Torn (The Torn Series Book 1)

by Sky Corgan

  I shut the refrigerator door and close my eyes, standing there for several seconds trying to swallow all the negativity inside of me down. What happened, happened. I can't change the past, but I can apologize to Earl tomorrow though I don't want to. Pride is standing in my way of being any sort of good parent or role model—the resistance to change. He deserves an apology though. He did nothing wrong.

  After a few more moments spent listening to the sound of my own breathing, I decide to make my way to my bedroom. When I reach the door, I hesitate, looking at the sprawling master suite. It's strange to think this used to be my parents' bedroom, but now it's mine. Something else it will take a while to get used to.

  I close the door behind me and rest my back against it, listening to Earl's footsteps upstairs as he does whatever it is he's doing. A flicker of discontent races through me as I think that he should have gone directly to bed the second he got up there.

  Normally, I would sleep naked, but knowing that there isn't a lock on the bedroom door makes me grab some pajamas before I head to the master bathroom to wash the night's scents off of me. I follow up a shower with a nice long bath, doing my best to relax and think about anything other than the two boys upstairs. Earl has stopped moving around, which makes that task a lot easier. For that, I'm thankful.

  By the time I step out of the bathroom, I'm feeling better. It's amazing what soaking in a tub can do for the soul.

  I climb onto the bed and slip under the covers before allowing my thoughts to drift back to the BDSM club, imagining what would have gone on there had I stayed. The sound of the whip cracking echoes in my ears, but instead of sailing out into the open air, I picture myself on the receiving end. The dungeon master doesn't fit my fancy, though. He needs to be replaced with someone else. And I can think of just the man.

  Sir Tall is behind me now, his blue eyes sparkling with a sadistic look. I'm tied to a Saint Andrew's Cross, my naked flesh exposed for his marking pleasure. The sting of the whip sends delicious pain racing through me, fire that quickly spreads, culminating at my core. My clit throbs from the heat of it, and all of my thoughts are of having his hands upon me—of seeing what he looks like under those clothes.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I whisper.

  He places a hand below my arm, smoothing it over my ribs and feeling my curves before resting it on my hip. His breath is hot against my ear, and I can feel the scratchy material of his pants on my ass—feel his arousal beneath them. His dick is big. Of course, it would be. It would be a sin for a man so tall not to be well endowed. I purr at the thought, my mind fast forwarding until we're both ready for more intimate things.

  I'd want him to drive his cock into me hard. No warming me up. No gentle foreplay to help my body receive him. All we'd need is my wetness, and I'm already so wet for him.

  My hand slips into my pajamas as I imagine him leaning over me, his large hands enveloping my wrists to hold me down. His expression is carnal with lust. His thick, naked manhood teasingly touching my belly. I nip at his bottom lip, challenging him to continue. He responds by roughly hiking my thigh over his hip and angling himself to enter me.

  I circle my cleft with my index finger, bringing my free hand up to roughly grope one of my breasts. I want him to be rough with me. So rough and uninhibited. I want him to fuck me selfishly like it's his last chance to ever be with a woman. It's always best when men take control, when gentility and consideration are never even a part of the picture.

  “Fuck me like you mean it,” I say while pressing my fingertip against my swollen bud, sending a shiver of pleasure flooding through my nether region.

  “You couldn't handle it if I did.” He grinds against me, allowing me to feel his full intimidating length.

  I pinch and tug on one of my nipples, intensifying the pleasant feelings washing through me. It won't take much. Maybe I'd even come the second that he put his dick inside of me.

  “Try me.” A mischievous grin spreads across my lips.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Footsteps pad down the stairs, sending my fantasies and arousal scurrying away into the darkness. Fear and anger return to me like a slap in the face—so quick. My hands recoil from my body to clutch onto the comforter, pulling it up to my chest as if I have something to hide.

