Mend the Seams (Buried Secrets Book 3)

by Silla Webb

  “You fuckin’ asshole…I told you, you are to call me Mrs. Hager.” Her hand smashes against my cheek again, and it takes all the strength in me not to knock her on her skinny ass. She wraps her slender fingers around my jaw, forcing me to look into her deep-set dark orbs. “Now, as I was saying when you so rudely interrupted me. Saturday evening, you will be here promptly at six pm. I expect you clean shaven in all the appropriate places, primed and ready for the longest night of sexual pleasure you’ll ever receive. Do you understand my wishes, Joshua?” I nod as she smooshes my cheeks together roughly. “Such a good little puppy. I like you so much better when you’re quiet and submissive, not smarting off at the mouth like a fuckin’ bitch.” She smiles as she releases my face from her grip. “You may leave now. Elliott will be home soon, and I’m sure he’ll be displeased if he finds you in the house knowing that Chase isn’t home. We need not rise his suspicions.”

  Don’t need to tell me twice. I stand up quickly, taking long strides out of the bedroom and through the hallway, trying to reach the front door quickly. I half expect Mrs. Hager to follow behind me, but I’m relieved when I turn around and she’s nowhere in sight. Twisting the door knob, I step out into the fresh fall air and exhale roughly. I haul ass up the sidewalk and laugh to myself when I see Mr. Hager’s Cadillac drive past me, knowing I made it out of their house in just the nick of time.

  The walk home is slow and dreadful as I replay the last three months over and over. Mrs. Hager and my momma have been best friends for as long as I can remember. Hell, she even jokes when we’re *together*about changin’ my diapers as a baby and remembering the birthmark on my left ass cheek. Seriously, who the fuck does that shit. This fucked up mess started when Mr. Hager asked my momma if I’d be interested in mowing their lawn over the summer. I’d just turned fifteen and was always lookin’ for ways to make extra money. We were a middle class family, but my parents always made me bust ass to have anything unnecessary. Happy to have an opportunity at fast cash dangling in front of me, I agreed to take the job without second thought.

  I was always curious what it’d feel like, to have a pussy wrapped tightly around my dick, milking every drop of cum from me. I expected my first time to be awkward, fumbling even. But the last pussy I expected to be ridin’ me was Mrs. Hager’s. I’d just finished with the yard work and was putting the tools away in the garage. Leaning over to place the leaf blower back on the bottom shelf where I’d found it, I felt a small hand cup my balls and squeeze from behind. I jumped, curse words flyin’ off my tongue, because I originally thought it was Chase, Mrs. Hager’s son, just bein’ a jokester as usual. Turning around I was shocked to find one very eager Mrs. Hager standing before me in a lime green g-sting bikini. Her golden tan glistened with a sheen of sweat from layin’ by the pool in the hot sun all morning long.

  Taking a prowl like step towards me, she leaned in and whispered into my ear—“Ever been fucked by an older woman, Joshua?” I pinched my eyes closed and shook my head, because there was no fuckin’ way in hell this was happening. Apparently, she took my response as the green light to climb me like a fuckin’ tree, because that’s just what she did. From that point on, we were a mess of limbs as she shoved me back against the work bench stripping my pants down my legs. My cock sprang free and the glint of excitement in her eyes only spurred me on further. She straddled my legs, wrapping her legs around me tightly, sliding her hot pussy over my cock in one swift move. Holy fuck, she rode me like a fuckin’ Kentucky Derby stallion runnin’ the final race in the Triple Crown.

  Just as my momentum would build up and my balls would tighten, she would slip off my thighs robbing me of my release. Fuckin’ tease she was. She was proving a point that she owned me in the moment, and only when she allowed it and was ready would I get off. Shoving her double D’s in my face, she tempted and teased at me. Tits…mother fuckin’ tits. What fifteen year old doesn’t love a set of double D’s in his face? Fuck if I know but I took my time familiarizing myself with each one. Becoming greedy in my actions I slid my fingers between her thighs, fingering her slick pussy as I sucked and nipped at her breasts. Shoving me back against the work bench she climbed up on my thighs one final time, slamming herself over me and rode me out until we both were squalling in release to the tops of our lungs. Panting for oxygen, I smiled to myself because this moment here was a fuckin’ dream-come-true.

