Twisted
Authors: Dani Matthews
This book is meant for
entertainment purposes only. Names, characters, and events are all a product of
the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely
coincidental. All comments and conversations written within these pages are
part of a fictional story and are not meant to be taken in the literal sense.
The author retains all rights to this book. Illegal copying or distribution of
this book is prohibited without author consent.
Due to mature subject
content, this book is recommended for ages 17+.
Twisted
Table of Contents
. 7
. 26. 41
. 59. 75. 95
.. 112
. 124. 141. 153. 173. 193. 225
As she awoke in the middle
of the night
She was covered in a sheen
of sweat that glistened on her
arm
in the lamplight from the terror in her dreams
Even though there were
people in the house...she still felt
alone
Alone in her
darkness...alone with her thoughts…
A dark cloud had swept
over her...and she had been unable
to
shake it
She reaches over and
withdraws the sharp release item she
keeps
hidden in her nightstand
And ever so slowly brings
it to her skin...and begins to
draw
a line of blood
Not enough to do permanent
damage...just enough to
release
her from her sorrows
It was a release for
everything that haunted her dreams...a
release
from indescribable sorrows she'd been feeling...
As she catches a glimpse
of herself in her mirror on the
wall
...a single tear escapes her eye
She can be stronger than
this...she can get through this...
She is a survivor...she
will fight the demons that inhabit her
darkness
...she will fight for the darkness to fade away
-Jess Fuchs
Prologue
Today is the day I have
decided to start my third journal. Yes, I have three. I write in them daily.
The first journal I started is labeled “Fuck Off.” Yep, that would be me.
Not real imaginative and straight to the point. My “Fuck Off” journal is
dedicated to my Aunt Julie and my Uncle Steve. That's where I unleash my fury
over what they did to me and how they made me feel these past five years.
Those pages are filled
rage and despair. Confusion, sadness, and pain have found a home among those
pages...along with accusations and heart breaking questions. To be honest, that
journal is disturbingly chaotic. It's like a disease, festering and
defective—just waiting to rupture. But it is important to me. Will I ever show
my aunt and uncle? Probably not. They don't deserve a confrontation. They
aren't worth it.
However, I am told that
confronting and accepting my emotions are an important part of healing. Right
now, it is easier to put my feelings on paper than it is to voice them. Someday
I will speak of them, but for now my journals have become a part of my daily
life.
Journal number two is
labeled “Me.” Obviously, that one is designated for myself. That journal
holds all my self-incrimination, my revulsion, my anger, and my self-hatred. It
holds everything I've felt throughout the past eighteen years. I need to face
my past before I can move on and this means finding a way to forgive and love
myself.
Yeah, that journal is
going to need a lot of work. There is no way to erase or fix that many years of
self-hatred. I'm only on page three and I can barely manage to write one
paragraph at a time. I can vent about my aunt and uncle for pages in my other
journal. Looking deep within myself and facing past demons...not so easy.
This journal...this one I
labeled “Hope.”
Such a small word for an
emotion that keeps people going in life. I am slowly learning that hope heals.
Hope is what will see me through this day, and the next, and so on. My third
journal is dedicated to the last three months of my life. This is where I need
to face the decisions that brought me here to this facility. I need to accept
what I have done and learn to forgive myself.
I need to face it all. In
order to do that, I need to start at the beginning...to the day I met him.
My salvation.
A new hope for dreams come true
Three months earlier...
I'm not the nervous type, but
today I find that butterflies have taken up residence in the pit of my stomach.
I haven't seen my brother in over five years, and I can't help but wonder if
he's changed his mind within the past six months. I mean, he is twenty-three
after all and he has a life of his own.
As I mull this over in my
mind, I stare at the house from through the car's passenger window. It's a nice
two-story home with a large bay window and a cute rock formation sidewalk that
leads to the front door. The lawn is lush and green, obviously well-maintained,
and the two car garage door happens to be closed, warning me that Tate may not
even be home.
“Everything okay, Missy?”
The old man's voice gives me
a slight start. His glasses are so thick that I'd almost refused to hitch a
ride with him in fear that he'd drive us into the nearest utility pole. Turns
out, the elderly man was the nicest little guy I'd met since I'd began hitch
hiking from Cold Spring, Minnesota. I certainly didn't have to worry about
Eddie trying to cop a feel in the middle of nowhere.
“Everything is fine, Eddie.
I'm just a little nervous, is all.”
He peers at me, his blue eyes
larger than life behind his thick lenses. “I can take you to the nearest pay
phone and you can call that brother of yours. Looks like he
ain't
home.”
I'm surprised Eddie can see
that far.
“I'll be fine. I appreciate
the ride,” I say kindly as I grab the backpack at my feet and climb out of the
car. I shut the door and give him a nice little wave before I turn and head
towards the house.
