by Silla Webb
Mend the Seams-Copyright
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Mend the Seams is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.
© Silla Webb 2015
All rights reserved.
A note from Silla
Mend the Seams is the third installment in the Buried Secrets series, which is set in the Eastern Kentucky coal fields. Keepin’ true to my native Appalachian roots, my characters speak just the same as I do. If they didn’t drop their G’s, say ‘y’all’ or ‘ya’, the book would read scripted and stiff. So please, keep that in mind while reading. These are not grammatical errors, but the characters speakin’ in a true Eastern Kentucky dialect.
There may be some trigger scenes through the book. Just a heads up! My characters lead their story, not me.
Thank you so very much for continually supporting me, and readin’ the Buried Secrets series. I hope you love these characters as much as I do.
~Silla
Dedication
To my three rowdy, rotten and smelly little boys. You are my inspiration to strive for greatness, always reminding me to never give up! Momma loves y’all to the moon and back!
Prologue
2002
Anger.
I never experienced anger before today.
I know, it’s a strange admission coming from a fourteen year old boy, but it’s true. I’ve always been the happy-go-lucky kinda kid, keepin’ my head up and a crooked, toothy smile plastered brightly on my face. It’s not that my life is all rainbows and sunshine…no, definitely not. I smile because of the darkness that surrounds me. If I allow that slight twinkle of happiness that I grasp to fade, the darkness will swallow me whole. I don’t want that. Despite the hand I’ve been dealt in life, I find beauty all around me. Anyone can see it if they look hard enough, but most people don’t carry an optimistic outlook like I do.
Something inside of me broke today. We’ll just say the universe tilted sideways, sendin’ my world into a million different directions. Up, down, left, right – all while spinnin’ at Mach Speed. The events that took place weren’t even misplaced…things like this happen in my day to day quite often.
From the moment my feet hit the floor this mornin’ I had a feeling of dread blanket over me. No premonition, nothing negative happened to forewarn me of any events that could alter my usual happy personality. Just a bad feeling. I stay hyperaware for most of the day, cautiously watching over my shoulder for what could possibly happen. Even my teachers remark on my nervousness, but I shrug them off and carry on. Other than getting into a shoving match with Colton Weston that nearly came to blows durin’ our fifth period gym class, the day was oddly ordinary. So much in fact that by the last class of the day I finally take a deep breath, relaxing into myself and let my guard down. This here is where the events of the day take a downward spiral and that inhibition of dread comes into play.
The last bell rang out alertin’ us that our seven hour sentence for the day was up. As I make my way through the hallway to the buses I hug the bank of lockers tightly, tryin’ to steer clear of the sea of bodies that litter the hall. Sweat beads at my brow as my legs pick up pace, my small hands wrapped tightly around the straps of my backpack. The stench in the hallway in the late afternoon hour is dreadful, the mix of flowery perfume and salty sweat mingle among the sea of bodies. I didn’t eat any lunch today and the hunger pangs nearly double me over as a wave of nausea crashes against my ribs as I get of whiff of body odor. Peerin’ through the corner of my eye I see Colton slam his locker shut and my pace quickens in hopes that I can make it to the bus before he does. I can see the large, steel double doors from here and I smile to myself knowing that I have a few extra steps on him.
I clear the double doors and pad down four brick steps when suddenly I feel a blunt force to my back, tumblin’ me forward into the gravel filled pavement. My cheek skids against the warm ground and small pebbles embed into my torn flesh. I push up from the ground, crouching as I raise my body to a full position, but before I can reach my full height a strong fist connects with the left side of my face, tumbling me back on my butt. That’s when I first feel it…my face flames and warm blood oozes from my cheek. It’s like a switch in my brain was flipped right in the center, hoverin’ between on and off in limbo. “Frickin’ pussy!” Colton yells in my face. Pushin’ up from the ground, I huff out a hard breath and charge at him, knockin’ him to the pavement. I swing a right hook, bustin’ his lip and seein’ the bright red flow of blood dribblin’ from his mouth fuels my anger. We grapple on the ground as I struggle to keep control of the fight. He’s too strong, while I’m small and weak. Pinnin’ me beneath him, Colton’s fist crashes against my cheek once more and stars litter my vision as my head smacks the concrete. Just as he’s about to deliver yet another bone crushing blow he’s pulled off me, but not before he spits blood in my face and yells a string of offensive bull.
Mrs. Tackett helps me up from the ground and urges me to go see the nurse. I can’t afford to miss the bus so I refuse. Momma had to work a double last night. If she’d have to get up to come get me, she’d be pissed. Mrs. Tackett assures me Colton’s attack will be handled first thing tomorrow mornin’ and I wave her off as I pick my backpack up from the ground and hurry to the bus. I find an empty seat and fall back against the ripped, green vinyl releasin’ a heavy breath. The dread that has lurked behind me all day now fills my bones. It’s the worst feelin’ ever and I just can’t shake it. After bein’ attacked by Colton twice and bein’ beaten up yet again, I was really hoping I’d shake this feelin’, but it’s gotta hard grasp on me that I just can’t identify. I spend the fifteen minute bus ride home analyzin’ everything from the day to figure out what I’m missin’, but come up empty handed.
