Obscene: A Dahlia Saga Novel

by Natalie Bennett

  A DAHLIA SAGA NOVEL

  Copyright

  Obscene by Natalie Bennett

  © 2019 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by: Pinpoint Editing

  Cover Design: Opulent Designs

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dahlia Saga

  Playlist

  A la folie. To Insanity.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Other books

  Dahlia Saga

  The Dahlia Saga contains extremely dark themes and is not intended for the faint of heart. If you are uncomfortable with twisted, dark erotica, this story will not appeal to you.

  Please note this is a work of fiction meant only for entertainment purposes. It does not mean that I condone the activities portrayed within.

  *Each book can be read as a standalone, however, below is the recommended reading order. *

  Recommended Reading Order

  Macabre

  Obscene

  Depravity

  Malevolence

  Iniquity

  Debauchery

  Playlist

  Lecrae, Tori Kelley—I’ll Find You

  Crywolf—The Hunger In Your Haunt

  Cigarettes After Sex—Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You

  Korn—Black Is The Soul

  Banks—Crowded Places

  Lacey Strum—Rot

  BMH—Deathbeds

  Meg Myers—Make A Shadow

  Pvris—Eyelids

  Halsey—Sorry

  In This Moment—Sick Like Me

  A la folie. To Insanity.

  The chains he clamped around my wrists heightened my discomfort. With every violent spasm, they clanged against the rickety metal bed rails. Blood was running down the right; the left was locked at an odd angle, freshly broken. Thick pieces of rope wrapped around each of my ankles, holding my legs spread open.

  A botched doctor stood off to the right, doing the best he could to wipe the sweat from my swollen face.

  The man I trusted to take care of me watched from the shadows. His green eyes showed no hint of emotion. The way his lips continued to purse, I knew he was either impatient or simply bored.

  I wanted to scream at him, beg him to stop this, but the gag in my mouth effectively silenced me.

  My pain was off the charts; it was hard for me to fathom how I was still wide awake.

  I turned my head, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the cellar wall. I looked exactly how I felt—like a terrified wild animal. My dark hair was in tangles, large bags puffed up my blue eyes, and the dim lighting illuminated the blood stains on the rag in my mouth.

  When the doctor finally turned off the Pitocin drip, I slightly relaxed…but then a new pain started. This was hell. There was no other explanation for what my life had come to.

  “Do you know the gender?” the doctor asked, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.

  He had his answer a few agonizing minutes later. As soon as the umbilical cord was cut, my baby was taken away. I heard the word “Boy,” whispered in the midst of my sobs. The doctor wrapped him in a striped blanket and quickly left the room.

  Dropping my head back to the stale mattress, I waited for what was coming next.

  For the past three months, he’d been telling me I was going to die.

  I didn’t bother begging or pleading with my eyes. When he stepped up beside me, I let out a sigh of relief just before a knife was dragged across my jugular.

  It was finally over.

  Every action has a reaction. Everything has consequences. This was mine for loving the wrong man.

  Chapter One

  Life is hard.

  It’s simple, but it’s hard. Nothing is ever guaranteed to be permanent. Things can change in a matter of seconds. It happened to me, and I never saw it coming.

  I’m not entirely sure how to tell our story. I always think I’ll fail at doing it justice. Most people like a good romance. They like having a hero they can root for, or an antihero who redeems himself. Our story contains neither.

  There is nothing romantic about it. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

  I didn’t fall for a knight in shining armor, and the one that did try to rescue me is buried in the backyard. My version of a hero was incomprehensible to outsiders. I fell for a man with a pitch-black soul and a charm so deceptive he could outwit the Devil.

  I was introverted, young, and insecure. He was confident, strong, and understanding of the way my mind worked. He was my release, another soul I could cling to that made up half of me. But our relationship was far from sunshine and rainbows. It was toxic, twisted, and dangerously addictive.

  He wasn’t an easy man to love. He had a bad habit of breaking my heart, just to rebuild it and shatter it again.

  Sometimes I think he would have rather destroyed me completely than loved me at all.

  I struggled with my feelings about the world he forced me to be a part of. He was always pushing me to fully accept who he was and the things he did. And, for a little while, I tried to.

  I’ll forewarn you that my decisions won’t always make sense. To fully understand, you would have to have been there. I know people will react based on how they perceive it. Some will be angry, others disgusted—maybe both, if they make it that far. It will require you to push the limitations of their minds.

