by M. Robinson
M. Robinson
Copyright © 2015 M. Robinson
All rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead or alive are a figment of my imagination and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s mind's eye and are not to be interpreted as real.
To my VIP group. I love you!
My husband that I love more than life itself. Thank you for supporting my dreams. You’re my everything.
My family and friends for you continued love and support.
VIP girls, my beta reads, all the blogs that have supported me since day one. THANK YOU!
My readers… you mean everything to me. Thank you for allowing me to do what I love.
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
Connect with M. Robinson
More by M. Robinson
Love…
Amor…
Liebe…
Meile…
Lyubof…
Amore…
Milosc…
Leiba…
Dragoste…
L’amour…
The meaning of the word is constant and consistent in every language. To have intense feelings of deep affection for a person or thing that one loves.
I love you…
Te amo…
Te iubesc…
Ik hou van jou…
Je t'aime…
S'agapo…
Aloha au ia 'oe…
Ich liebe dich…
T'estimo…
Jag alskar dig…
Three words, a phrase, a sentence, an expression that means someone is your everything, your one and only. You could say it to a parent, a friend, a sibling, a relative. The meaning is identical, nothing changes; everything stays the same.
BUT…
When you say it to a lover, a boyfriend, a husband, a wife…
EVERYTHING changes.
I grew up in a home where the phrase was thrown around like it meant nothing because actions always spoke louder than words.
Always.
I had an amazing upbringing; a wealthy family. High class. My parents were members of a country club and we went to church every Sunday. They purchased new cars every year, my siblings and I went to private school, and my dad was home every night to tuck us in bed and read us a bedtime story. My parents never argued and they showed us love each and every day.
They kissed, told each other “I love you” all the time. Went on date nights and always made time for one another.
My family was always perfect.
Except, we weren’t the only family…
My dad had three families.
Ours.
His mistress’.
And…
VIP.
Everyone has a story to tell, and even though every story starts with “Once Upon A Time,” it’s the beginning, middle, and ending that make every story different. There are some stories that leave you sad, some make you laugh, and others hold the ability to make you cry. You take the good with the bad and try to move forward.
A lesson is learned.
We all have a past, present, and future.
However, there are things you will never be able to run away from. As much as you want to, as much as you try, it will always be there.
You can’t outrun it.
It will always find you. It will haunt your dreams—night or day, awake or asleep.
You can’t run away from your thoughts.
You can’t hide from your mind.
You can’t escape the memories.
Sometimes, you have to step out of the darkness to see the light. But what if the light is so bright that it blinds you…
Burns your retinas until all you see is black…
All that’s left to do is close your eyes and pray that you don’t crash.
People have said to write about things that you know, things you’ve seen or experienced. That’s what makes a good writer… to have had first-hand knowledge of the feelings, you’re trying to portray and be able to relay it on paper. Pull emotions with your words and make people feel. Everyone wants a good story, something that will pull them in and take them away from their life and mundane routine. To be able to live the life of another person, and experience their journey through the black ink that’s printed on perfectly white paper.
Someone’s beginning and ending.
But what if all you knew were the things people wanted you to know? Never the dark parts that they didn’t want to talk about. The things people tried not to think about. Questions that people didn’t ask about because the answers were too terrifying, too real.
Would you still yearn to escape to that life?
Did sadness create darkness?
Is there ever a light at the end of the tunnel?
Feelings are a fickle thing; they soley rely on situations and impulse. We are all conditioned to know the difference between right and wrong.
Notice that I didn’t say we’re programmed that way. You are the product of your environment, you reap what you sow, and then you beg for forgiveness. On your knees, with your hands clasped, praying to the Lord above to take away your sins.
What if hell was on earth?
It’s not that far-fetched of a thought given what we watch on the news or read in the papers. Bad things happened to good people every day.
Every fucking day.
You choose.
You always have a choice, but it’s much easier to blame someone else.
It’s human.
“You stupid fucking cunt! Did I tell you to move? Did I give you permission to walk away from me? Huh?” My dad roared in the tone I heard too often.
“You’re nothing without me, Jasmine, NOTHING! You’re lucky I even have you around, you stupid bitch. Where are my kids?”
I hugged my sisters harder. “Cover your ears,” I said, placing my hands over my own. “Like I showed you.”
