Whispers and the Roars

by K. Webster

  Whispers and the Roars

  Copyright © 2016 K. Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Prema Editing

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Warning

  Epigraph

  Note from the author

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by K Webster

  * * *

  To my handsome voice of reason,

  Your whispers keep me sane.

  Your roars keep me safe.

  I love you.

  Warning:

  Whispers and the Roars is a dark romance. Strong sexual themes and violence, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. The abuse written in this story is graphic and not glossed over, which could be upsetting to some. This story is NOT for everyone. Proceed with caution.

  “You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, something not everyone knows how to love.”

  Warsan Shire

  A note to the reader before beginning…

  This book took the longest for me to write out of any of my books. It was mentally overwhelming at times and required a lot of research on my part. I’ve exhausted a lot of energy into making this story as authentic as possible.

  This isn’t a typical romance.

  There is nothing typical about this story.

  I’m asking you to go into this book with an open mind. I want you to turn off what you know and soak in what I am slowly pouring into you. I’m asking for you to read this story without preconceived notions or ideas.

  This story, while at times can be difficult to comprehend, is a beautiful one if you see it all the way through.

  Unconditional love, understanding, and ultimate dedication are the themes of this novel.

  Thank you for reading. Make sure you find the link in my note after the story to guide you to the discussion room where you may speak freely about the story without fear of spoiling it for anyone.

  Thanks,

  K Webster

  * * *

  Kady

  The Past

  When my eyes are closed, the monster can’t see me.

  When I sing a song in my head, the monster can’t hear me.

  When I pretend my bedroom is a playground where I play hide-and-seek, the monster can’t find me.

  The darkness should frighten me.

  I should worry I’ll find more monsters…monsters scarier than him.

  But I’m not afraid.

  It’s safe here.

  When I’m inside of my head…

  He. Can’t. Ever. Touch. Me.

  * * *

  Kady

  The Present

  The sick stench of stale cigarettes and cheap beer lingers in the air. I can always tell when he’s been by looking for me. Clues are scattered about the house—as if he leaves them on purpose. To taunt and fuck with me. A half-empty pack of cigs. A tipped, dripping can of Budweiser crushed and discarded on the kitchen table. His name carved into the wood beside the can. Sharp. Edgy. Imperfect. Norman.

  Beads of sweat form on my upper lip, and I rush to the front door in an effort to breathe without breathing him in. The moment I swing it open, a cool late spring breeze whips inside around me, lifting my damp hair off my sticky neck.

  I can’t believe I managed to stay away while he was here. I’m always afraid he’ll find me. That he’ll drag me up to my bedroom, pull my sweaty clothes from my thin frame, and terrorize me like he’s been doing since I was old enough to utter the word “daddy.”

  A squawk from the horn of a bike causes me to jolt from my daze, and I awkwardly wave at Christopher, a twelve-year-old kid from up the street. He waves back, but I notice the way his legs work harder to propel his bike past my house. Away…from me. Christopher, like most of my neighbors, dislikes me. Some may even fear me, which is ridiculous. I’m just a broken twenty-nine-year-old. Not a monster.

  A recluse. I’ll give them that.

  At one point in time, I wasn’t. At one time, someone could pull me from my sad world, show me that shards of light could shine through, and let me feel true love. Life, at one time, was as perfect as life could be for me. At one time, I’d had hope.

  But then he left me too.

  Not that I can blame him. I would’ve left me too if I were him. It still hurt, though. No, it fucking gutted me to my core. Actually, there isn’t even a way to describe what I felt the moment he was gone.

  A part of me died.

  Burned and charred, then simply blown away ash by ash the next time a breeze rolled on by.

  My belly growls and I wonder if Aunt Suzy or Agatha have been by the grocery store yet. Money is tight these days, but Aunt Suzy is a hard-core coupon cutting queen. She somehow manages to feed this wild family on a tiny budget provided by the state and my meager earnings. If things get too rough, Officer Joe always stops by with burgers or a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. He was the responding officer that night the shit hit the fan. And twenty years later, he still checks up on his favorite Kady Bug.

  I may be a lonely woman, but I have some amazing people who look after me.

  Too bad the one I miss the most ran off to Yale University. Left his girlfriend to pursue a career. Stole my heart right from my chest.

  You would have held him down, Kady. He was meant to soar.

  Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them away. It’s easy to forget I’m the one who encouraged him to leave. To follow his dreams—dreams that didn’t involve me. I was a fungus. Growing and festering. Turning his brilliant parts black with the disease otherwise known as me. When you’re a woman who suffers from depression and PTSD, among other disorders, you learn that you’re the problem. That you’re the source of nightmares. That you’re a black plague who only sickens the well around you.

  And my poor, sweet boy was becoming sickened. He was sick in love. His father hated me for it and was disappointed in his son. I couldn’t bear to see the one I love—the one who always smiled brilliantly just for me—frown and ponder.
To see his eyes cloud over and become distant as he thought about what he was giving up. For me.

  I made the decision for him, so he wouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t even choose air or food or water over me. And that’s exactly why he couldn’t stay. I’d poisoned him, but it wasn’t too late. I could fix it.

  So I did.

  My stomach grumbles again and I frantically look around for Aunt Suzy. There’s no way I can go to Walmart. The place is crawling with people and that makes my skin crawl too. I can’t stand the way they all dissect me with their eyes. How the women in this town crowd around me and fuss over me, like a gaggle of obnoxious geese, as if it’s their duty because they knew my grandma. The way they all try to figure out why I’m a monster. I hate the way they look for him—Norman—when they see me. A man who would do heinous things to his own flesh and blood. They turn my carefully constructed world upside down. Madness and chaos take over until I’m begging for my bed and peace and the one who still holds my bleeding heart in his hands.

  I need quiet.

  I need order.

  A reprieve from the roars.

  My world offers me the briefest glimpse of happiness when I’m able to silence the deafening chaos in my little town.

  I can survive when it’s only the whispers.

  Deciding Walmart is a very bad idea, I close the front door and dispose of Norman’s demonic debris. Agatha will chide me for cleaning up after him, but I do it anyway. It’s empowering to rid my home of his remnants. Once the air smells of Febreeze—we’ve got forty-seven cans thanks to one of Aunt Suzy’s coupon hoarding moments—I make my way over to the piano in the living room. The piano is my getaway from the pain. I find solace in the music—the cadence that slows my thrumming heart to a beat that doesn’t have it threatening to jump from my chest and run down the street toward the tan house on the corner.

  I lift a window to let some cool air in and to filter out the stench of the cigarette smoke that still taints the air around me. The air conditioner is broken again but money is tight. Bones left a note for me yesterday saying he’d get it fixed, but I’m still here sweating my ass off. He’s not usually one to follow through. Unlike him, I can’t walk around with no shirt on twenty-four-seven. I’ll have to see if Agatha knows someone who could repair it inexpensively.

  My heart is achy today. I know I’ll need to perk up before my piano lessons later this afternoon with Kyra. She’s nine and has been working hard to master all of the songs in her beginner’s book. The girl is an avid learner. Quite determined for her age. When my mood is dark, she senses it and Mary Had a Little Lamb becomes intense and eerie. So I try to shower her with my smiles and radiate happiness.

  Until then, though…

  I slide onto the worn, wooden bench seat, my bare thighs under my cutoff shorts sticking to the surface. Tugging a hairband from my wrist, I brush my hair into a ponytail with my long fingers. It’s damp underneath and it feels amazing to get my heavy hair off my neck. I twist it into a messy bun then lay my fingertips on the aged ivory keys. Long ago, Grandma taught me how to play. It ended up becoming my therapy—my only escape. Now, it’s my supplemental income. A few brave parents pay me for lessons for their children, but only after they realized that I’m not the evil person the town claims I am.

  Silencing my thoughts, my fingers begin fluttering over the keys. Haunting sounds from The Secret Letter fill my home. I play the piece not from memory, but from the soul. The music is an extension of my pain and sadness. A direct view into the mind of a woman who has spent an entire lifetime attempting to forget injustices served against her.

  Only I can’t forget.

  Not when Norman still comes around.

  Not when Grandma’s empty bedroom makes me cry.

  Not when the love of my life exists in another town without me.

  But when I’m playing the piano, albeit for a brief moment, I’m able to forget. I’m able to silence those roars. Turn them into whispers. Let the music flood my soul and drown the horrors of my past.

  When I play, I’m content.

  Even if only for a little while.

  * * *

  Yeo

  The tight ball of anxiety that always twists my heart is finally relaxing its hold. Twelve years is a long time to have that part of you in a vise grip. Kadence Marshall has been my entire world since I was ten years old. And now, every single choice. Every single decision. Every thought that enters my mind…involves her. It’s always been that way and it always will be that way.

  I love her.

  Plain and simple.

  You can’t snuff out the blazing flames of love.

  Soulmates don’t simply drift apart.