  I hold my breath, waiting for the footsteps to reach the bottom of the stairs and turn towards my room. With no lock on the door, Earl could just walk right in if he wanted to. Perhaps he will. There's no way to predict what he's going to do.

  The second his feet hit the bottom of the stairs, the floor absorbs the sound of his footsteps. Briefly, I think about getting up to see what he's doing. I'm far too comfortable, though, and to be honest, I don't really want to talk to him again. Not tonight. I've already been through enough.

  So I wait and I listen, my eyes flitting to the digital clock on the bedside table every now and then. The minutes feel like hours. Frustration builds inside of me as I silently will him back up the stairs. It doesn't work, though.

  My mind begins to wander. Did he come back downstairs to watch television? Is he getting something to eat? Is he sneaking out? If it's the last of those, I should be worried. Somehow, though, I just don't give a shit. I didn't sign up for this. What do I care if he leaves and never comes back? It's a horrible thing to think, but life would be better for me if that were the case. Then I'd only have one brat to worry about.

  I stare at the doorknob and its lack of a lock, my brain growing weary again. Perverted fantasies won't return now that I know how vulnerable I am to being intruded on. There's nothing I can do about Earl unless I get out of bed and go look for him. And I'm not getting out of bed. Not this late. I can, however, do something about my privacy issue. Tomorrow, I'm definitely buying a lock.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I groan to life the next morning, wishing I'd never woken up at all. There have been times in the past when I've become suicidal, though never so much that I would actually carry it out. When I heard the news that I'd have to return to Boston and be the adoptive parent to my step-brothers, I'm surprised I didn't find the first ceiling fan to hang myself from. Thinking back, maybe I should have. It's been a very long time since every single day greeted me with such misery. Not since before I moved out of my parents' house. It's a reminder of how poisonous this place is for me. I'm swimming in poison and somehow not dying, yet at the same time I can't seem to build up an immunity to it.

  I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, wondering if I'll have to spend the day tracking down Earl. If he's not home, I'll feel obligated to do something about it—to pretend like I care. People are still calling and visiting to give us their condolences. I doubt his absence would go unnoticed.

  Please still be here. This is definitely not what I need right now.

  I have more important things to worry about, like finding a job. That's at the very top of my list of priorities. My parents could not have picked a worse time to die, in the middle of summer when school is out and I'll be trapped with the boys all day if I can't find a valid excuse to escape. Sure, I can afford to take the summer off with the inheritance that they left behind. Maybe it would be the sensitive thing to do. But I feel selfish right now.

  I take my time getting dressed before stealing a glance at the clock. It's 9:30 AM. Probably too early for the boys to be awake if they're both home. I remember sleeping in late during the summer, often until close to noon. That seems like ages ago. I frown, thinking about how much being an adult sucks.

  The kitchen and living room are blessedly empty. The longer I can avoid socializing with the boys, the better. That still doesn't mean I can shirk my duty of making sure that they're both safely in the house, though.

  With a sigh, I tiptoe up to the second floor and quietly open the door to Joe's room. I barely even need to crack it before his loud snoring rushes out to greet me. An amused smirk curls the corners of my lips as I think of how overweight he is for his age. The kid is well on his way to sle
ep apnea and diabetes. He's not going to like the diet I plan to implement once all of the food that people have brought us is gone.

  Satisfied that at least one of the boys is accounted for, I close the door and move on to Earl's room. My heartbeat quickens at the thought of opening the door and finding him gone. If he is, I guess I'll have to wait until Joe wakes up and then interrogate him to see if he knows anything about Earl's friends or where he might go. Then we'll drive around town, hoping that luck will be on our side and we'll find him. That rarely works, though. More than likely, it would be a wasted effort.

