Deception
Authors: Evie Rose
Dedication | For Kimi, for encouraging me to follow my dreams and never allowing me to give up.
EVIE ROSE
© 2
013 Evie Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, Evie Rose, @
[email protected]
. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events of persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover – B Design.
Editing – Terry Galloway Trahan
Formatting – Angel Steel
ISBN-13: 978-1494736378
ISBN-10: 1494736373
For Kimi, for encouraging me to follow my dreams and never allowing me to give up.
Deception
After years of abuse, Roxi is an expert at deceiving the people around her. Everyone believes she has a picture perfect family, with a loving husband and a sweet little boy. They think she resides in a beautiful house and has a luxurious lifestyle, although, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Underneath the facade is a tormented soul, poised on the brink of giving up hope of ever finding a better tomorrow.
Luke’s past haunts him every single day. Not a second goes by without deep sorrow plaguing him. He will never forget what he’s done, he doesn’t want to. No one is more deserving of guilt eating away at them than he is... or so he believes. He spends his time, forever trying to make up for the one mistake that ruined the lives of his loved ones, as well as his own.
From the first time they meet, cracks begin to form in the mask Roxi wears and Luke sees right through them. The only question is, will he realize he’s worthy of love and step in to save her before it’s too late, or continue to think he’s undeserving of true happiness?
**WARNING** This book contains material such as domestic violence, rape, sex, alcohol and drug usage. Please be advised it is not suitable for anyone under 17yrs of age.
Luke
10 years ago...
S
moke spreads throughout my body, slightly burning down my throat, reaching out to my fingertips, and unfurling right down to my toes. On the way back up, it navigates a path through my brain and causes tingles all over my scalp.
I puff little white clouds out my open window and cough violently. Through squinted eyes, I watch the orange embers at the end of the joint as I flick it out away from the house. Time goes by in slow motion, as the glow of the ash falls two stories down in the dark of night, before finally extinguishing on the ground below.
Rum sits open and half-finished on my desk. Images from earlier that day flicker behind my eyes momentarily, and I lift the bottle to my lips; drowning the memories away. Sitting down on my bed, I let the haze take over.
Millions of thoughts go through my brain, but I can’t grasp a hold of any of them for too long. Perfect, just what I need, to escape the horror I am faced with on a daily basis. I can’t forget, but at least I’m unable to concentrate on it.
The munchies hit and I tiptoe to my door and creak it open, peeking down the hall. All is quiet, safe, or so it appears. I creep down the stairs, hoping any unseen danger isn’t lurking around the corner. My heart races along with my mind. Every sensation heightened. When I make it to the kitchen, I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I pull a large pot out of the cupboard and tip in half a bottle of oil. Rumbles sound from my stomach as I turn the gas stovetop on high. After everything that happened after school, I went straight to my room. Didn’t care much for dinner at the time, I only wanted to take my focus off what I’d witnessed.
Cold air hits my face as I open the freezer door in search of a bag of fries. It’s practically empty. I groan.
Where’s all the fucking food?
I move over a bag of frozen peas to see if my muddled brain is deceiving me, but there’s nothing there.
“Damn it,” I curse as I slam the door shut. I run my hand over my pockets to check if I have money and my cell phone on me, and then I head out the door in search of fast food.
After walking about a block, my buzz starts to wear off. The nightmare becomes clear again.
Fuck. Maybe I should go to Becca’s party after all
. It was the last thing I felt like a few hours ago, but going somewhere to get fucked up and force all this shit out of my head sounds damn good now. I walk a little further down the street. She doesn’t live too far away. When I get to the front walkway, I hear the music pumping. It’s some type of Techno crap. I shudder in disgust.
As I meander up the path to the entrance, I see one or two familiar faces already half passed out in the front yard. When I reach the door I don’t knock, I just walk in and discover a small group of people in the living room. I see Craig, a guy I know a little from school. He is drinking from the largest cup of beer I’ve ever seen. Everyone around him is chanting, “Chug, chug, chug.”
I stroll over to the coffee table that they surround and pick up two beers at once. I tip them both into the beer bong lying nearby. My head whirls, as I tilt it back to guide the golden liquid down my throat and I think maybe I’m not as clear headed as I originally assumed. Then the images assault me again and I’m not nearly wasted enough.
Grabbing two more beers, I repeat the process and then flop back onto the couch. I close my eyes briefly, enjoying the numb foggy feeling that comes over me. I feel a hand pat me on the shoulder and roll my head to the side to see Craig grinning and then lighting up a joint. As he’s passing it to me, I give him a nod of thanks, glad I came.
After a few tokes, I pass it back and stare at the wall. Patterns form in my mind as I study the way the bricks are laid out. I could have been sitting here for five minutes or five hours when I finally decide to leave. I have no idea. Time seems to jump in the blink of an eye when I am this stoned.
I leave the party without really talking to anyone, heading for home. Shadows dance along the pavement and behind trees. I shiver. I’ve smoked so much weed tonight that I’ve become paranoid. I quicken my pace so I can make it home safely.