They scarcely smiled.
“Rick, please calm down,” my mom whimpered.
I knew he
wouldn’t grant her any leniency; he never did.
Fucker.
“Fuck you! Where are my kids?”
“Honey—”
I heard his fist connect with something, and then a thud, which I assumed was her body falling to the ground.
“Get the fuck up! I’m not done with you!”
She groaned in agony.
“Hey…” I whispered, half-smiling to my baby sisters. Liv was six and Alexis was nine. Lauren was twelve, but she wasn’t home. She was still at her friend’s house, studying; I needed to leave soon to pick her up.
“I need you guys to sing for me… okay?”
They both looked at me, confused and scared. Always scared. I tried desperately to stay strong and ignore the rambling and thrashing coming from the living room.
My mom never yelled or cried, it didn’t matter how hard he hit her or how much he terrified her, she wouldn’t show her children her true feelings. What you visibly saw on the outside never reflected what was on the inside.
We were hiding in my bedroom. The girls were sleeping until they overheard the fighting and scattered into my room like they always did.
“Devon, Daddy is hurting Mommy again,” Liv bellowed with tears falling down her adorable face.
“Daddy always hurts Mommy,” Alexis added with a certain edge to her voice that I hadn’t heard before.
“Shhh… you guys remember that song that you were singing in the car the other day?”
They nodded.
“I need you both to go into my closet and hide behind anything you can find. I want you to cover your ears and sing. Okay? I need you to sing just loud enough that you can’t hear anything. Can you do that for me?”
They nodded again.
“All right, ready, set, go!”
They both scooted off the bed and ran in to my closet. I took a deep breath and grabbed the bat that I had hidden under my bed. I started to close the bi-fold doors to my closet.
“Devon?” Alexis coaxed, making me crouch down to face her. “Please don’t leave us. Promise you will come back. Don’t make him mad, Devon. Mommy will get upset and I don’t want to see Mommy sad anymore. Daddy won’t be nice to her if you make him mad.”
I smiled reassuringly at my sister. “I know, baby; I’m going to make everything better. Okay?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I repeated.
Her arms wrapped around my neck so tightly I felt like she was saying goodbye to me. I kissed the top of her head and watched as she hid in the back corner of the closet, placing her hands over her ears like Liv, and then they both began to sing. I pulled some sweaters and shirts off my hangers and put them all over their tiny frames. You couldn’t see them or hear them, which gave me peace of mind.
I grabbed the bat and locked the door behind me, making my way over to the living room. What I saw nearly brought me to my knees. My mom was on the ground with blood all over her face and holding her left arm that appeared to be at an awkward angle. He was hovering above her and our eyes locked when he heard my footing coming into the room.
“There you are, you little shit!” He cocked his head to the side and grinned. “What’s the bat for?”
I raised it up and swung it at the glass award he was given for Cop of the Year.
What a fucking joke.
It shattered across the linoleum floor.
“It’s for you, you son of a bitch!” I yelled.
His eyes widened. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Get the fuck away from my mother.”
He looked down at her and then back up at me, deviously smiling. It all happened so fast—
I gasped, waking up in a cold sweat, immediately sitting up and grabbing my heart that felt as if it were beating out of my chest.
“Jesus…” I breathed out, trying to catch my breath.
I harshly pulled off my sheets, throwing them off my body, and then leaned forward on the edge of the bed. I pulled my hair out of my face and tried to calm my nerves and my breathing. I looked over at my clock and it read three AM. I shook my head, trying to erase the images that played over and over again in my mind. I wouldn’t go back to sleep, I knew that. I would toss and turn for the rest of the night just like I always had every time I had one of those dreams.
I decided to get up and start my day.
I remembered it as if it were yesterday, the day I turned sixteen.
“Wake up, Brookie. It’s your birthday, pretty girl.”
I followed the sound of my mom’s voice and my eyes fluttered open. I smiled when I saw her beautiful face hovering above me, waving a key back and forth over my face.
I gasped, “No!”
She nodded and I jumped out of bed. I hugged her tightly, making all her air leave her body with an oomph sound.
“I take it you’re happy?” my dad questioned, half-laughing behind her.
I vigorously nodded and moved right over to him, wrapping my arms and legs around his tall, built frame.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!” I repeated.
