by AE Rought
Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
SladeandKally:LettingGooftheReins,Book1
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Slade and Kally
Copyright © 2008 by AE Rought
ISBN: 978-1-60504-246-6
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Anne Cain
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2008
www.samhainpublishing.com
Slade and Kally
A.E. Rought
Dedication
For Lisa.
With many thanks to Nels and Barbra for sharing their dream.
Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
Chapter One
November 7th
“How could you let him take you down this far?”
No one replied. I might talk to myself, but I wasn’t about to start answering my own questions. I did have a response, however, I felt it with every fiber of my being. In the bathroom mirror I examined the bruises around my eye and the split in my lip. There was no doubt in my mind, this was the last time he’d ever beat me. Matt’s not going to take any more of me. I’ve lost too much already.
I pushed my hair back and spat blood on the bathroom floor. “It’s the last bit of me you’ll ever have, Matt.”
Jaw aching, I wandered to the kitchen and pulled a bag of peas from the freezer. Pain ran up my spine when I sat on a stiff chair. Frozen vegetables held to my cheek, I stared at the stark, medicinal white wall—spotless, free of flaws, too damned perfect—like Matt wanted everything in the house. Perfect.
Great fantasy. Fucked up reality.
I couldn’t stomach anymore of his Spartan views or iron fists. My gaze drifted to the shelves, to the orderly picture frames and the shades of gray lies they told of a happy couple. Blood spattered my sweater when I snorted. Those pictures were all black and white, but the little Kallys should have been black and blue. I flicked through the album pages of my memory, exploring the ugly snapshots of truth. Those images told a different story, one not so idyllic or attractive.
When did the violence start? And why the hell did I stay?
The first time he insulted me, I explained it away, but my actions only enabled him to keep hurting me. I should have packed and run then, but hope remained. Within a month of our engagement and me moving into his house, the verbal abuse turned physical. His vicious talk turned to violent outbursts and throwing or hitting things. I became the thing he hit. The hope I held for him to come to his senses and treat me like he used to was equally battered, and I clung to it. I lived in fear, scared of him, scared of the pain, until this afternoon when he choked the hope right out of me.
I didn’t love him and hadn’t for months. I refused to be his victim any longer.
My brain churned over what to do, where to go. I had no plans and only a short time to execute them. Then, the front door creaked, and my guts seized in fear. Oh God, not him already! I walked into the dining room, expecting to have a last showdown with Matt. Instead, I was face to face with my sister Susan. Her eyes were wide and fixed on my split lip.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sue?”
“I saw Matt’s truck tear down our street and I knew he’d beaten you again.” She reached a hand out, but I pushed it away. “How many times do you need to be kicked in the teeth before you learn?”
“Exactly this many.”
The copper scent of my blood mingled with the ripe musk of embarrassment. I grabbed the last tissue from the box and blew snot and blood from my nose. Susan’s gaze took in every movement, every nuance of color in my face.
My sister was concerned about me. She said that every time Matt wasn’t around, but the last thing I wanted after another beating was to be tended to by Susan. I backed away from her, and she chased after me with a wadded kerchief in her hand. The doorjamb between the kitchen and breakfast nook blocked my escape, the distressed wood snagged my sweater. Susan took advantage of the moment and blotted at the blood still spilling from the tear in my lip. She sucked air through her teeth when I smacked her hand away and wiped the red onto the back of my sleeve.
“I’m a big girl, and I can clean my own messes.”
“I’ve heard those words before.” Susan’s eyes narrowed. “So what are you going to do? Are you going to ice the bruises, put a steak on your eye and in a week take the bastard back?” Her voice rose to a cutting timbre. With the shrill tone, crossed arms and tapping foot, she resembled our mother. The only thing missing was the apron.
“This is the last time.”
“Yeah, sure. Like the night of Oktoberfest? He beat the crap out of you and you said the same damn thing. Look at you now, hardly a month later and he’s hit you again.”
My frayed nerves couldn’t handle another nag fest. Hands curled into fists, jaw muscles clenched, I turned away from her. Tears might have fallen, my eyes burned like they were filled with salt water, but I was past crying.
She didn’t know what I’d gone through an hour before she walked in. Susan had no idea how far he’d dragged me into his hell. Matt convinced me I was the one at fault, his constant brow beating made me believe I was bad/stupid/slutty/fill-in-the-blank. He made me hate myself, and I had sworn I would never go there. The abuse had only gotten worse, his open hands had turned to fists, his fists took up objects. I knew weapons were not far behind. I would not allow him to take my life the way he’d taken my self-esteem and everything else. I turned on my heel and stalked to the laundry room with Susan right behind me and bitching all the way.
“Damn it, Kally, don’t walk away from me. You cannot let him come back here. If things keep going the way they are, he is going to kill you.”