  I turn the door handle, preparing myself for the stress of seeing Earl's bed empty. The door creaks on its hinges, and I cringe at the sound though I no there's no reason to. I take a step into the room to look around the wall that makes up Earl's closet, and nostalgia overtakes me. This used to be my old room, with posters of bands and clippings from teen magazines on the walls. Now it's dark and messy. The typical teenage girl things have been replaced with white, scuffed-up furniture. There are dirty clothes all over the floor and the scent of body odor is fairly strong. The only similarity is that the wall is still covered with posters, though the bands have changed.

  I hold my breath as my eyes drift to the bed, and then relief floods through me when I find a body in it. Assuming it's Earl, I retreat from the room, shutting the door behind me. Maybe it won't be such a shitty day after all.

  Satisfied with my findings, I head back downstairs to make breakfast. I open the refrigerator and scan the contents, thinking about how well stocked it is in comparison to the refrigerator in my old apartment. A bachelorette's refrigerator will almost always look different than a family's, though. I kept only what I needed to survive, which was typically beer, bottled water, milk, and yogurt. There was never anything to make a meal on the spot with. Most of what I ate was takeout and TV dinners. It's a wonder that I don't weigh a thousand pounds.

  Those bad habits are going out the window though now that I have other people to care for. I want the boys and me to be healthier, so I plan on doing a lot of cooking. It's hard to cook when you live alone. It makes a lot more sense to do it when you're feeding multiple people.

  I pull out some eggs, milk, and a carton of strawberries, setting everything on the counter in preparation to make breakfast. As I get to work, I hum to myself, thinking about how oddly soothing cooking is. It makes me feel useful. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

  Once I'm done making french toast, I slice up the strawberries. Then I take out some condiment cups and fill three of them with syrup, wondering if the boys will actually stand for letting me portion it out. More than likely, they'll just ask for more if they want it, and then what? Will I grudgingly say yes? Lord knows Joe doesn't need the sugar or extra calories. I can't be a food Nazi though. Not this early on.

  After I finish cooking and setting the plates and silverware out, I lean against the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, staring up at the stairs, waiting for the boys to wake and come down for breakfast. The minutes tick by slowly, and I grow impatient, thinking about how the food is getting cold. Part of me wants to go wake them up, but a greater part of me doesn't want to deal with them.

  After a few moments of debating, I decide to make myself a plate and sit on the sofa to watch television while I eat. Once I'm done eating, I take my plate to the sink and boot up the computer in the living room to start looking for work. You'd think that with a bachelor's degree in accounting, I would have no trouble finding a job. They all want you to have experience, though, and it's impossible to get experience when no one will hire you. I had the same issue in Utah. In fact, after graduating from college, I couldn't even find a job in my field of study. I ended up working as a food server in a nursing home all the way up until I got the terrible news that I had to return home.

  To be honest, I didn't mind the work much. I generally like older people. Most of them are nice, and they always have such interesting stories to tell. Working that job made me second guess my career choice. The only reason I went into accounting in the first place was because I thought I could make a lot of money doing it. Once I was in school, though, it bored me to tears.

  Despite realizing I didn't enjoy it, there was no way I was going to quit. One thing I refuse to be is a failure at anything I do. I suppose that's a funny way to think. Even though I earned my degree, I never actually landed a job in the accounting field, so I guess I've failed at that. Still, that's not as bad as not finishing school.

  As I scroll through the listings of job openings, it's all the same. Most of the companies want at least a few years of experience. I apply anyway, hoping that one of them will give me a chance.

  Once I finish with that, I turn my attention to the less pleasant jobs, searching for things in the food and beverage industry that I'm way overqualified for. Submitting online applications for those jobs makes me feel sick to my stomach. I'm desperate though—desperate not to have to spend the summer playing mom. Earl can watch over Joe. He's old enough, and I'm sure they'll be fine if I leave them alone together. At least, I hope they will be.

  It takes about an hour for me to finish putting in applications. The boys still haven't come downstairs by the time I'm done. I look at the stairway, then back at the kitchen. The french toast I made earlier is probably ice cold now. I suppose that's what microwaves are for, though.