As I walk up the driveway,
there's a rolling feeling in the depths of my stomach. I haven't been able to
contact Tate through email since my aunt unplugged the computer and stored it
away where I couldn't find it. I would have used one of the school computers to
contact him if I would have had the time after my classes. But with the daily
schedule I had to abide, I'd found it more imperative to make it home on time.
It hadn't helped matters that I'd lost Tate's email address with the computer,
and since I wasn't allowed to have a cell phone... Well, you get the picture.
My eyes roll slightly as I
remember the reason why I'd lost the computer in the first place. I'd been all
of five minutes late after school and Julie had gone into a complete snit.
I am thankful I'd finally
made the decision to leave my aunt and uncle. Now that I am eighteen, I am
finally in charge of my life. I just have to finish high school and find a roof
to live under. The plan has always been to come here to Citrus Heights,
California, and finish out the rest of my senior year with Tate.
But like I said, that was six
months ago.
Trepidation fills me as I
make my way to the front door. I have absolutely no idea how Tate feels about
me. He'd always been friendly in his emails and we'd gotten along great until
he'd graduated and moved away. But did he secretly blame me as well? Was he
just being brotherly and doing his duty by offering me his place until after
graduation? Perhaps he'd been hoping that my silence over the Internet meant
I'd changed my mind. I've been planning for the worst case scenario since I
left Minnesota. Preparing myself for the worst tended to ease the pain when the
inevitable happened. This was a lesson well learned a long, long time ago.
I walk to the front door and
study the doorbell as my mind races. I reassure myself that if he doesn't want
me here, I'll figure something else out. I am strong. I could make it work
somehow. My fingers tighten on the strap of my backpack as I take a deep breath
and exhale.
I'm also feeling like a
complete ninny standing here acting all nervous. I wipe my sweaty palms on my
jeans, reach up and shove my finger in the doorbell. While I wait, my heart
pounds quicker than normal in my chest as I try to calm down. I tell myself
that if I can handle Steve and Julie, I can handle Tate's possible rejection like
a big girl. All my hopes are based on Tate at this point though, and I'd be a
fool to think that it wouldn't be a big deal if he turns me away.
The door swings open and at
first I don't recognize the man standing in the doorway. My brother's dark
brown hair is gone and in its place is a tanned, bald scalp. His strong,
handsome features have matured through the years and so has his build. He no
longer resembles a bean pole. At six feet and four inches, he's tall, but his
body has finally filled out. He's muscular, and it's pretty apparent he works
out on a daily basis by the way his jeans and tee fit him.
I find myself taking a
hesitant step backwards. I hadn't been expecting the hulking, intimidating man
that stands before me.
Grayish-green eyes so like my
own widen with obvious surprise. “
Blayre
?”
“Uh, hey.”
Recognition flares in his
eyes, and then his appearance is softened by the huge grin that spreads across
his face. I'm shocked when he grabs me and pulls me into a warm hug, and my
entire body stiffens up. I can't remember the last time someone had actually
hugged me. I'm not much of a touchy feely kind of person but I tentatively wrap
my arms around his waist lightly, and try to return the hug. I'm relieved when
it's over.
Tate peers down at me, his
eyes flashing teasingly as he ruffles my long dark hair with his hand. “You've
grown up, Bugs.”
My old nickname has me
wincing. As a kid, I'd been overly obsessive with ladybugs and Tate was the
only one who ever called me that. “I'm eighteen,” I feel the need to point out.
“And as your big brother, I
still get to call you what I want. Get in here,” he says and then peers over my
shoulder, scanning the driveway and street with his eyes. “Where's your ride?
How did you get here?”
“A friend drove me.”
Tate nods and moves back so I
can step inside. Cool air greets me and I am thankful to feel the slight
perspiration on my face beginning to dry. California was evidently hotter than
Hades in September and Eddie's car hadn't had air conditioning.
My brother looks at my
backpack a bit doubtfully as he shuts the front door behind me. “Where's the
rest of your stuff? That's not all of it, is it?”
“This is all I need,” I say
lightly. Actually, I'd opted to ditch all my stuff because I hadn't wanted my
aunt and uncle to realize I was finally leaving. Instead of going to school,
I'd hitched a ride straight out of town. There was no way I was taking a chance
on having my escape stalled by a beating. At least there's no chance they'd
come after me, not when I was supposedly the devil's incarnate. “What happened
to your hair?” I ask, switching the topic.
“I lost a bet last year and
shaved it,” he says as he runs a hand over his smooth head. “I kept it because
the guys at the station think I look more badass. It helps intimidate the poor
saps I pull over and arrest,” he says cheerfully.
“You do look bad ass,” I
agree as I look around the living room.
Tate wasn't the same young
teenager I had once followed around like a lost puppy. It would be interesting
to see what kind of person he'd grown up to be. As I gaze around the living
room, I note it is accented in different colored hues of blue. There is a flat
screen TV on one wall, and a brown comfortable looking couch sits beneath the
large picture window that overlooks the front lawn. A simple but polished oak
table is situated before the couch. In all honesty, the room looks neat and
clean. I wonder if Julie's anal cleaning habits had worn off on my brother.