My jaw locked on a torrent of cuss words, knowing they wouldn’t do either of us any good. Instead of feeding her rant, I purged my frustration and pain, kicking a box of Christmas ornaments Matt had brought up earlier from the basement. Fragile globes cracked, the top popped open and shards of glass peppered the floor. Susan ducked behind the louvered door. “Jesus, Kally!”
“Jesus has nothing to do with this.”
For good measure, I buried my foot into the other box of decorations Matt had hauled up from the basement before our fight. The first box was filled with my ornaments, some of them heirlooms. The second box was full of Matt’s collection of penguins and his NFL themed decorations. The cardboard crushed beneath my heel and the plastic and resin inside crackled in complaint. I unloaded another kick at Matt’s precious Christmas memories and sent the box skidding into the hallway.
Fuck you, Matt.
“Kally, you need to get a grip on yourself.”
It was the last straw. I spun on her and with one step our faces were inches apart.
“Do not talk to me like Mom talked to Dad.” I slammed my fist into the washing machine lid, denting it. “You have no clue what I’ve been through. I kept hoping he’d stop,
that I could be what he wanted, that I could make things work. Matt broke my nose, sprained my wrist, split my lip more times than I can count…” I shoved my bangs back and wiped at the moisture in my eyes. My chest hurt, heart ached and I pushed against the pain. “Flesh heals, Sue. I’m not so sure about the rest of me.”
Susan’s mouth snapped shut. The frustrated expression left her face, washed away in a tide of sadness. Her loafers skidded on the layer of broken glass when she took the last step between us. I stood quivering, rage and a year of pain and stress surging through me until I was sure my skin would rupture and leak misery. Her silent embrace saved me. Susan’s arms encircled my bruised ribcage, and her hand guided my head onto her shoulder. The dam holding back ten months of pain broke, and the hell within me flooded out in sobs, poured from my eyes in salty tears.
Limp and empty, I leaned against my older sister, a hollow shell of the woman I had been when I moved in with Matt. Susan rocked side to side, cradling me like an infant against her chest until the last of my tears dried on the shoulder of her blouse. She pulled my hair from my eyes and sopped my tears with the kerchief she’d never put away. I wanted to pull back from her tenderness when she held my face in her hands searching for a sign of fighting spirit remaining in me.
Susan nodded, a half-smile flittered across her lips and she wiped at the wet slicks underneath her eyelashes. She tucked the damp, bloody piece of cotton into her pocket, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.
The legs of the utility stool ground the glass debris to powder when I pulled it to the washing machine. I climbed it and teetered on the top step until I braced a foot on the dryer. Straining, I reached the top of the cabinets above the appliances. The handle of my suitcase cracked from age when I grabbed it, and dust fell into my eyes when I yanked the luggage from the cabinet top. I wobbled on unsteady footing. The tapestry case might have fallen and taken me with it to the floor, but Susan was there, bracing me, helping me with the first step on my way out of this house.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, hun.”
Nothing more was said. I handed the suitcase to Susan, and she held it while I groped for the matching toiletries bag. We trudged up the stairs to the bedroom I shared with Matt. It was supposed to be a place of comfort, a place to express our love. It was nothing more than the room where most of my beatings had taken place.
I dropped the dusty luggage on top of the unmade bed. A gray haze rose from the fabric and settled on the bedspread. Matt would hate dust on his side of the bed. A dark grin cracked my lips, but the stinging of the fresh cut on my bottom lip wiped the smile away—even laughter hurt. Susan opened the cases for me while I rummaged in the closet. I returned with arms full of jeans, sweatshirts and sweaters, which I tumbled into the big case. Bras spilled from my underwear drawer when I pulled it from the dresser. I picked up the satin-clad wire contraptions and stuffed them into the case. The drawer I dropped to the floor. I gave my sock drawer the same treatment.
Susan appeared from the bathroom, a towel held by the corners and filled with brushes, shampoo and conditioner, deodorant and perfumes. She put the towel down on the bed and packed the items into the toiletry bag. She even dug the box of pads out from underneath the sink.
“Wait.” I took the box of pads from her.
“Why? Kally, I thought…”
She quieted when I produced a wallet from the bottom of the box. I opened it and showed her the paltry sum of money and bankcard I had been able to stuff away without Matt knowing.
“It was the only place I could think of where Matt wouldn’t look.”
Susan patted my shoulder. “Smart girl.”
We crammed the bag to bursting. I had to sit on it to snap the clasps shut. Then Susan wrapped my hand in hers and led me down the stairs to the coat closet. When she reached for the box on the top shelf, I stopped her, pushing it farther back. “Don’t touch Matt’s box. I don’t even want your fingerprints on it.”
“What the hell is it?” Her eyes widened. “Is he hiding a gun or something up there?”
I didn’t need to speak. The expression in my eyes said everything.
“Jesus, it’s no wonder you are always on edge.”