When the bus comes to a stop by the tracks at Millers Branch, I jump from my seat and hurry to the exit. My face is throbbin’ in pain. I kick rocks all the way home with my head hung low. Colton Weston has picked on me for as long as I can remember and I’m ‘bout sick of him. Dad used to haul coal for his dad’s company – Dalton Truckin’. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, while my family has always struggled make ends meet. One of these days he’s gonna push me over the edge and he’ll regret it.
The closer I get to home, the heavier this dreaded feelin’ gets. My mood is at an all-time low, and to be honest, it’s frightenin’. I’ve never felt this negative and it’s a feelin’ that I hate. Suddenly, I hear a very recognizable shrilling voice and the sound stops my heart. I dig my feet into the ground running the short distance to my house as fast as I can. I rush up the steps and pull the screen door open quickly, runnin’ inside to look for my momma. Her cries are endless, only growing louder as I approach her. With a strength I didn’t know I had, I grab my dad by the shoulders and pull him off her, slingin’ him into the wall. I hunker over her limp body checking her over from head to toe. She’s breathing, but hurt badly.
Just as Dad stands on wobbly legs, I turn and shove him against the wall and put my face in his.
“Never again will you touch her.” I spit and I can feel the all-consuming anger controlling my every move. It’s the most alien feelin’ to me and it’s terrifying. Dad ain’t quite sure what to make of my sudden bravado, so he throws his hands up in defeat and stalks off to the kitchen for another bottle of beer. Frickin’ drunk. I turn my attention back to Momma who’s layin’ with her knees drawn up tight in her chest, sobbing aimlessly. I sit down beside her frail body and carefully pull her up into my lap. Her face is already swelling, turning a deep shade of purple and black with small cuts below her left eye and across the bridge of her nose. Her lip is split in two and there’s a small dribble of blood on her chin. She winces each time she moves and I’m worried she may have a few broken bones somewhere, but she’s too tore up to tell me where the pain is. This is the worst he’s ever beat her. Usually she has a fat lip, or a bruised wrist, but he’s never beat her beyond recognition.
That switch that was hoverin’ between on and off has switched to ON and it feels like fireworks explode all at once in my head as the anger surges through me. This – this is the moment that I fully experience raw fury. This is my breakin’ point. I don’t understand violence, I don’t understand the thrill of causing harm to another individual, and as angry as I am right now, all I can think of is protect her, shield her.
I’m sick of the violence! Colton Weston has always been my nemesis, beating me up and calling me names just because he thinks he’s better than me. No matter how hard I try to stay away from the prick, he gets off watchin’ me suffer. I’m no match for him. He’s a year older than me and much bigger in size. But I’m tired of havin’ the brakes beat off me just for shits and giggles.
My dad – he’s just an alcoholic. There is no excuse for his disease. He’s always been a drunk, drownin’ his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and unleashin’ his pain on Momma. But he’s gettin’ worse. He’s allowed his alcohol to nurse his injury and the depression he faced when he his coal truck was hit by a train last year. When I was little I’d try to protect her when Daddy would slap her around, but he would get even angrier and hurt her worse. Eventually I gave up and only comforted her when he would finally pass out.
When will the sufferin’ stop?
No more! I can’t stand by any longer and watch my momma be harmed like this. I will not allow anyone to make me feel any lesser of a man than what I am. I refuse to. I’m only fourteen and as small as I may be, I have the inner strength of a full grown man and a heart of gold. I’ll gain my physical strength if it’s the last thing I do. No woman deserves this.
“I’m sorry, Momma. I promise you one day I’ll be strong enough to protect you. One of these days, Momma, I’ll make the pain stop. One of these days, I’ll be a hero.”
Chapter One
Therapy Session #2
One more fuckin’ time with this hag askin’ me all these damn questions and I may just strangle the breath from the bitch. I guess my short-and-sweet-kiss-my-ass answers weren’t enough for her likin’ the first time? Seeing a fuckin’ psychologist is complete bullshit if you ask me, but after my attorney, James McCoy delivered the Petition for Divorce I flipped my shit. An officer was on the receiving end of my wrath, so James requested that I undergo a psychological evaluation as part of my punishment. Damn fucker. Whatever strings he can pull to lessen my sentence, I reckon. But I’ll tell you this much, crazy is one thing I’m not.
Quick tempered – sure.
Arrogant – maybe.
Crazy – hell fuckin’ no.
But I’ll entertain another little get-together with this uptight bitch…silence is my strong suit. Sure as fuck beats layin’ in that damn cell staring up at the ceiling.
“What state of mind are you in today, Josh?” Fuckin’ pissed as hell, about to come unhinged.
“You look tired, Josh. Aren’t you sleeping well?” Fuck no, not confined in a six by eight cell, sleeping on a thin, shit stained mattress.
I don’t answer her pointless questions. I stay stoic, with my arms crossed over my broad chest and my right brow raised high into my hairline. She huffs in annoyance blowing her bangs back outta her face, then continues her questioning.