  Understand that the world is a dark, sometimes despairing place. Bad, unspeakable things happen whether you want them to or not. Those things are happening right this second.

  Someone is screaming for help, and you can’t hear them.

&
nbsp; With that being said, I’ll begin with the day I met a man who would ultimately change my entire life, and save it. He was the handsome stranger mothers warned their daughters about. He’d been watching me for a very long time, waiting for the perfect moment to introduce himself.

  Chapter Two

  I think everyone knows the stigmas that surround small towns.

  Nothing ever happens, there’s nothing to do, and everyone knows everyone. For the most part, that’s all true. The last exciting thing to happen in Redwood was two drunks having a misunderstanding and throwing a few sloppily aimed punches.

  Of course, the next day they hugged it out like civilized men.

  The scuffle wasn’t even at a bar. They were drunk off beer from a grad party. How lame is that?

  There wasn’t anything to do, other than going to the library to pick out one of the ancient books that had probably been there since the town was built. Redwood had no movie theaters, arcades, malls, or strips. It did have one well-maintained park in the center of it, though.

  As for everyone knowing everyone, the only exception to that was me. My mother would swear on the Holy Bible that schools were bad. They were impressionable, influenced today's youth in negative ways, and my peers would bully me. Why? Well, she didn’t have an answer for that.

  Being homeschooled ended up both a blessing and a curse.

  Miss Mary, my nanny, was an amazing teacher, and she made sure I excelled in everything I did.

  The downside was being stared at as if I were a terrestrial life form. No number of life skills could take the sting of judgmental strangers away.

  I swore I was going to leave this place behind the day I turned eighteen, yet there I was at twenty-three, working at Malty’s, serving up burger platters with a painfully forced smile on my face.

  That day was no different. I stood behind the counter, discreetly watching the couple in the corner and the small group of four by the window. A permanent melancholy settled over me. I envied them. I longed for friendship, someone I could talk to and laugh with over trivial things. It was easy to take orders and pretend I wasn’t awkward and unsure of myself.

  Sometimes I caught whispers, hearing myself being called weird or mental. My entire body would burn with anger, hurt, and embarrassment.

  I always kept my mouth shut.

  It was easier to slaughter them in my head while accepting my tip. That saying about sticks and stones? It was utter bullshit. Words hurt.

  Some people didn’t have the ability to shake them off and ignore them; I was one of them. Confrontation had never been my thing. My strength had always been in my silence. Besides, I couldn’t blame them, because they weren’t raised like me.

  I did, however, partially blame my mother for the way I was. There were plenty of homeschooled kids that turned out just as normal as everyone else. She kept me isolated and locked away in her tidy little prison.

  The older I got, the lonelier I became. When the only person you have to talk to is yourself, it’s not easy replacing that with a real person.

  A bell chimed as the small group laughed their way out of the door, breaking up the suicidal pity party in my head. Sighing, I grabbed my cleaning spray and rag, resigned to the fact that nothing would ever change. Accepting that this was my life—at least for the next two days, anyway.

  Pocketing their generous tip, I began clearing the table, envisioning a different scenario. One in which I was part of the group that had just been sitting there. They included me in everything they did, laughing with me instead of at me.

  I could stay in my mind forever, exchanging make believe with reality—which is how I missed the door chiming again.

  “Katie Cormick?”

  Janice and I both stopped what we were doing and looked at the man who had just walked in.

  “She’s Katie.” Janice nodded her graying head in my direction.

  “These are for you.” He lifted the bouquet of white roses in his hands with a big grin on his face. Furrowing my brows, I stared at him without making a move to accept the delivery.

  “Are you sure?” I questioned, ignoring Janice’s glare.

  “I was told they’re for a Katie Cormick who works at Malty’s. Unless you know someone else who fits that description, then I’m positive these are for you.” He walked towards me, all but forcing the round vase into my hands.

  “Have a good day.” He waved to Janice on his way out the door. I stood, more than a little grateful, trying to find a card. There wasn’t one.

  “Well, does it say anything this time?” Janice asked.

  “No,” I sighed.

  “Looks like you have a secret admirer after all,” she grinned at me, gently pulling the flowers from my hands.

