by HJ Bellus
Cree (My Way Series - Book 1) (Volume 1)
Hj Bellus
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (2014)
* * *
Rating: ****
Book #1 CREE Book #2 TRIPP (to be released March 2014) Book #3 MILES (to be released May 2014) Mature Content Warning Recommended for ages 17+ due to language and sexual content. Whose parents abandon them in a trashy trailer when they are five years old? Oh Yeah! Mine do! Hey Hoochies! I'm Milly, and I am tired of taking kicks to the gut. A broken family, an asshole husband and the loss of loved ones have left me crying Uncle, and declaring a serious case of the Fuck-Its! I had my heart broken, stomped on and shattered before I ever started on my journey to find my little piece of happiness. With a bucket list, a '66 Ford and wild dreams, I set out on an adventure that changed my life forever. I found Cree... A pirate with a little princess and they swept me off my ever lovin' feet, filling my world with sprinkles, mac n' cheese and the courage to live again. They forced my fragile heart to trust and love without fear. But the truth is, nobody's past stays hidden forever. It's an invisible monster waiting to attack and destroy. It has the capability to ruin everything you've worked to set right. All it takes is one final blow to the gut to end everything...
CREE
HJ Bellus
CREE
Copyright © 2013 by HJ Bellus. All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: February 2014
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
Photographer: FuriousFotog
Model: Jared Thompson
ISBN-13: 978-1495218118
ISBN-10: 1495218112
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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 locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATIONS
To My Real Life Poppy! Old Red, Jerky & Whisker Burns…
Love,
Firecracker
To my fellow hoochies,
I have mysteriously placed quotes throughout my book. Enjoy them, live by them & be brave (aka- your own kind of badass)! Don’t let anyone ever put you in a corner.
“Gripping onto hope is brave…be brave…”
HJ Bellus
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
EPILOGUE
“Being brave is the new cool…” –HJ Bellus
PROLOGUE
Elko, Nevada
“I fucking told you to get an abortion!” said Daddy. “I never wanted a goddamned kid, but you had to be the fucking hero and keep her. The last five years I’ve come second to that little shitface. I’m done, Sarah.”
“You are not leaving me!” said Mommy, as she was on her knees clinging to Daddy’s pants. “I choose you over Amelia. I choose you, Johnny. Please don’t leave me. I’ll leave her behind and go with you. You were right. I should have got an abortion! I fucked up! Let’s go now, just the two of us.”
Daddy was sniffing his white powder stuff. He always called it his magic candy. Mommy always told Daddy she should have got that abortion thing to make him happy. I followed Mommy into her bedroom because I wanted to make her happy and hug her to dry up her tears.
“Get out, Amelia! Get the fuck out now! You are the worst mistake of my life and I don’t want to see you ever again!” Mommy pushed me to the ground and kicked my tummy.
I crawled into my bedroom and huddled in the corner. I needed to hide because Mommy made me pee my pants when she pushed me. I didn’t want to get into trouble for peeing in my princess panties again. I heard Daddy’s truck fire up and leave. I stayed huddled in the corner all through the dark. I stayed there during the sunshine, too. I was too scared to move. I didn’t want to get spanked for wetting my pants, because sometimes Daddy would make by bottom bleed for it. I wanted to be brave and go fill my tummy, but I couldn’t move from the wet corner of my bedroom.
“Amelia? Are you here, baby doll?”
My Poppy! I scrambled to my feet, running for the living room. I flew into my Poppy’s arms and squeezed tight.
“Amelia. Oh, Amelia! Are you okay?”
“Yes. My mommy and daddy don’t want me. They left me.”
“Sweet, Amelia, it’s going to be okay.”
“Poppy, I suppose to be an abortion.”
“Amelia Ray! Don’t you ever say that again! Do you hear me?”
“Poppy, never call me Amelia again.”
“You got it my sweet, Milly Bug”
Poppy took me to his house and cooked me mac n’ cheese. He knew it was my favorite, and Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t cook it for me. I ate a whole box of it and asked for more.
CHAPTER 1
Meet the Bastard
Where to begin? Well, I guess it starts where all little girls’ dreams begin…finding Prince Charming and then riding off into the sunset. Yes, I know I’m a complete and utter fucktard who probably deserves the self-inflicted pain of the above statement. By the way, I’m Milly (Amelia Ladore Monroe), a self-proclaimed badass who conquers her world by buying an old truck and looking for a hot lay in an elevator. Pretty goddamned simple if you ask me! I wasn’t born a badass, but rather transformed into one through many painful, cherished, and happy-happy events. So, let’s roll…
I have been married to the very prestigious and successful attorney Mr. Aaron Montgomery for the last six years. We met at college and I wanted him for all the wrong reasons. I thought that Aaron was my Prince Charming because he was successful, talented, smart, funny, charming and good-looking. He was tall and had the All-American physique, with blond curly hair that was always styled to perfection. Oh, and his panty-melting smile was something fierce (note to self: don’t look for that shit in a future husband). All the girls wanted him at USC, so being the follower I was, I wanted him, too. Being a follower gave me a sense of being “normal.”