  I slump in front of the computer and look at the time. It's a little after eleven, and I promised my Aunt Alyce that I'd meet her for lunch at Jose's Sombrero at noon. While I should be happy that it looks like I'm going to avoid socializing with the boys this morning, I still feel a bit grumpy that they're not awake yet. It seems that no outcome would have made me happy—a reminder that I just can't win.

  With a sigh, I open the desk drawer and pull out a piece of paper to scribble down a note for Earl. Then I take it and set it on the kitchen counter next to the french toast so that he'll find it when he wakes up. Hopefully, he'll be a good older brother to Joe and stick around until I get back.

  Trying not to worry about it too much, I grab my keys and head out the door. The responsible thing to do would have been to wake them up and make them come with me. This is my escape, though, and I'm looking forward to seeing a blood relative without them around.

  I pull up in front of the restaurant and kill the engine, scanning the parking lot for my aunt's vehicle, even though I have no idea what she drives these days. After sending her a quick text message and getting a response, we meet up at the door before going inside. The hug she gives me is the most comforting thing I've felt in a while. Warmth and affection radiates from her, and it reminds me of how I'll never feel that from my mother again, which dampens my mood a little. I try not to let it show as we sit across from each other.

  “You look nice.” She gestures to the white sundress with daisies on it that I'm wearing.

  “Thanks.” I smile politely.

  “Where are the boys?”

  “I left them at home. They weren't awake yet, and I thought it would be okay to let them sleep in.” I shift my eyes in discomfort, worried that she might be disappointed in me for not bringing them. When I look back at her, she bobs her head, seemingly understanding.

  “So, how have you been holding up?” She unwraps her silverware and drapes her napkin over her lap.

  “Good. I haven't been that close to my mom these past several years. It has probably been harder on the boys.”

  After I left for Utah, contact with my mother became sparser and sparser. Daily phone calls turned into weekly phone calls turned into monthly phone calls. Then it got to the point where I was lucky to hear from her every few months. Once I started dating Robert, I didn't even bother coming home for most of the holidays because I didn't want to deal with the awkwardness of being stuck in a house full of people I didn't particularly like. Stubbornness kept me rooted in Utah, and I honestly never thought I would regret it. Now, however, I realize that I missed ou
t on so many precious opportunities to be with my family. As they say, you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

  “Such a tragedy.” Aunt Alyce shakes her head. “Who knew he was such a sick, sick man.”

  I knew. At least, I had an idea.

  “He was never right in the head. I wish my mom would have seen that.” I prop my elbow up on the table and rest my head on my hand.

  This is something I don't want to talk about. The tragedy of how they died. It makes me angry just thinking about it. Especially when I recall all of the times I told my mother about the strange things that Vince did.

  “Some people are just blinded by love.” She mirrors my thoughts, her blue eyes full of sadness.

  “And sometimes that blindness comes back to bite you in the ass.” My jaw clenches.

  It's easy to accuse my mother of being dumb. In truth, though, I'm guilty of being blind as well. I nearly married a man who was cheating on me through a good portion of our relationship and I refused to acknowledge what was obvious to most people. Sure, the signs were there. The way he always had his phone turned so that I couldn't see the screen. All of the nights he spent working late when he didn't even have a corporate job. I think I knew all along, but I was too afraid to admit it until reality slapped me right in the face when I came home from work early one day and found him with another woman in our bed. Then I couldn't ignore it anymore. I had to take action.

  “I suppose we're just lucky he didn't kill the boys as well.” She inhales deeply.

  “Lucky. Yeah,” I huff. It's a horrible thing to think, but lucky for me would have been if he had killed them too.

  “You should take the boys to see a psychiatrist. It will help them to get over the trauma. Earl found them—”

  “Could we not.” I hold my hand out to stop her before catching her gaze to re-enforce my need to avoid the subject. “Could we not talk about this anymore. The boys are going to be fine. I'll take care of them.”