  “I doubt that.” Scoffing, I turned back to the table. The flowers had been coming every week for the last three months. I kept telling myself it was probably someone playing a joke or feeling sorry for me.

  Was it a coincidence that when I had woken up in the hospital three years ago, those same flowers were all over the room?

  “Katie, I wish you would have some self-confidence. You’re such a pretty girl,” Janice huffed, shuffling back to the front, setting the flowers on the bar.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I didn’t dignify that with a response. If I could look in the mirror and tell myself I was beautiful and loveable, I wouldn’t feel as low as I did.

  My wrists wouldn’t have reminders on them of what I’d tried to do. I wouldn’t feel so elated over a stranger giving me roses. They were the only thing that made me smile for real these days.

  Chapter Three

  I was halfway home when I realized two things:

  1) I’d forgotten my roses.

  2) The blue sedan slowly creeping up the street was following me.

  Not waiting to see if I was paranoid, self-preservation kicked in, and I quickly cut through the yard on my immediate left.

  There wasn’t another soul in sight; not even a dog was barking—another con about living in a small town.

  When something bad happened, it was either covered up or swept under the rug.

  If I went missing, that would be it, though my mother would more than likely burn the whole town to the ground to find me. Not for the sake of having her daughter back, but to save her reputation.

  I could picture her smug face if I got hurt and made it back on my own. “I told you it wasn’t safe for you to leave this house.” Those were her exact words when we argued about me returning to my job.

  Breaking into a light jog, my white Converse moved silently over damp grass. Glancing over my shoulder every few minutes, I didn’t stop jogging until I could no longer see or hear the car.

  Just as I relaxed, a pair of headlights turned down the street. Within one second, I recognized the car.

  What the hell do they want?

  Refusing to stick around to find out, I took off again.

  Panic had me zigzagging through different yards, taking every narrow shortcut I knew, tripping over my own two feet a million fucking times.

  All the houses I passed by were dark; my breathing was so loud, I wondered how anyone could sleep through it. When I finally stumbled into my mother’s split-level and locked the door, my chest was heaving, and my hands were shaking.

  I leaned over and peered through the front curtain just in time to see the car slowly cruise past our house.

  Chapter Four

  I was sitting at my vanity when my mother finally showed herself. She walked into my room like a queen gracing me with her presence.

  It was almost two in the morning. I’d thought she was sleeping; based on her appearance, that wasn’t the case. I had no idea where she spent all her time.

  She’d been leaving me alone for hours upon hours since I was a little girl. My father traveled a lot, so he wasn’t aware that she’d once locked me in a closet when she had places to be.

  That obviously wasn’t feasible anymore, but there were still day
s where we didn’t see or speak to one another.

  Without my permission, she waltzed up and began running her talon-like fingers through my dark hair. I watched her brown eyes scan over every inch of me. I sat studying her just the same. Did she know I’d already killed her in my head fifteen different ways?

  My favorite was with her flat iron. I’d lodge it in her throat and burn her from the inside out. The smell of her burning flesh would give me so much joy. Then, she would know how bad the ceramic plates hurt when she used to press them into my skin.

  Of course, I would never actually hurt her. I was a good girl; it was my mind that was rotten.

  Her floral scented perfume was making my stomach turn. She had to have used half the bottle to smell so strongly. Her crows’ feet were getting worse; I could see where she tried to cover them with some makeup.

  I didn’t know how old she was, but neither Annie, my older sister, nor I looked anything like her. Glenda had dark, natural red hair, and was pencil thin. Annie was a dirty blonde with brown eyes and an athletic build. I was dark haired with electric blue eyes. None of us fit the description of the other, and we each had drastically different personalities.

  “So, did anything exciting happen today?”

  “What do you mean by exciting?” I kept my tone light, but her question put me on guard.

  She never asked me anything about my day, and I knew she couldn’t care less.

  Did she set me up? It wouldn’t surprise me. My mother did whatever she had to to coerce me into staying home. It was that simple fact that made me decide not to tell her about the car.

  “This is Redwood. We both know nothing exciting happened,” I said dryly.

  She froze with her fingers still in my hair.

  “Your mouth has been getting worse and worse lately,” she reprimanded in her usual sharp tone. “That isn’t how you speak to your mother. After everything I’ve given up to raise you, I deserve your utmost respect.”

  It didn’t work like it once had, and her traditional adage had long ago begun to irritate me.