A Matter of Perspective

By Zoe Duff and R. Andrew Duff

The story of a victim of domestic abuse that overcomes fear to face her stalker ex-husband. Characters explore their sexuality positively through polyamory, bi-sexuality, dominance and submission. A gripping drama with adult language and concepts. Second Edition, revised with a sneak peek chapter of the sequel, A Fly on the Wall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Filidhbooks
• Release date: Jul 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781927848609

Book preview

A Matter

of Perspective

Second Edition with sneak peak at the sequel, A Fly On The Wall

by Zoe Duff

Diagram Description automatically generated

Copyright

Second Revised Edition Ebook version

Published by Filidh Publishing, Victoria, BC, Canada

ISBN: 978-1-927848-60-9

Copyright:  July 2021 Zoe Duff.  All rights reserved.

First Edition, U.S. paperback and ebook versions

Published by Lulu.com Henrietta, NY, USA

ISBN 978-0-557-15532-3  (ebook had no ISBN)

Copyright: February 2010 Zoe Duff. All rights reserved.

50th Birthday First Edition, hard cover version

Published by Filidh Publishing, Victoria, BC, Canada

ISBN 978-0-9732770-7-4

Copyright: October 2009 Zoe Duff. All rights reserved.

Other Adult Titles by Zoe Duff:

The Tantra of Chimera

Words That Went Unspoken: Vision of Two Hearts

Love Alternatively Expressed- The scoop on practicing polyamory in Canada

UnTethered

Dedication

Dedicated to a time and place where no one needs to live in fear of the people with whom they share their hearts.

Prologue

That’s quite the story, he said.

He wasn't sure if he was most alarmed by what had happened to this woman, how she dealt with it or the level of intimacy simply telling him her story implied. She had spoken in a low voice utterly devoid of emotion, despite the violence and anguish she had described.

I'm not looking for sympathy or forgiveness. She said, watching the emotions crossing his face. It's all a matter of perspective.

Perspective? Randy Smith asked, poking at the remnants of his meal with his fork. In all his years on the force, he’d heard questionable morality twisted and justified in some pretty odd ways, but this woman wasn’t lying. Her truth might not be acceptable to some, but it was, nevertheless, her truth. He could feel it.

She picked up her drink and drained it. A large wolf spider came out from behind the window blind and hesitated beside the napkin holder. In one quick movement, she trapped it under her glass. The spider walked across the table, easily pulling the tumbler with it. Resting her fingertips on the upturned glass, she halted the spider's stroll.

Consider our friend here, she said. Which of us would you say is good or bad, innocent or evil, victim or captor?

You have captured the spider; that much is obvious, he said.

But if I let go, the spider may tip the glass, get out and bite one of us. Or it might continue walking past the edge of the table and break the glass, injuring one of us. My fear keeps me holding the glass, and thus the spider is my captor.

I'm sure the spider thinks differently.

I'm sure it does, too, she said. To the spider, I am its captor. To the spider’s family, I am the villain keeping a parent and provider away from them. See how it chooses not to be paralyzed by its fear of me and focuses on finding its escape.

A fly landed on the glass, and the spider began to climb up the inside to reach it. The fly nervously buzzed as it sat on its perch.

And the fly would view you as protector, he said. Is that how you view yourself?

She shook her head. No. I am more like the spider.

You perceive your captor as your victim?

I refuse to be held captive by my fear of the possible actions of another person. To allow my fear to paralyze me such that my captor has continued control is like the spider sitting under the glass waiting to die. I thought I’d escaped once, but now I understand that so long as I fear I will never be free. I must do whatever it takes to assist you in capturing and removing this threat.      He has made himself a victim of this plan by provoking my survival instincts, but I see him merely as a dangerous obstacle.

They sat silently for a few moments watching the spider. Randy excused himself to use the restroom, and when he returned to the table, she was gone. The money left on the table more than covered the cost of her meal, although he’d been clear that it would be his treat. The water glass was righted and empty. On her plate was the spider, skewered on the tines of her fork. Its limbs still twitched.

I am more like the spider, she had said.

You have no idea how very correct you may well be, my friend, he muttered to himself.

Nobody Noticeable

Government Street had never been as deserted as it was at the moment. A slow drizzle fell on the pavement, collecting in potholes and sliding bits of litter and leaves along the gutters.

Distant traffic sounds were punctuated by the echoing click of Susan’s heels against the pavement as she walked, slowing as she neared the corner. She stood under the eaves of the building long enough to adjust her skirt and light a cigarette. Her eyes darted up and down the street as she drew on her cigarette. She tilted her head and blew a long stream of smoke into the air. The headlights of several cars came into sight, and she sauntered out to the curb.

Several vehicles passed by her. A dark sedan slowed as it passed, turned the next corner, and approached the side street beside her. The passenger's window rolled down, and she leaned against the car. An animated conversation terminated when she abruptly walked away with a flip of her hand, one finger extended. The car sped away. Susan didn't need a lecture about her occupation. She needed to feed her children, and the cost of daycare made it impossible with a minimum wage. She needed help, but subsidies were no longer available, and the kids’ dad was long gone.

She heard voices coming up the street. The bars had closed, and the last patrons were milling about. These voices sounded too loud and aggressive for simple overzealous drinkers. She stepped into the storefront alcove and pressed her body against the cold tile.