Nothing was normal when it came to my life. Growing up without the love of the ones who brought you into the world can really fuck a person up. Yay! No sad story as to why my sperm donor and egg hatching station didn’t want me. That one was simple. I fucked up their life, so in turn, they fucked up mine by abandoning me with my Poppy. Looking back, I would just like to give a shout-out to my Poppy; he made one hell of a home for me to grow up in.
We have lived in Aaron’s hometown of Sacramento for the last five years. Yes, I have the beautiful home in a gated community. I drive a Lexus and get to attend at lea
st six high society functions a month where all the ladies ooh and aaah over my incredible sexy husband.
My job only requires me to have dinner on the table, be arm candy when called on and to basically stay the hell out of Aaron’s way. Sex was freakin’ amazing and life changing for the first year of marriage. Then, it happened.
I had the experience of catching my Prince Charming screwing his secretary on his desk doggystyle while pulling her hair and slapping her ass. All he was missing was a Stetson cowboy hat. It was National Secretary Week, so who’s to judge, right? He was such a gentleman for giving her such a kind and generous gift.
Let’s see, then there was the waitress at the country club in the back seat of his cherished Audi. There he received a life-altering blow job while I was stuck inside the club cleaning up after an event for his law firm.
Oh, and let’s not forget the good ol’ dentist! Guess you could say the prick really has a sweet tooth. And if you were wondering, when he was busted, he of course cooed with the typical, “Oh, honey, it’s not what it looks like!” Oh really, because last time I checked the dentist didn’t need to be naked spread eagle in the chair with her legs wrapped around her neck while you relentlessly banged her to fill a goddamn cavity!
The million dollar question you’re asking yourself: “Why stay with the Bastard and not slash his tires and put muy caliente salsa in his shampoo?” Ironically enough, a certain lady kept me in his life. His mother, Frances. It was the one thing I never had growing up, but so desperately wanted, and the Bastard gave it to me.
CHAPTER 2
My Mother on Loan
Frances was the sweetest little bubble of joy, all wrapped up in one very obnoxious polyester suit. She was just one of those people that could just light up your world no matter how dark it was. She loved and loved with all she had. She took in all walks of life and never judged. She just shared her undying love with all.
I still remember the first time that the Bastard brought me home to meet her. Frances was busy in her kitchen fixing us lunch; however, she had her panties in a complete twist because her “damn” potato salad just wasn’t setting up the right way.
It took her twenty minutes of fussing with the potato salad before and I quote, “To hell with this mess! I followed that damn recipe that Carly Carleson gave me. I just know that hoochie screwed with the recipe! Homemade potato salad is way overrated. Son! Frankly, I just got a case of the Fuck-Its! So fuck it, let’s go to Dairy Queen. You know the chicken strip basket is on sale for 3.99!”
That’s how I met the true love of my life. The woman who taught me how to be strong, roll with the punches, cry when I needed to, and above all, to love myself. And that it was okay to get a good old-fashioned case of the fuck-its every once in a while!
The last six years of my marriage have only been manageable because of Frances. We developed a very close relationship and an unbreakable bond over the years. I never spoke of her son’s indiscretions to her out of respect. I just lived life to its fullest while around her. We had our fun scheduled down to a fine science. When I wasn’t attending events with the Bastard, I was living life with his mother.
On Mondays we would go out for lunch and then go shopping. Our game while shopping was to see who could find the most disgusting and grotesque piece of clothing, and then we would have to get a compliment on the piece of clothing from a worker or another shopper. Frances would always win with her amazing charm and personality. I hated shopping, but had to keep up on the styles to maintain my sparkling arm candy image. Honestly, I would rather stick needles in my eyeballs than shop for clothes.
Tuesday we would volunteer our time at the local soup kitchen. We would help prepare the meal for the evening. We donated several tubs of homemade potato salad to the soup kitchen. Frances loved harassing Big Boy Larry who ran the kitchen. Deep down I do believe she had a crush on him. I saw the way she always made sure her girls were hoisted up for him.
Wednesdays were our day to lounge around the house and try new recipes (mainly potato salad recipes). Since we were next-door neighbors, we would alternate between houses. Lots of wine, laughter and fucked-up potato salad were the result of Wednesdays.