“I told you Jesus has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t come around here, Susan.”
“You’re still alive, Kally…I’d say you have evidence enough God has been watching over you.”
I let the discussion drop and rummaged in the bottom of the closet instead. The fur of my boots was soft and warm when I shoved my feet into them. My jacket, however, was old and threadbare. I refused to wear the fussy fitted one Matt had bought for me last month. My purse hung from the nearby hall tree. I grabbed it, pulled open the main compartment and took out my cell phone and stuffed the wallet in its place. The plastic casing of my phone clicked against the band of my engagement ring when I walked to the polished expanse of the dining room table.
The ring was faded, the gold plating worn off, and when I tried to cut glass with the diamond, the damn CZ stone had chipped. Our relationship was a sham. So was this ring. I pulled it off, dropped it beside the cell phone on the table and then looked back into the house. There was no sense of loss, no sadness. I wouldn’t miss a damn thing in the neat and tidy, wood and white house. I tugged on Susan’s arm, and she looked at me, her maternal nature showing in her eyes.
“Ready to go?”
“Hell yes.”
The door swooshed shut behind us, the weather stripping dragging on the tile floor of the foyer. Out of habit, I checked the mailbox mounted to the aluminum siding beside the front door. The envelopes were all addressed to Matt Stransberg. They always were. He controlled everything.
Not anymore.
Susan’s Buick sat parked behind my old Toyota Celica. She tugged on my hand, pulling me toward her car. The door locks released when she pressed the button of the fob on her key ring. I stopped, my boots squeaking on the early November snow.
“No, Susan.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean I am not going with you. I can’t go to your house and risk Matt finding me there.”
Entrenched, Susan refused to release me, still tugging on my hand in disbelief.
“Susan, no. Matt’s crazy. Do you want to risk Joshua and Samuel’s safety? I know you want to take care of me, to nurture me like Mom would, but Mom’s gone and I need to leave this town.”
Her lips twitched, then she nodded and brushed a tear from her eye. “Where are you going to go, Kally?”
“I think I’m going to go visit Ilene.”
“Out in Wyoming?” Her voice rose again. “Kally, are you insane? It’s almost winter, almost Christmas time.”
Looking left and right along the street, I saw a neighborhood cluttered with dumpy houses. A rattletrap Datsun churned through the slush covered road, flinging slop from its tires. My arms crossed over my chest when I turned back to her. “I’ve heard Wyoming is beautiful this time of year, peaceful and quiet.” I looked into Susan’s brown eyes, silently begging her to understand this had to be about me, not about her or whatever holiday was closest. “I need some peace, Susan.”
“Okay, okay.” Her nod of understanding was almost imperceptible. She cracked open her pocket book and pulled out her wallet. “At least let me give you some cash for the road.”
“I can’t accept your money.” I put my hand over hers and closed her wallet. “Use it and buy the kids something for Christmas—say it’s from me.”
“No. Now, Kally, damn it, you can take money from me. Who knows when I’m going to see you again?”
It was true. Even I didn’t know when, or if, I’d be coming back.
“You win.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I won’t forget how you’ve helped me.” I held out a hand turning blue from the cold, but she pulled me into a fierce hug. Before either of us cried, Susan pushed me away, taking every bill from her wallet and putting the wad into my hand.
&n
bsp; A folded packet of hundreds and fifties lay on my palm. More than I’d ever held. Her generosity astounded me.
“Susan, are you sure?”
“I only wish I could give you more.”
I tucked the money into my pocket and buttoned it shut. When I looked at my sister again, she held out the blood and tear soaked hanky.
“What’s this for?”
“So you don’t forget what he can do to you.” She took my hands, folding my fingers over the constant reminder of my months of abuse. “Whenever you think about going back to him, take this out and look at it, remember what he put you through.”
“I will.” The sopping cotton went into the breast pocket of my jacket.
Susan looked at her watch and then tossed a glance down the street in the direction of Matt’s favorite bar. “Okay, hun, this is it. I’m going to go home and hug my kids. You get your butt in your Celica and get out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll stop and get a new cell phone and call you from the road.”
Waving at her, I pried open the driver’s side door of the Celica and pulled the trunk release. I packed the bags in and slammed the trunk down.
“You damned well better.” Susan climbed into her sedan and then poked her head out of the window and into the fresh snow starting to fall. “I love you, Kally Jensen. Go and heal. Call me when you can.”
Her car purred and then rolled smoothly down the drive. My Celica started with less grace, coughing and sputtering before it turned over and growled to life. Susan honked her horn when she turned north out of our drive. I waved again and then turned south, aiming the nose of the Toyota away from Matt’s house and my hometown.
There was no telling how far my car would take me, but the more distance between the bastard and me, the better. I fastened my seatbelt, turned up the heater and stepped on the gas.
Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