The smell of smoke hits my nose, an instant before I see the flashing red lights of the three fire trucks that border my house. I immediately start to run as fast as my feet will take me, coughing and spluttering through the thick black haze.
Just before I reach my front yard, strong arms pull me back and I can’t fight them off. “My family!” I try to yell, but the noise of the fire hoses and the men yelling around me drown out my plea.
“Shit,” the firefighter who has a firm hold of me, mutters under his breath. I barely hear him over all the commotion and the snap and crackle of the fire.
The stench of burning bodies surrounds me. It’s strong, like the smell of burning tyres, but more rotten. It’s absolutely putrid. This foul scent will stay with me forever. It presses into me from all sides and I realise no one made it out of the house alive. My stomach churns and I start to dry retch.
I’m being pulled backwards, as my body starts to shake uncontrollably. My chest heaves and it feels like my pounding heart might come up through my throat. When we finally come to a stop, I’m released and I fall to my knees and puke all over myself. The firefighter, who refused to let me closer to what was left of the house, is bending down beside me with his hand on my back, but I’m more aware of the conversation going on behind us. “It looks like it started from the kitchen, Boss. Maybe from a stove top that was left on.”
My mind shifts back to the pot of oil I got out earlier, causing my insides to twist in horror. I empty the remaining contents of my stomach all over the grass of my front yard. I want so badly for this to be a nightmare, but I’m in so much pain; I know it’s real.
I killed my entire family.
When the world says, “Give up,”
Hope whispers, “Try it one more time.”
- Author Unknown
Roxi
Present day...
C
upboards slam and glass shatters as my husband throws things around the kitchen. Upstairs, I’m safely tucked away under my blanket, trying to block out the noise. Unfortunately, his booming voice, yelling a tirade of curse words still makes its way to my ears. Silently, I pray my son sleeps through it all. I just spent two hours getting him settled and I really don’t have the energy to do it again.
It’s getting difficult to breathe under this little, safe haven I’ve created, and not just because there’s a lack of air under here. I peel the thick bedding back, away from my head and try to stay calm. My eyes adjust to the light and I wince at what sounds like a plate being smashed against a wall. It hits so hard, I know there will be a dent in the plaster now. We don’t really have the money to keep buying new dishes all the time. Maybe I should buy plastic for the next set.
Finally, his temper recedes and I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. I hold my breath as I lay my head down on the pillow and pretend to be asleep.
“Sleeping, that’d be right. Stupid worthless bitch.” Venom spews out of his ugly mouth all because I didn’t clean the dinner dishes up straight away. As I hear him move away to his office, I let out a long shaky breath. I keep my eyes closed tight and try to envision my happy place - waves breaking on pristine sandy shorelines, blue skies, my son laughing and kicking his football.
Oh, how I wish I were there.
There’s a lump in my throat and I swallow it down, bringing myself back to my reality. After about ten minutes, when I know he’s fully immersed in the stupid computer game he’s obsessed with, I creep down the stairs to clean up. My shoes are still where I left them on the bottom step and I slide them on before walking over the broken glass. It crunches under my feet as I take in the destruction that covers most of the lower level of my house.
Shards of broken dishes cover the cream tiles on the floor. A few wooden doors hang off their hinges, almost falling off completely. The remains of Spaghetti Bolognese is everywhere - over the black laminate countertop, on the feature wall across the room, and stuck to the ceiling. Our family photo has fallen off the wall, damaged just like us. I stare at all our fake smiles and cry a little on the inside. Joseph doesn’t appear to be a bastard in this picture, with his blonde hair styled perfectly and his brown eyes shining bright, but I can see they have no feeling behind them, it’s all for show. I pick it up by the frame and toss it in the bin.
At moments like this, I really wish I were able to cry. Anything that had the ability to break through the complete numbness I feel and bring some relief would be welcome, even if it meant actually having to feel the heartache I have buried deep within. I’ve built my walls so high to protect myself; all I ever feel is anxiety and I have no outlet.
I force my weary body to cooperate, as I grab a broom and start to sweep up the mess. It’s been a long day. Thank God, tomorrow my son, Ricky, will be back at school and my jackass of a husband, Joseph, will be at work. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my son, but I need at least a few hours a day where I can let my barriers down. Where I don’t have to be strong for anyone. I risk running the vacuum and hope Joseph doesn’t hear and come back downstairs.
When I finish, I pull the sleeping tablets from the medicine cabinet. I take double the recommended dosage, not wanting to lay awake half the night thinking about how awful my life is. Joseph never comes out of his office until he’s ready for bed, so I know he won’t bother Ricky. I sneak back up to the bedroom, glad that it is still empty and flick off the light before climbing into bed and rolling to the very edge.
A fog clouds my brain as the effects of the pills start to trickle through my body. Unfortunately, I’m not quite out of it before I feel the other side of the mattress dip, as Joseph climbs in beside me. His hands run over my side, instantly pulling me out of my haze. I freeze up and hope he’ll leave me alone when I’m unresponsive to his touch. However he keeps going. He reminds me of an octopus and my skin crawls. I don’t want him anywhere near me after the hissy fit he just threw.