They certainly hadn't worn off on me. I always felt a sick sense of
satisfaction by leaving things out or leaving clothes on the floor.
“Why haven't I heard from
you? It's been close to six months and I've been getting worried. I planned to
call...” Tate's voice trails off and he manages to look sheepish while
concerned at the same time.
“I know. It's not a big
deal.” I understood why Tate hadn't called. Whenever he'd called in the past,
my aunt and uncle always told him I was busy at the time and they would
monopolize the conversation. Tate had never been one to fold beneath their high
expectations and in a way he'd always disliked them, though he never admitted
it. He'd always been grateful they'd taken us in after our parents died but
gratitude could only be taken so far.
Tate motions for me to follow
him through the living room. “You didn't answer my question,” he says over his
shoulder. “Why didn't you respond to my emails?”
“The computer caught a virus
and it couldn't be fixed. Steve chucked it,” I lie as I look around the
cheerful kitchen. It's a decent size room with cream colored walls and oak
cupboards. The creamy counter tops gleam, and an island counter separates the
kitchen from the tiny dining room where a small table sits in the corner.
Sunlight filters in through the glass patio doors, making bright rays trickle
across the tan tiles on the floor. Tate's house happens to be small but neat.
Most of all, it feels cheerful and welcoming. It's a wonderful change from all
the cluttered religious artifacts that my aunt and uncle had hung around their house.
My brother pauses in the
kitchen and looks at me questioningly. “Thirsty? We can go sit out on the patio
and catch up.”
“Sure.”
“Lemonade or soda?” he asks
as he walks toward the refrigerator.
“Lemonade, please.”
As Tate pulls a pitcher from
the fridge and retrieves two glasses from the cupboard, I set my backpack on
the floor and walk over the patio doors to peer outside. My eyes brighten at
the sight of the in-ground pool along the patio. It looks cool and refreshing
and very inviting. Then my mind shifts to my scars and my excitement fades.
“You
wanna
get that?”
I turn to find Tate's hands
are full with two glasses of lemonade, so I quickly slide the door open and we
step outside into the late afternoon heat. The scent of flowers and chlorine linger
in the air as Tate leads me over to a round picnic table with a closed umbrella
sticking out of the middle. He sets the lemonade down and then cranks open the
umbrella.
Once we are settled, he
frowns over at me. “You bring shorts with you?”
“I'm comfortable.” I sip the
sweet lemonade and let it linger on my tongue. I've been thirsty all afternoon.
“Tell me about you. It's been a while. Are you...okay with me being here?”
He gives me an odd look in
reference to my stilted question. “Why wouldn't I be? I've missed you.”
“Me too.” I'm still not
sure where his true feelings lie. I guess only time would tell.
Tate glances at his watch.
“My shift starts at four so I have about a half hour before I need to head out.
I'll give you a tour of the house in a bit and then I want you to make yourself
at home while I'm gone.”
“I appreciate you letting me
stay here.”
“Always, Bugs. I know how
pushy Julie and Steve can be,” he says before his eyebrows crease. “I feel bad
I didn't appeal the courts for guardianship once I turned eighteen. At least
with them I knew you'd be safe and out of trouble. I had nothing to offer you
at that age,” he says quietly as he studies his glass before swatting at a fly
hovering around it.
“I get it, Tate. Trust me, I
get it.” Because I do. I'm eighteen and the idea of taking care of a
thirteen-year-old at my age is enough to strike terror within me.
Tate glances at me and nods,
his expression relaxing when he sees I'm not upset with him.
“And can you
please
not call me Bugs or else I'll have no choice but to revert back to the old days
and call you Tater Tot.”
He grimaces. “Message
received loud and clear.”
“I like your backyard. It's
very serene and tranquil.”
Tate looks around as if truly
taking in the fenced yard for the first time. “You think? I just threw some
patio furniture out here and the grill. Noah's the one who did all the planting
and the flowery shit.”
“Noah?”
“I mentioned I have a
housemate, didn't I?”
I shake my head and try to
hide my surprise at the unexpected news.
“Well, hell,” Tate says,
looking contrite. “Sorry. Noah and I are renting. There's no way I could afford
a place like this on my own.”
“Noah's a cop as well, I take
it?”
“No. Actually, there's
something you need to know about Noah. He's deaf,” Tate says seriously as he
watches my reaction.
“Deaf? Like hearing
impaired?”
“More like completely deaf,”
Tate corrects. “He reads lips pretty well, so just make sure you face him when
you're speaking. He hates it when people turn away or walk off in
mid-conversation.”
Once again I nod as I tuck
the information aside for the moment. “I take it he's your age?”
“Yeah. He's in his last year
of college. I hope you're not uncomfortable with the idea of him being here. He
really is a good guy and most people don't even realize he's deaf.”