by BL Mute
“Was it an accident, Jupiter?” I ignore her screams and try to address the elephant in the room.
She brings her eyes to mine, then leans her head back and lets out a barking laugh. “I’m not doing this. Get out!”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest and spread my feet.
“No? This is my house, James. Leave!” she yells.
“No.” She looks at me with her chest heaving and eyes bouncing. “What? Are you going to force me to leave so you can spiral out of control? Tell me you don’t love me anymore? Well, do it, say it, because you’re fucking crazy if you think I’m leaving you, Jupiter!”
Her hand comes fast and connects with my face, sending the letters flying in the air. “How dare you,” she whispers with scrunched brows and her lip quivering. “How fucking dare you throw all of that in my face!”
I just stand there like a statue. I don’t let her hit affect me. “I’m not leaving.”
She wobbles into the kitchen. “I want you out.”
I follow her. “Too bad.”
She grabs a glass from the sink and throws it across the room and watches as it shatters on the wall. “Is this what you want? Is this why you want to be here? To see me broken and crazy?” she yells, then grabs another glass and smashes it on the floor.
I reach around her and grab a plate from the sink and send it flying across the room. Her eyes go wide with shock, and her mouth gapes open.
“Is this what you need to let it out?” I ask. “If so, then do it! Destroy everything in this fucking apartment. Scream, cry, hit me, I don’t care, Jupiter, because I love you. Do you hear me? I love you!” I scream.
She doesn’t say anything; she just grabs dish after dish from the sink and her cabinets and breaks them on the floors and wall. I do the same. I scream with her, I break shit with her, and I cry with her.
When every dish is gone and shattered, she turns to me with tears streaking her face and a heaving chest. “I don’t want to feel sad,” she cries on a whisper.
I wrap her in my arms and kiss her head. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” I whisper against her hair, leading her back to the couch.
She sobs into my chest for hours, and I let her. I let her until her cries are gone and her body is limp. I stand from the couch and scoop her body up and walk into her room to lay her down. Then, I get to cleaning up the broken mess Jupiter made of not only her apartment, but her life too.
It’s been two years since my mental break. I’m not sure what happened, but something snapped and James finally got through to me.
My therapist, Dr. Beck, says the way James acted that night was probably a slap of reality in the face. He had never yelled at me, never acted crazy, but that night he did. He broke things and screamed with me, he held me while I cried, and then he told me everything would be all right.
I guess he was right. Over the past two years, my life has been better. Of course, I still have my moments and feel horrible, but I think hormones play a part in that.
“So, what will you name him?” Dr. Beck asks.
This is my last session with her. From this point, I’ll be finishing up my classes to be someone else’s therapist.
“Grant.” I smile and rub my stomach. “After my dad.”
“That’s beautiful, Jupiter. Have you been to visit him recently?”
I lean back into my chair. “I went and saw him yesterday. Told him how James proposed and showed him the ring. I think he would be happy for me.”
I admire the small silver band around my ring finger with an amethyst in the center. James made sure it matched the necklace my dad got me.
She nods. “I think you’re right.” She looks down to scribble on her notepad, then looks to me. “How did it make you feel being there?”
“It’s always hard leaving him. I mean, I know I can always visit him whenever I want, but I feel at peace with him. I never want to leave.”
“That’s understandable. Just remember what you just told me, he is always there.” She smiles and I smile back.
“Have you been to see Mia?” she asks.
I nod. “I went to see her last week. I got offered a job at Harper Valley Safe Haven after school. I told her about that. I think she would have liked that—me working at a place that helps women and teenagers in crumby situations.” I chuckle.
“You can be the person you both needed and help someone else.”
“Exactly.” I smile.
She glances to her watch, then sets her notepad to the side. “Our time is up, Jupiter.” She smiles.
I stand and let out a deep breath. “Crazy how I will never hear that again. I’ll be the one saying it instead.” I laugh.
She stands and walks me to the door. “You’re going to do great.” She smiles and opens the door.
“I hope so.” I grin.
She looks past me and into the waiting room. “Sonni, you can come in now.”
The small blonde-haired girl walks by me and looks like she hates the world. I hope Dr. Beck can help her how she’s helped me. She’s can’t be more than seven years old. She’s too young to be so angry.
I shake the thoughts away and give Dr. Beck one last smile, then walk out of the door.
I get into my car and drive home. When I arrive, I see James’s bike leaned on the kickstand next to Peyton’s old red Mustang she refuses to give up. My mom’s SUV is on the curb, and Matt’s black Challenger is parked across the street.
It’s our baby shower for Grant, and everyone is here.
This is it. Today is the day.
THE END
Turn the page to read the preview of the next book in The Mended Universe Series: Saturn and Her Rings (Sonni’s Story)
Chapter 1
Age 17
I already don’t like this place, but I have nowhere else to go. A group home—that’s where my case worker sent me. I think she’s given up hope of me finding a good foster family to take me in, and I don’t blame her; I’ve lost hope too.
My name is Sonni—well, technically, it’s Saturn, but I don’t go by that. That’s the name my birth mother gave me before she put me up for adoption. I took on the nickname Sonni when I was six. When you not only get picked on by the other foster assholes but become a target to disgusting old men too, you learn something more generic is better. I mean, I’d much rather be known as a star, the brightest one at that, rather than some useless planet.
I let out a deep breath and survey the room. Twin bed, basic wooden nightstand, and—fucking joy—a roommate. Right across from “my” bed is the same exact setup, just like a fucking mirror.