“Hey, I helped, too,” my mom stated, hugging both of us into her petite frame.
I didn’t think that they were actually going to buy me a car, but I had a hunch that they would. I was always a great daughter, maintaining my 3.8 GPA, captain of my cheerleading squad, helping out with community service with my younger sisters.
“How could I not get my first born, my pride and joy, her own Audi?”
I smiled and pulled away from them. “Thank you so much! Oh my God, I’m so excited,” I squealed.
“Well, you have proven yourself more than able and mature enough to handle the responsibility of a car. We trust you and know that you won’t let us down,” Dad stated.
I nodded.
“Honey, you don’t need to even say all that,” Mom added. “You know Brookie wouldn’t disappoint us.”
I smiled. I wouldn’t.
Dad pulled her into his chest and kissed the side of her neck, causing her to giggle. I swear my parents couldn’t keep their hands off each other for more than five minutes. The city’s happiest married couple, as everyone called them. Their marriage was stuff made of fairy tales and Disney movies; as much as it annoyed me, I secretly loved it. It was inspiring to see the love and devotion they displayed for one another with or without people around.
“Mom, are you still leaving today?”
She sighed. “I am, Brooke baby. I have that charity in San Jose I can’t pass up. I’m chairwoman this year and I must be there, but we will take you out to breakfast and then you are free to do whatever you please.”
“Really?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. They never let us out of their sight when it was our birthday or even holidays.
“Yes,” Dad interjected. “Your mom has convinced me that you’re old enough to do your own thing, as she has so eloquently put it.”
I didn’t want to seem too eager in case they changed their minds, but inside, I could barely contain my excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Christine that we could go to the party that night and I would be driving us in my brand new car. She was so disappointed when I told her I couldn’t make it because it was my birthday and I didn’t think my parents would let me go.
“Where would you like to go to breakfast? I have the jet waiting for me so we need to leave soon.”
I dressed casually, wearing a yellow sundress to accent my new sun-kissed highlights that made my already blond hair much blonder; it appeared almost white in certain places but blended well with my natural tone. It was summer, and Christine and I spent most of our time laying out on either of our patios, enjoying the sun and working on our much-needed tan.
We used her patio more than mine, seeing as my dad always had business partners coming in and out of the house. His company office building was located in downtown Miami, but he never seemed to use it. He was a property developer for office buildings, strip malls, and condominiums all over
the city and as far north as the Bay Area of Tampa, St. Petersburg, and Clearwater. He traveled often.
My mom was a housewife, taking care of my sisters and me. Courtney was thirteen going on thirty, who I swear was an old soul, and then there was April, who was about to turn fifteen—I was the oldest. Mom was active in almost every charity and funded multiple projects around the world; she said it refreshed her soul to give back to those less fortunate.
We had lived on Star Island since the day I was born. It was a community where most celebrities and higher-income individuals resided. My family was well off. Although, I hated talking about money or anything about status, it sounded pretentious and obnoxious, but most of my social circle didn’t get that memo. Sometimes, I felt like that’s all we discussed and I knew the moment they heard I was driving around in a brand new Audi, it wouldn’t take long for the bandwagon of wannabes to jump on board just so they could talk to me.
Everyone wanted to be me, and be part of the Stevens family, I guess you could say we were that elite—the perfect parents who had the perfect marriage, with the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood, and the three perfect children. It was nauseating, to say the least, but at the same time, I loved it. It was nice to come from something that everyone else wanted and know it wasn’t a façade like most families in our city. Mine was real and I cherished that more than anything.
We ate breakfast on South Beach with my sisters and then took my mom to the jet; my parents shared a motion picture goodbye. We were on our way back home with our chauffeur, Albert, driving us.
“Dad, do you think it would be okay if I stay at Christine’s tonight?”
He looked up from his Blackberry. “What are your plans?”
“Oh, well… there is this party that Tony is throwing in Bel Air.”
“Will his parents be home?”
I bit my cheek and shook my head no.
“I see.”
“But! His parents know he’s throwing it. They’re out of town and he’s about to go off to college.”
“I don’t know how comfortable I am with this, Brooklyn.”
“Oh, come on, Daddy, it’s Brooke; you know she’s not going to do anything bad,” April chimed in. “And since we’re on the topic of what’s going on tonight, I want to stay at Beth’s.”
