side job, I didn't know how to approach them—or how to pretend I didn't know. Part of me wanted to resent Rafael for accidentally showing me my parents' video, but he'd never seen them, so I knew it wasn't intentional.

I discovered their secret when I was fifteen. I was just a kid, mostly lost in my own world, but not so naive that I couldn't understand what I was seeing. I didn't try to lie to myself—I knew without a doubt it was my parents in that video. Afterward, I couldn't see them as the respected adults I once thought they were. To me, they became vulgar people, unfit to be parents, unable to take responsibility.

Sure, they raised me—but mostly through countless nannies and education centers. They had always seemed like distant, successful, even admirable people to me. But in a single moment, my faith in them shattered.

When I graduated, I moved out. After getting my bachelor's degree, I cut off all contact. Maybe it was ungrateful, but they didn't protest. So, what was the point of my rebellion? They didn't care about me anyway.

And now, here I am, standing like a defeated dog, making the first move.

Okay, Nowa, let's do this.

I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.

In less than two minutes, someone came to open the door. It was the same familiar door I once looked forward to seeing after long, exhausting days at school—but now it felt like a relic from a distant past. Seeing it again felt surreal.

Even stranger was the sight of my father's aged face.

It had only been four years since I last saw him, but he looked like a complete stranger. His caramel-colored eyes were distant and cold, his once-handsome face now lined with wrinkles, and streaks of gray threaded through his black hair.

"Hey, Dad," I started, trying to sound somewhat relaxed. I felt a mix of emotions I couldn't quite untangle. Was I happy? Angry? Regretful?

He just stared at me, silent.

We looked at each other, and I realized I was now taller than him. I was like his reflection: same face, same build—and, unfortunately, probably the same personality.

"Who's that, darlin'?" came a woman's voice. I heard footsteps, and my father stepped aside as my mother came forward.

"Oh, Nowa. Long time no see—do you need something?" she asked, her tone unfazed. I'd expected this. It only confirmed my suspicion that they didn't really care much about what I did.

"No," I replied, my voice hoarse. Maybe I'd been foolishly hoping for something more personal. After breaking up with Hayley, I'd really wanted to find someone familiar, someone who might help me feel just a little more at ease. My parents clearly weren't the right choice.

But what's done is done. I wouldn't regret coming to see them. After all, they were still my only blood relatives, the people who brought me into this world—however pathetic my existence might feel.

"I don't need anything—I just wanted to see you," I said earnestly. "Can't I?"

My father had always been quiet, so it didn't surprise me that my mother responded instead. "Not particularly. We know you're alive—what else should we care about when you were the one who abandoned us first? Want some coffee?"

"Yeah, please," I said, sitting down across from my father. It felt strange seeing them like this. My memories of them were sometimes hazy and blurred, but I could never forget that video from ten years ago.

I'd never told them I knew about their secret work, but I assumed they'd figured it out. Even though they didn't seem to care much about me, after I began to distance myself, they started acting differently, almost as if I were someone else's child.

"How have you two been?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Good," my father replied, his intense gaze holding me captive without a single break. It made me uncomfortable, and I felt my body instinctively tense up.

I could ignore a lot—someone yelling, hitting, or disrespecting me—but under my father's stare, all of that confidence melted away. He was still handsome, even as age had crept in since I'd last seen him. Just as cold and unapproachable as ever. Once, he'd been a man I respected; now, he was a man I'd seen tied to a bedpost, his nipples painfully clamped, moaning with pleasure as my usually refined yet sharp-tongued mother vulgarly taunted him, spilling insults with every movement.

So that was it. They weren't the parents I once respected. Could that be why I couldn't even imagine being in a relationship with a girl? Because I'd seen my mother's bouncing chest and felt a wave of nausea?

Maybe.

"Good?" I raised my eyebrows, hoping for a more detailed answer. But what could I expect from my father? My mom picked up where he left off.

"Yeah, fine. What else do you want to hear? That we missed you?" she said, setting a cup of coffee in front of me. "You were an adult when you left, and you still are. We're not going to throw you out or anything. Honestly, we never expected to have a child in the first place, you know?"

I nodded in thanks, taking a sip of the coffee, though her words settled heavily.

"You were an unexpected complication," she continued. "Even with birth control, I got pregnant. But once it happened, I thought, 'Why not? Why couldn't we have a kid?' So we tried. But clearly, we failed. For us," she paused, giving me a look that hinted at something beyond her words—maybe their careers as AV actors—"the work came first. For a child, parents like us must be an embarrassment, don't you think? So it seemed better for everyone not to build a close emotional connection. Even though it's too late now, it's not like we hate you or anything. I gave birth to you, your father made sure you were educated, and that's it. Nothing more."

She looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Do you resent us for that? For not loving you the way other parents love their kids?"

She didn't look nervous—she was calm, as if nothing I could say would surprise her. To them, I was just someone they'd once taken care of, like a passing obligation.

"I don't resent you. But... it's just..." I trailed off, searching for words that might make sense, but finding none.

Hesitantly, I lowered my gaze to the cup cradled in my hands.