I roll my eyes and look back to Patricia, my case worker, standing in the door. “Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with it? It’s a place to sleep,” she says, exasperated.
“Yeah, but I don’t want some bitch in my business. That’s exactly what’s going to happen, and we both know it won’t end well.”
“Sonni,” she starts. “If you screw this up, then you’ll go back to the foster home with all the other kids waiting for families. Is that what you want?” She levels her eyes with me.
Thoughts of what happened when I was eight rush into my mind. I was just lying in bed, minding my own business, but because a family showed interest in me and not Sara, the head bitch or whatever, I got jumped.
I don’t think people realize how bad those homes can be. The kids there aren’t kids at all. We all have minds that think quick and only focus on surviving. We could give a fuck less about the cheap presents people bring us on Christmas; all we want is a home—a real home. A place we don’t have to worry about being raped, jumped, or made fun of.
Foster kids are always made out to be some sad, tortured soul nobody wants, but that’s far from the truth. Foster kids are mean, ruthless, and fucking deadly. If you’re over five, you’re fucked. And god help you if you try and talk about their antics or get help.
I roll my eyes again. I got lucky getting into this place. It’
s almost like a mix between a women’s shelter and foster home but with less kids. Maybe a roommate won’t be so bad, if she leaves me alone.
“Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.” I roll my eyes again and throw my hand-me-down duffel bag on the bed.
“There is one more thing,” Patricia says.
I turn my body back toward her with a frown. “What is it?”
She lets out a deep breath. “One of the conditions of you staying here is mandatory therapy sessions.”
I scrunch my forehead. “Seriously?”
She smiles tightly. “Seriously. But don’t worry, Dr. Keller is amazing, and I feel you could connect with her. She’s been through a lot herself.”
I chuckle. “I don’t want to connect with anyone.” The last thing I need is some shrink picking apart my brain. I know I’m fucked-up; I don’t need anyone else telling me that.
“Sonni, you have to do it if you want to stay.”
“She can just read my file. Everything anyone would want to know is in there.” I wave my hand.
“She doesn’t have your file. This place, Harper Safe Haven, focuses on anonymity. That’s why I thought here would be a good place for you. All they know about the kids and women who come here is that they need help or a safe place to stay. We don’t turn over our files unless a person is a risk. They feel everyone in the system is already under a microscope, so you only tell them what you want them to know.”
“Is that even legal?” I laugh. “It sounds like a load of shit.”
“Perfectly legal. Your first session is tomorrow morning, so get some rest. I’ll see you in a week.” She turns on her heel and walks out the door.
I’ve been through so many case workers it isn’t even funny, but Patricia is my favorite. She was in the system growing up, so she knows how it is and doesn’t pry. She’s kind of been like a mom to me. A mom who lives in a nice house, wears designer clothes, and only visits once a week, but hey, better than nothing, right?
I push my thin blonde hair behind my ears and turn back to my bed. The old black duffel bag is the only thing I have to my name. It contains all my clothes, a few books, and a hairbrush. All of which I bought myself with money from panhandling.
I grab the duffel and dump it onto my bed. I fold the few shirts and two pairs of shorts I have and shove them into the small drawer on my nightstand. There is a dresser, but it’s on the wall across from the other bed. Must be my roommate’s, whoever she is, and I don’t share.
I stack my books and put them on the nightstand, then lay my brush beside them. A Love Letter to Whiskey by Kandi Steiner, Bad Habit by Charleigh Rose, and Sweet Revenge by Mia Ford scream at me with their beautiful spines, but I don’t have time to read them for the millionth time right now.
Right now, I need to shower, change, and sleep. The thought of sleep is almost foreign. I’ve slept in foster homes where you have to keep one eye open, on smelly mattresses thrown on the floor in trap houses, and even park benches.
I can’t remember the last time I got peaceful sleep, but maybe tonight, I can.
First and foremost, I want to say thank you to the four people who helped me most. For my husband, Justin: thank you for keeping the kids alive while I wrote this. Thank you for listening to me bitch and telling me I was an amazing author before I even started. For my sister, Krista: thank you for believing in me and pushing me to keep going. I couldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you reading the numerous drafts I wrote. For Teresa: I just love you! You were the last person I expected to come along on this ride, but I’m so glad you did. Your excitement for what happens next kept me going and made me realize why I love writing. And to Sonni. The connection we’ve made is unforgettable. I love you so much and love that you love Jupiter like I do!
To my tribe. Sade, my girl! You are an author I look up to. I’m so glad to have met you and have you in my life. You’ve been my calming voice and encouragement. Anisha, I can’t thank you enough for all your help with this. From talking ideas, reading over the draft, and kicking my ass into gear when I needed it. Lanae, you crack me up and always have something nice to say. I love you for that. Amanda, I’m so glad to have met you. You’ve dominated everything, and I’m so happy to be along for the ride.
Thank you to Sandra, my editor, for taking on my book baby and making it great. Clara, for making my baby pretty and being supportive of my journey. Cat, my cover artist, I have no words for you. You’ve been so amazing to me, and I can never thank you enough for all the hard work you put in, especially when I decide I want something new every five minutes.
And thank you to all the bloggers, readers, and my betas who took a chance on me. I will always be grateful and have so much love for you all. Always.
BL lives in north Texas with her husband and three children. She enjoys writing different sub genres of romance, and building flawed and broken characters. You can most likely find her mommy-ing, watching her husband cook (because she is a horrible chef), getting tattoos, or walking into the pole you've told her to watch out for. She loves interacting with her readers and other authors in the community. Friends and family classify her as fierce, loyal and ditsy at times.
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