“You realize our time together would come easier if you worked with me, not against me?” Time together? What the fuck? I scratch my day old beard and glare at her boringly. Still not backing down, she probes further.
“Do you feel any remorse for abusing your wife all those years, Josh?” Keep your shit together, asshole. I flinch at her mention of Savannah. Like vinegar in an open wound. I swing my leg up on my knee trying to appear careless and unaffected. Dr. Hampton sighs heavily, shaking her head in frustration, but she still continues to speak in a soft, almost pleading tone.
“Josh, you’ve been incarcerated for nearly two months. No family has visited you, only your attorney. You have to be missing your children.”
“Don’t mention my fuckin’ kids!” My voice is harsh and laced with venom. I flex my wrists behind my back, the cuffs that restrain my hands digging into my flesh only adds to my anger. I’m seething, fuckin’ ready to come unhinged. She doesn’t think I realize I ain’t seen my damn kids in months? I’ve lost all contact with the world that I know, I don’t need any fuckin’ reminders about the hell my life has become.
“Josh? Josh, you need to try to control your breathing.” Dr. Hampton speaks in a low, soothing tone. I blow out a rushed breath and pierce her with a deadpan glare. “I realize that I’ve brought up a very sore subject, but you need to understand this is all rather important. Now, if you will, please comply with my questioning. You’ll soon find that talking about your issues will help you come to terms with your disorder.”
Disorder? There ain’t a damn thing wrong with me. What the hell is this bitch talking about? I stare at her momentarily, letting her ridiculous statement sink in, penetrating deep into the parietal lobe, but the frontal lobe is hindering the process. “Dr. Hampton,” I look up at her with a devious glare, “I don’t give a fuck about your graduate degree and all the pretty little plaques hangin’ on your damn walls. I can assure you, I have no disorder.”
“Funny you would say that, Josh. But my graduate degree and I will have to disagree with you.” She clicks the tip of her pen repeatedly, an obvious nervous tick. “You remember our last session together, correct?” I nod, because how the fuck could I forget? She smiles nervously, glancing down at her notes. “During that evaluation, Josh, I diagnosed you with Antisocial Personality Disorder. Not that I would expect you to believe me or find any shock value in my statement, because anti-socials like yourself hold themselves to a higher esteem than that of their peers.”
I glare at her for a moment before a boisterous roil of laughter shakes my broad chest. If I were one for dramatics and weren’t bound by restrictive metal cuffs, I’d be doubled over at the waist slapping my knee as the laughter rolls off my lips, but fuck that. This woman, this cute little doctor with her mousy voice and delicate smile – well she has a simple way of crawling under my damn skin and attaching herself to my nerves, plucking at them aggressively one by one. I have a feeling she and I won’t be seeing eye to eye on much of anything. But I’ll humor her diagnosis for my own shits and giggles.
“Antisocial Personality Disorder, huh? Well, doctor,” I mock her professional title sarcastically, “since you don the degree, please elaborate on your findings of my diagnosis, please.” Yes, I have one hell of condescending tone. I flex my shoulders, rolling my neck as the cuffs restraining my wrists pinch my skin. Stretching my long legs out, I slump back in an awkward position and smile. Might as well get comfortable, sure this bitch will be talkin’ my fuckin’ ear off for days and days. She tucks her hair behind her ear, then shifts in the chair obviously uncomfortable with my relaxed nature.
“Prior to evaluating you, I took the time to go through your file. The laundry list of charges y
ou’re facing is quite appalling. After digging a little deeper into your background, I quickly concluded that you’re a man who expresses himself with actions rather than words, and you’re often rather careless in those actions. It’s clearly evident that you disregard authority of any kind.”
True, I have little patience for ignorance. “That’s very interesting, Doc…please, continue.”
“You’re deceitful, yet witty in your attempt to manipulate for your own personal gain.” Dr. Hampton quirks up a brow and the amusement on her face just further pisses me off. She thinks she knows me based on some textbook definition? That’s laughable.
“So tell me, why are you here if you have me all figured out?”
She sighs softly and closes the file, clicking the pen closed. Looking up at me with innocent doe eyes she says, “Our hopes are that you’ll agree to weekly treatment where together we will talk out the issues that have plagued you.”
Straightening in the chair, I bend my knees and push up to my feet, smirking down at the fragile woman. “Dr. Hampton, in order for you to treat me, something would have to be wrong.” I purse my lips together, rolling my eyes, “and I can assure you, I’m as right as rain.” Turning towards the door I tip my head at her, silently instructing her that I’m ready to be transferred back to my cell, but she ignores me.
“Josh, the decision is yours, but facing your demons may help you understand the wrong turn your life took that caused you to be so callous and heinous. It will also help your case if you voluntarily undergo therapy because then the courts will see that you have some remorse for your actions and you are attempting to right your wrongs with baby steps.” Dr. Hampton’s voice raises a few octaves, displaying a hint of urgency in the care she wishes to coddle me with. Well, my momma done raised me, I don’t need another tit to latch onto.