  I expected that day to be a once-in-a-lifetime event, but each week thereafter the fuck sessions continued, each one becoming a little more depraved as time went on. Whips and chains were a bit to her liking. In the beginning it was thrilling, just the fact that an older woman found me to be irresistible and was pleased breathlessly when I’d take her orders. Like a new toy, I wanted to play with her every chance I got, until one day she lost her luster. Something broke, maybe it was the humiliation of having my ass up in the air, while she sodomized me, milkin’ my prostate with a fuckin’ vibrator. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that I finally realized it was wrong.

  Now, here we are months later and I’m finally beginning to hate myself for allowing this to continue. It’s fuckin’ sick. But I don’t know how to put a stop to it. She has a disgusting control over me and I’m worried that if I were to tell anyone else about it, she’d claim rape. I am bigger than her by at least a foot in height and a good hundred pounds in weight. Kinda hard for a small, defenseless female to control a strong teenage boy like myself – in others eyes. But it ain’t an issue of physical strength that she has over me. Fuck if I can explain it, it’s a mental control derived from her need to humiliate and abuse me. It’s sick that I’ve let it go on as long as I have, but I’m twisted up in this game of hers and I don’t know how to set myself free.

  Chapter Four

  Breathe sweetheart, just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You have to breathe for me Sav. Luke’s voice echoes through my mind, a reminder on loop each time I begin to feel the sudden panic attack squeezing tightly at my chest. They come more frequently now, sometimes over the silliest things.

  The first one I remember experiencing was because I couldn’t get a stain out of the throw pillow. I scrubbed, scrubbed and scrubbed, but the harder I forced the bristles against the delicate fabric the flood of memories from Josh smashing a brush against my face surfaced to mind. I didn’t even realize it was a panic attack at the time. I remember sitting in the laundry room floor with the pillow clutched tightly to my chest sobbing endlessly, short breaths hiccupping in my throat as I stared at the scrub brush offensively – as if it was the very same brush I’d been assaulted with months ago.

  The next panic attack I experienced was just a few weeks later. I had invited Carly Jo and her family along with Luke over for dinner. She’d been exhausted since the accident and the remaining weeks of her pregnancy proved most difficult. Dinner was almost ready as my guests arrived just a little early. Luke offered to help me, but I sent him to the living room with everyone else while I finished up in the kitchen. I placed the food in serving dishes and set the table, trying to keep the pace flowing while waiting on the rolls to brown. Realizing that people were waiting for me, panic began to creep inside my chest. Patience wasn’t Josh’s strong suit. Dinner was to be served promptly at six pm and not a second later. Luke found me in the kitchen spittin’ and sputterin’ with a stream of black, mascara-laced tears flowing down my cheeks as I banged the glass door of the oven begging it to cook faster. The funniest part of this panic attack is my dumbass had forgot to turn the oven on. No wonder the rolls were still their usual pasty white tone twenty minutes after I’d set them to bake.

  Luke didn’t judge me for having a little fit. He pulled me away from the stove, tucking me close into his arms letting my tears soak into the soft cotton of his black tee. “Breathe sweetheart, just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You have to breathe for me Sav.” He pleaded with me, brushing the tear-matted hair away from my face. I could hear the raw worry in his voice and tha
t comforted me. I listened to him, taking slow steady inhales until my breathing evened out.

  After dinner that night, Luke insisted on staying behind to help me clean up. I knew why he wanted to stay, the helpless look of worry had been set deep in his eyes since he caught me banging on the oven just two hours earlier. But I wasn’t ready to discuss that – not with him. So, I set him to work on rinsing the dishes while I got the twins ready for bed, hoping one look at the stack of ceramic in the sink coated with leftover food would send him rushing out the door without a passing glance. But much to my surprise, not only did he rinse the dishes, he loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters and mopped the floor while I took my good ol’ sweet time reading Brailee and Braden a bedtime story.