A group of young men and women appeared. They were talking, laughing and playfully jostling each other. A few carried baseball bats, while others were tossing a purse back and forth. The group paused on the corner like a pack of wolves sniffing the wind for the scent of new prey. They continued up the street. Relieved, she stepped cautiously back out onto the sidewalk, watching to be sure they were gone, but a straggler had paused to tie his shoe. He grabbed her by the arms. Pearls of laughter and the smell of desperate times surrounded her as the group circled her. They shoved her back and forth from person to person, each one pulling at her clothes and hair or fondling her body. She was terrified. Someone took her purse, emptying its contents on the sidewalk and pocketing her evening's earnings and some personal items.

She protested, but their laughter only became louder. Two of the men pulled her into the storefront alcove and pulled at her clothes, ripping them. She fought off a sexual assault and a more severely beating. Fortunately for her, the group tired of the game and wandered off to pursue more profitable

adventures. She huddled in the rain, partially naked and feeling deep despair. In her heightened sense of vulnerability, she was suddenly concerned for her children, asleep in the care of a drunken neighbour.

Covering herself after a fashion with the remnants of her clothing, Susan gathered her purse and a few things from the sidewalk. Several doorways along, a man huddled in another storefront. He offered her one of his old worn blankets for her scant coverage was inadequate, and her teeth chattered loudly. She gave him her last few cigarettes in trade.

The man adjusted his remaining bedding and the plastic and cardboard around it that was his only defence against the weather most nights. He pulled his jacket over his head and slid back into a dream of a warm and inviting place that hovered on the edge of his alcohol-enhanced reality. It gave solace to his weary body and reprieve from the hopelessness of daily life. In this dream that he called his once was dream, his wife and family surrounded him and celebrated seasonal and family milestones. He was happy. He loved his job, made an excellent income, had a lovely home, drove an expensive car and took luxurious vacations. He smiled as he dreamed.

Gordon’s bones began to ache from the cold of the cement, and he sat up in his bed. Leaning against the metal gates of the storefront, he gingerly pulled his knees up, then stretched his legs out again. Slowly he got up and rolled his bedding into a bundle, which he hoisted to his back and balanced along with two knapsacks. He stepped out of the storefront area and onto the sidewalk, looking up into the falling rain and allowing it to cleanse the sleep from his face gently. He adjusted his old battered Tilley Hat and strolled down the street. His gait was slow and stiff with age and the weight of his belongings. Certain sadness shrouded him as he stopped at every garbage can and examined every piece of litter for possible treasures. He must show due diligence. Yes, that was important. He must disclose all the facts. The Court had always been insistent on that to ensure a full and complete defence by the opposing attorney.

The rain began to clear as morning fully arrived. The heavier traffic on the streets suddenly caught his attention. Gordon knew that the soup kitchen would be serving breakfast shortly and travelled the remaining distance quickly. He was sure that he could smell the bacon cooking from several blocks away, but perhaps it was merely his memory.

Gordon followed the queue of people along the counter in the soup kitchen, collecting segments of his meal as he went. His mouth watered, and his stomach grumbled. Sitting at a table, his belongings within reach, he considered the packet of cutlery, pausing to polish the plastic fork as though it were the finest silver. He arranged his plate, silverware and cup and opened his napkin on his lap. He ate the meal, savouring every bite, occasionally pausing for a sip of coffee. Stomach full, he placed his silverware across his plate, patted his lips with the napkin and added it too. Then, he pushed the plate away slightly as if indicating to a waiter that it might be removed.

Two older women sitting at the other end of the table watched this procedure with interest. They had dreams called once was, too. The younger woman dreamed of a proud calling to serve the sick and injured, but her stress-related illness kept her on the streets now. The other woman came to the food kitchen to eat since all her food budget went to prescriptions that kept her alive. Her once was dream was a comfortable retirement surrounded by her grandchildren.

A younger man watched from several tables away. He dreamed of what could have been. He saw an end to his life that had no meaning after the passing of his wife and newborn child - refused care because his insurance expired when the mill laid him off.

Gordon placed his dishes in the garbage bin provided. He requested the use of the shower and was given a clean towel and some soap. He showered and shaved, washing his hair twice to be sure of its cleanliness. Unfolding a roll of clothing from one of the knapsacks and smoothing as he went, he soon had a relatively crease-free dark blue business suit, a clean white shirt, and a flashy red tie. Dressing quickly, he stopped to polish a pair of leather shoes that had seen better days. He paused to comb his hair and glance in the mirror. Other men in the shower area observed his surprisingly elaborate ensemble with raised eyebrows.

Back on the street, he walked briskly through the city to the impressive provincial parliament buildings. Arranging his belongings in a pile on the large lawn, he set out a few things from the other knapsack before placing it on the top. A sign nailed to a thick stick leaned up against his pile of baggage. Security personnel observed him and reported his presence.

He stood beside the sign, holding a stack of flyers and greeting every pedestrian on the adjacent sidewalk. The foot traffic was more receptive than the motorists who howled obscenities at him as they drove by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a security guard approaching him.

Sir, I'm sorry, but you're not welcome here anymore, the guard said authoritatively.

At the edge of the legislature lawn were two old trees that remained sole survivors of the once well-forested lot. A woman sat underneath one reading a book. She leaned back against the majestic cedar and looked up into its branches, which reached high above the city street. Two crows were treating their babies to an early morning snack; one daring fledgling hovered on the edge of the nest with tiny wings flapping. It skipped, hopped, flapped and tumbled some 20 feet to the soft grass near her. She sat very still. After a long moment, the little crow shook its feathers and hopped out onto the lawn. The adult crows became highly agitated, swooped down on passersby, who wove and ducked to evade the attacks. Eventually, the little bird fluttered back to the nest with much verbal encouragement from the adult crows.

Sir? Sir? called a chorus of young voices in unison from the front steps of the main building.

A crowd had gathered on the legislature lawn. It was a group of children