Thursdays were our day for pedicures, manicures, nail refills, eyelash refills, haircuts and color and waxing. Just depended on what we needed. We loved our salon and everybody who worked in it. It was our “little secret” nestled in downtown Sacramento with the mysterious name, “The Garage.” We always caught up on the latest gossip and the newest smut novels. Hell, we even had merchandise shipped to the salon. We were just all so intrigued by those damn silver balls. Nail tech Wanda confirmed the mystery of the silver balls, and said that they work freaking miracles. Needless to say, the next Thursday there were ten sets of silver balls delivered to The Garage.
Fridays were our “Wild Card” day…whatever happened, happened! Frances joined the Bastard and me every night for dinner, and stayed to help clean up and visit with me while the Bastard went to his office to work. Life was fun, simple, and just plain remarkable with Frances.
CHAPTER 3
Time Is Up!
The shittiest day of my life was about three months ago when Frances sat us down to inform us that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She carried on by telling us that the doctors informed her that her cancer was in the latest stages, and that treatment wouldn’t even help her. The diagnosis was very grim. Of course, the Bastard had to lecture her about prevention and annual check-ups. After he was finished with his dickhead lecture laced with no compassion, Frances stood up and adjusted her lime green terry cloth jogging pants and said, “With all this information I have decided to say ‘Fuck It’—I will fight this cancer and win!” Yep, she chose treatment. She was going to kick cancer’s ass and at the very least, have a damn good time trying to do it.
We’re currently sitting in room 121 at Benjamin Morrison Memorial Hospital while my lovely Frances receives a round of chemo. She has insisted that I paint her “piggies” pink today. I’m trying to paint her toes while she’s tinkering around on her iPad that I bought her when we started her Cancer Ass-Kicking Campaign three months ago. Frances never called me by name; she always insisted on calling me her Cinda-rell-y. I asked her one day why she always called me Cinda-rell-y and she simply replied, “Because you are my tailor-made princess that stormed my castle and saved the day.”
Once Frances’ “piggies” were drying, I cuddled up next to her on the bed and then we initiated our crazy addiction of pinning on Pinterest. Our biggest board was our Potato Salad board because by damn we (more Frances than me) were on a mission to nail down an orgasmic potato salad before she died. However, today we accidentally found a board named “Passion.” With our curiosity piqued, we started looking. It didn’t take long until we were rolling on the bed laughing, and I mean a good belly laugh that makes your tummy muscles work. This Passion board had all kinds of body parts exposed and couples in the most compromising positions!
Finally, I had to cry “Uncle” and holler PMP (our code for Peeing My Pants…only used in extreme cases of comedy). I watched that sneaky li’l Frances click on the red link labeled “Follow.” It was finally time to go home, so hand in hand we walked to the car and went home to prepare dinner.
Our days were spent like this during Cancer Ass-Kicking Campaign. The Bastard never attended chemo with his mother, claiming he was always too busy at his law firm; he just couldn’t make the time. (Bastard!) He would join us for dinner with little conversation, but I would always find Frances admiring him from across the table. I knew it made her heart happy to have us both with her. I wanted nothing more than her heart to be happy, no matter the cost.
After dinner, Bastard would head to his office while Frances and I would cuddle up on the couch to indulge in our very freaking serious addiction to reality TV. I always made sure she made it to her bedroom every night. I would stay to tuck her in and whisper in her ear so only she could hear me. My soul needed this
private moment with her every night. I knew our nights were becoming numbered… “I love you, Frances May Crazy Pants. You light up my soul and fill my heart to the brim. Love you now and forever.” Then I would kiss her forehead. She would always gently squeeze my hand and reply, “Sweet Dreams, Cindarelly.” These were the only words needed to share our exchange of feelings towards each other, and we knew that in each other we had everything.
I knew that my days were becoming quickly numbered with the love and light of my life. Leave it to my Frances May Crazy Pants to go out with a bang. She insisted on shopping for her outfit to wear that she would be buried in. When I say outfit, I mean down to the damn wig! In true Frances fashion, she chose a hot pink dress with cap sleeves that gathered at the waist, then flared out, hitting her right at the knees. She also purchased a pair of hot pink 6-inch spiked heels. She claimed she could never walk in heels without falling on her arse or looking like an elephant on skates, so by hell she would be buried in a pair. She finally settled on a wig that was styled to perfection.
She let me pick out her jewels. I didn’t hold back; I went balls to the wall, selecting cotton candy pink jewels to adorn her ears, neck and ring finger. We even had matching bracelets made that day with an inscription inside that read, “Cindarelly + Frances May Crazy Pants=PMP.” The outside of the bracelet was a simple sterling silver plate adorned with cotton candy pink jewels and bling. The message was hidden on the inside of the bracelet. We didn’t wait for the funeral to put these bad boys on, we pimped them right out of the store. That was the last outing I shared with Frances.