  When I came downstairs, he was relaxed on the couch with one foot propped up on the coffee table flickin’ through the channels on the TV mindlessly. I nestled myself into the corner of the couch, instinctively wrapping my arms around my knees – my way of hiding the tense tremors that roll through my chest. He stretched his arm across the center cushion of the couch, pulling me closer towards him, then slipped his hand in mine. A small sigh slipped from the edge of his lips and he stared off into oblivion as he spoke.

  “Don’t let the darkness swallow you, sweetheart. Even when you feel like you’re drownin’, keep swimmin’ towards the light. It’s gonna take time for you to feel safe again, but no matter what time of day or night it is, when you start to feel like that, call me.” His voice strong and unwavering, yet I could sense his anguish by his lost gaze.

  I could have played it off as if I didn’t know what Luke was talking about, but he can see through me as if I were made of glass, so what was the point? “And what exactly would you call that, Luke?” I asked him honestly. He made it seem as if he could clearly diagnose my little fit accurately.

  “You’re havin’ panic attacks, sweetheart.”

  “And you can diagnose that because?” I mocked him lightly, with a shit eating grin on my face. I’m the nurse, remember Mister Badass Biker? Again with the terrible attempt of hiding the fear, humiliation and heartache. Try as I might – Luke sees it all.

  “I have ‘em sometimes.” My eyes widened with shock at his admission. Luke snickers seeing my expression. “Yeah, as tough as I may be, I’m not above admitting whatever slight faults I may have. I’m human. We’ve all been through traumatizing events that make us feel like we’ll never recover. You just have to decide if you’re bigger than the problem.” He squeezed my hand tight, his lip tugging up into a half crooked smile. “And the answer to that is yeah, you’re bigger than anything that comes your way. You just have to find your strength, sweetheart.”

  I never asked Luke about his panic attacks or about the loss he suffered so greatly that could seize the strength from a man of his size. It felt too personal. But I guess the size of a person never matters when the weight of the world seems to be crushing you into the size of a piss ant. Your problems always seem bigger than you are.

  Luke’s advice has been on auto loop for the last few days. I’ve been digging deep within myself, trying to find that inner strength he mentioned. Each time I’m faced with the slightest tremor quaking through my chest I try to focus on all the good that I have to look forward to in life. But the more time I have to think, the deeper I analyze the issues. I realize that my panic attacks – as Luke diagnosed me – stem from my direct fear of Josh. He’s been incarcerated for sixty-five days and I’m still not free of his clutches. My attorney, Michele Runyon told me from the beginning that our divorce would be anything but simple considering the charges Josh was facing. She’d have to prove my innocence behind each of his schemes and that has proven to be no easy task. I knew Josh would fight me every step of the way. Even from a prison cell two hours away, I find myself stricken in fear with the simplest reminder of him.

  Right now as I sit here listening to Michele, the flesh of my knuckles strain against the arm of the sleek cherry wood chair as another panic attack creeps into my chest with an intense ferocity. I literally feel as if I’m suffocating. I want to claw at my throat scratching a release for air, but I do my best to stay reserved and calm. Attentive to her words.

  “Josh has refused to sign the Petition of Dissolution of Marriage.”

  I.CAN’T.BREATHE.

  “He’s requested that you visit him before he signs anything. I know that’s not something you are comfortable with, but it may be the only option you have at finalizing the divorce and putting an end to the hell he’s put you through, without it being dragged on and on for years to come.

  Noticing my immediate panic, Michele goes into further detail explaining the situation so I can better understand what’s happening. “James McCoy is no idiot. A jackass, sure, but he’s not stupid, Savannah. He’s milking Josh for every dime he’s worth, only trying to prolong every legal battle he can to make a quick dime. Basically, if Josh contests the divorce and James fights hard enough in his corner, this could be drawn out for a few years.”