"I broke up for the fourth time a week ago. I know I'm not perfect, that I have flaws—flaws that might make others uncomfortable or insecure—but... I don't want to go through another breakup, more arguments, or hear hateful words again. I want to understand why I'm like this, why I feel so wounded.

Is it because of you? Because I found out you make sadomasochistic videos? Because I was never shown parental love? Because I loved the wrong person? Or because, in my own stupidity, I lost the only friend—the only person I felt grounded with? I don't know. That's why I came here. I want to stop running from the past, to finally speak and hear the truth about the things we've never said out loud."

Finally, they were looking at me. Not just at anyone, but at me—Nowa Isaac. Their stares felt like knives against my thoughts, sharp and unyielding. This pressure... I hadn't known I could feel so exposed, so stupid because of what I'd said.

Did I sound selfish? Yeah, it was selfish. It didn't just sound that way. And for a moment, I felt like someone who had no right to bring up such things to my own parents.

But then my father's voice surprised me, and what he said shocked me even more. He looked at me, his gaze softening slightly as he took a sip from his cup.

"Son, we know we may seem selfish, but that doesn't mean we don't love you. Everyone has their own way of showing love—your mother and I... we didn't have it easy either." My father paused, and Mom nodded, confirming his words. "Our own parents abused us. We were so poor that we ended up making adult videos because we were too broken to love ourselves or even our own bodies. For me, I was shattered—the only things that helped were self-harm or falling into a masochistic role." His eyes grew distant, filled with memories, but he held my gaze. "We don't know what parental love is—we only knew hurt. I can't say I did a perfect job being your father, but we tried. We tried not to control you, not to abuse you, to let you be free to make your own choices. Did I answer your question? You are who you are, and your choices are yours, but that's what life is about. We have freedom, but with it comes responsibility for our choices. May I ask you a few questions?"

I nodded, captivated by his words. Wow, I never would have imagined my father could speak so... so warmly. So calmly. All the stress I'd been feeling, all the guilt I'd carried for being the "asshole," seemed to melt away in an instant.

He rested his chin on one hand, leaning forward, closing the distance between us.

"Did you do anything wrong by watching our videos?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I was with a friend, secretly trying to watch porn, but he accidentally found yours."

"Did you watch it all the way through?"

"No," I answered honestly. It was true—I'd started yelling at Rafael to turn it off as soon as I realized what it was.

"Your choice was to watch porn, not to uncover your parents' past. It might have hurt you, but you don't bear responsibility for it, and you don't have to let it affect you for the rest of your life. It's our past—something we sometimes wish we could forget too. Our past may have shaped us, but it doesn't define us."

He paused, then asked another question. "How was your first relationship?"

"He was someone who slept around a lot, and I was a teenager full of hormones with pretty terrible self-control—not that it's much better now. We slept together a few times, but then I found out he was seeing other guys during our 'relationship.' He was my first love, my first crush, and he broke me to the bone." The words poured out without me even thinking. It was as if my father could draw out every personal detail from me effortlessly. Maybe it was because he'd been through so much himself that he understood life on a deeper level.

"Are you to blame for falling in love with the wrong person? No, you're not. Everyone has something in their heart that others can't see. People come and go—they can make you feel joy, or they can leave you broken. But life doesn't wait for those who live in the past. The past only gives us experience to try harder, to do better in the future, to correct our mistakes."

He paused before asking, "What about other relationships?"

I suddenly felt like a little kid, captivated by a wise adult I barely understood but somehow did. "The second one was different. I was the abusive one. I was terrified he'd cheat on me, and I got insecure whenever he spoke to anyone outside his family. Eventually, he ran away. This time, I know it was my fault, and I don't think he ever wants to see or hear from me again."

"The third one was just a few dates to try and heal myself. The fourth was similar to the second." I ran my fingers through my curls. "I'm a total jackass, aren't I?" I said, smiling wryly. I'd finally said it out loud.

My father chuckled for the first time, replying in a teasing tone, "I won't say you aren't. But who isn't? I was one too—your mother as well, right, honey?"

Mom smiled and blew an airy kiss to my father, like a schoolgirl in love for the first time. "Of course, honey. And I know you love it."

They were so sweet together that, if I had diabetes, I'd probably die of hyperglycemia on the spot. "You're disgusting."

"Dear, when you find your soulmate, you'll be this disgusting too," my mother teased, kissing my father on the cheek.

I never knew my parents weren't making adult films during their marriage—that was all in the past, before they'd met.

Could I have been so self-centered that I missed seeing the struggles of the people around me? Why had I never just sat down with my parents and talked like this?

I regretted my selfishness and stubbornness a little now.

We chatted for another two hours, exchanging contact info. They even offered to let me stay the night, especially if I planned to meet Rafael's parents to find out where he was.

Maybe breaking up with Hayley wasn't a bad thing. Yes, I hurt him, but he helped me—helped me stop thinking only about myself. And now that means everything to me. I have to thank Hayley and apologize to him too.

But for now, I just need to rebuild my relationship with my parents, who I've realized are the most amazing people I know.

And then, I'll find Rafael—my ex-best friend.