  Twelve years has done nothing to change the way I feel about her.

  The time with us separated is over.

  No more hiding.

  No more avoidance.

  No more denying our complicated relationship.

  I’m going to make this right again.

  She pushed you away, Yeo.

  It was the push I needed, though. She was right. I couldn’t help her with no education, no home, no money. Instead of hating her or obsessing over the whys of how she could push me away, I chose to run in the opposite direction toward something that would eventually bring us back together. Kady is the type of woman who deserves a lifetime commitment.

  Sometimes there isn’t a quick fix or an easy solution.

  Often, these things take time.

  When you’re dedicated to someone completely, you take that time and you make it work for you.

  She is one commitment I never thought twice about. I’d ignored my father’s pleas to go to school for business management. Running his multinational technology company was something my brothers could do alongside him. Anderson Tech was doing just fine without me. The baby. The rebel. The brother from another mother.

  I smile as I think about my mother. Gyeong Anderson is a force to be reckoned with. Over thirty years ago, she’d fallen in love with my father while he spent a few years in South Korea for business. She’d gotten pregnant with me very early on in their relationship. Problem was, Dad was already married. Already had two boys, Dean and Barclay. When he realized what a mess he’d made, he ended up divorcing Evelyn so he could marry my mother. Dad wanted all of his children in West Virginia. Together. One happy, screwed-up family.

  Dad bounced back and forth between their stunning brick home on the newer end of Morgantown and our simple house at the end of Kady’s street. He may have been legally married to my mom, but he was still a devout father to my brothers. To say it was an easy upbringing would be laughable. But I was loved and taken care of my entire life. I couldn’t ask for much more.

  Kady fits in somehow. I just know it. And soon, we’re going to figure out how. I’ve spent a lot of time working toward this moment. It’s going to work.

  A shrill ringing jars me from my thoughts and I scramble for my cell phone, careful to keep my eyes on the road.

  “Hello?”

  “Dad tell you we’re having dinner tonight at LeBlanc’s Steakhouse?” Barc questions, launching into what he’s called for without so much as a greeting.

  He’s the middle Anderson son, and the one who resembles Dad the most. Tall, dark brown wavy hair, broad shoulders, and a hard scruffy jaw. Dean looks a lot like Evelyn with lighter brown hair and softer features. Of course, I bear the least resemblance to our father due to my South Korean ethnicity. I’m tall like Dad and can bulk up when I need to, but my eyes are almond-shaped and brown like my mother’s. My hair is stick straight and black.

  “Who’s we?”

  “Patty, the twins, Mom and Dad, Dean and his new girlfriend, and of course Gyeong. The usual,” he grunts out. I can tell he’s at the office because I can hear him tapping away on his computer as he speaks. Barc never stops working. His marriage to Patty is on the rocks because of it, too. If it weren’t for the twins being so heavily involved in softball and starting high school,
I think she’d have left him already.

  “Can I bring a date?”

  The tapping stops and his breathing becomes ragged. He doesn’t have to say anything. I can almost hear the questions bouncing around in his mind.

  Is it her?

  Kadence Marshall?

  What will she fuck up now?

  But he won’t ask. He’s not as bold as Dad and actually gives a rat’s ass about his brother’s feelings.

  “Sure, man. Bring a date. Is he hot?” His trying to play off the tense moment brings a smile to my face.

  Chuckling, I shake my head. “Fuck off. You know I’m into chicks, not dicks.”

  “That’s not what the rumors say,” he teases.

  I tense momentarily at his words but then shake it off. The rumor mill in this town is huge and always running.

  “Yeah, yeah. What time?”

  “Reservations are at eight.”

  We hang up and I hit the accelerator on my BMW. I caught all kinds of shit back in Connecticut, where I completed my residency at Saint Francis hospital, for driving this yuppie car. It wasn’t worth defending myself, though—my peers just don’t understand my family. Dad gifted it to me once I completed my M.D. While my colleagues were drowning in student loan debt those four years after and taking the bus to work, I was rolling around in an eighty-six thousand dollar M6 convertible and living in my paid-for-by-daddy loft in downtown Hartford.

  He’d wanted to buy Mom a gigantic house, like the one he and Evelyn lived in, but my mother insisted on the tan house she still lives in. Her house cost less than my damn car. She’s about the only person he lets get away with telling him how it’s going to be. I’ll never understand their relationship.

  Mom once told me she’s a fire-breathing dragon and that Dad is flammable. I didn’t ask much more on the subject.