  Fear seizes in my chest as my heart sinks low into the pit of my stomach, and I honestly can’t tell you if I’m breathing or not. My soft skin tightens over my face and it feels as if it begins to shrivel from the lack of air. I clutch my hand tighter around the arm of the chair, digging my nails into the wood as I fight for oxygen I can’t seem to draw in. He wants me to come see him? He wants me to come see him! What the hell? He has to be insane to think I’d want to be in the same room as him – the monster that he is. Nothing good can come of me seeing his evil eyes again.

  It’s as if Michele can read the terrified expression on my face. Rounding the desk, she pries my fingers from the arm of the chair and gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “D-do you understand how t-terrified of him I am? He b-beat me within an inch of my life, he nearly k-killed my pregnant sister and her unborn child. I-I don’t know that I can f-face him, Michele.”

  “I understand, Savannah.” She says softly. “But will you listen to the voice of reason? I know this will be hard, but the only chance you have at putting this all behind you is to give him what he wants…to a degree.”

  “Y-you can’t be serious?” I laugh out loud through the tears and the unfamiliar sound that rings in my ears disturbs me. I’ve faired these last few months barely clinging to the crumbling cliff I’ve been dangling from. Seeing Josh, the malice and hatred that’s deep-set in his eyes will only cause me to slip, plunging into a wreck-less state that I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to pull myself from.

  “I’m just offering you options to rush the proceedings along. If he signs the petition, it’s as simple as filing it with the court and waiting for the judge to sign off on it. By Kentucky state law, a no fault divorce can be finalized once both parties have agreed to the terms of the Petition and have been separated for sixty days.” She tips her glasses down her nose, looking at me pointedly. “Josh has been incarcerated for sixty-five days, Savannah. Do you see the light at the end of the tunnel?”

  Light at the end of the tunnel? I don’t even see a flicker. My world has been consumed with a terrifying darkness for as long as I can remember and although I’m clinging to a small grain of hope, craving my freedom, the darkness somehow continues to blanket me tighter. Right now, I’m suffocating.

  “I’m confused. How is it that he abused me for so many years, nearly stripped my children of their mother by leaving me for dead and yet here he sits behind bars facing twenty-five years to life and he’s still controlling me? How the hell is that possible, Michele?” My voice grows angrier as I speak and I’m a bit shocked by my tone.

  “Savannah, this is his attempt at stalling. He thinks that by seeing him, that terror only he can fill you with will present itself and you’ll change your mind about divorcing him. He’s hoping to have the loving wife and family by his side when he goes into trial, as it will make his case look better having family support. We can play our cards with a court case, but as I mentioned before it could be years before you
’d be free from his clutches legally.”

  I sit in shocked disbelief for a few moments urging my brain to attempt to process this information. Who the hell knew it would be this hard to separate my life from the man who nearly took it!

  “So what can we do to persuade him sign the petition?” This is gonna be an uphill battle, I should have known to expect nothing less from Josh.

  Michele pulls her glasses off her face, then pinches the bridge of her nose. “Savannah, I know how you feel about this and I will never give you advice that I feel will hinder your case. Maybe if you can find the strength to face him and tell him exactly how you feel, he’ll understand that your life together is nothing but a distant memory. Josh needs to hear it from you why you’re seeking a divorce. I know it seem cut and dry, but to him it’s anything but. It can give you the closure you need to move on with your life, burying the past and all the hell he put you through.”

  I run my fingers through my hair frantically, smoothing the stray locks behind my ear. I feel trapped, as if I have no choice but to face him one last time, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

  “Just let me think about it all, please.” I whisper before standing up, swiping the mess of tears from my face.

  Michele nods in understanding, “Of course, Savannah. It’s just a suggestion, we can proceed however you prefer.”

  Chapter Five

  Pulling into the driveway of Carly’s house, I pull my compact from my purse and do my best at concealing the red blotchy stains on my cheeks. Carly picked the kids up from school today since my meeting with Michele was late afternoon. Dragging in a steady breath, I make my way inside. The wisping sound of the blowing wind changes to the squealing tone of three excitedly loud kids and one sleepy baby. Shoes, backpacks and lunchboxes litter the entry way and a trail of toys lead from the living room into the hallway. Clear evidence that the twins and Heidi Jo have effectively done their part of destroying the house in a record time of forty five minutes.