A Woman Gone Mad Read online

  A Woman Gone Mad

  by Kimber S. Dawn

  A Woman Gone Mad Copyright © 2013 Kimber S. Dawn

  EPUB Edition

  Published by Kimber S. Dawn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Kimber S. Dawn: December 2013 [email protected]

  Editing: Mickey Reed

  Cover Design © Cover design by Kari Ayasha of Cover to Cover Designs

  Cover photo – Copyright © Amanda Hollis, MHPhotography

  Formatting by: Paul Salvette @ BB Ebooks

  Chapter Headers & Other Graphics: © Kimber S. Dawn

  ***This book is intended for a mature audience.***

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Family Matters

  Chapter 2 – The First Cuts Are Just as Deep

  Chapter 3 – Fuck This V Card

  Chapter 4 – The Loss of Innocence

  Chapter 5 – When You Learn Forever Isn’t That Long

  Chapter 6 – Picking Up the Summer Pieces in Fall

  Chapter 7 – When You Really Love a Woman ~ Bryan Adams

  Chapter 8 – Lillian & Nicolas’s Story Begins

  Chapter 9 – Baby Makes Three

  Chapter 10 – Going to the Chapel and We’re Gonna Get Married

  Chapter 11 – And I See Her Face, Bella Means Beauty

  Chapter 12 – Time Flies When You Aren’t Looking

  Chapter 13 – This Can’t Be Happening

  Chapter 14 – A Second Chance Affair

  Chapter 15 – In the End I Did Drag Him to Hell

  Chapter 16 – Please, Please Don’t Break Me…

  Chapter 17 – It’s A Boy!

  Chapter 18 – Love Hurts

  Chapter 19 – Let’s End This Where We Began

  Chapter 20 – Leo

  Epilogue

  Playlist for A Woman Gone Mad

  About The Author and Author links

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek of Holding Her in Madness: Leo Phillips Story

  Connect with Kimber on Substance B

  For my baby brother, Bobby. I miss you still to this day, your big brown eyes and your sweet smile. Thank you for being the best brother a sister could ever ask for. I would gladly accept the short twenty years with you as my brother over a hundred with another.

  I love you, Bobby.

  This morning started off just like every other fucking shit morning. I can’t even remember where the hell I am.

  As I look around the swanky hotel suite, I do a quick room and body assessment. Alone—check. I don’t know if I’m relieved or saddened by this fact. I probably should be relieved. Every damn time I wake up with a morning-after-whatever-the-fuck-I-did-last-night visitor, shit tends to get real awkward, fast.

  The reasons are that one, I’m sober for a brief second, and two, I’m left looking at this morning-after visitor and I quickly realize I have no idea who this person is or what the hell I thought was so fan-fucking-tastic about him last night. Then I remember. Oh yeah, I thought he was handsome, my first date last evening was with Mr. Jack Daniel’s, and by the time he’d used me up, I was well into thinking anyone with a half-decent smile and a business suit was good looking, and of course the coke in his suit pocket also helped out his chances for a one-night stand.

  Do you want to know what’s really fucked up though? For some stupid-ass reason, I usually wish I weren’t alone the morning after. I’m telling you, it’s better when I’m not left unattended. When I’m alone, that’s when the bad shit happens.

  See, I have these voices. No, dammit—not schizophrenic voices. They are all my voice. It’s just that each of my voices, when I’m left to my own devices, has a lot of different crazy shit to say. Most of the time the voices are talking shit about me, and there’s this one that mocks EVERYTHING I do. “Bitch, don’t wear that.” “Hahahaha, you look like the chick from Steel Magnolias.” “Looks like two pigs, fightin’ under a blanket.” “Take that off or buy some damn Spanx, fatty.” Fucking hate that bitch, the condescending cunt.

  Most of them, however, are harmless and just as tired as I am. And they’ve been begging me to quit. And ever since the main voice, the positive one I call Lilly, the one that had been in my mind for as long as I could remember, went silent, most of the other harmless voices fell silent as well.

  I miss Lilly. She was always there for me. When I’d get discouraged because I didn’t understand the rabbit ears and the loop song to help me tie my shoes, she’d hum it for me and help me remember. Every heartbreak I endured, she would talk me through, let me know that everything was going to be okay. And even if it wasn’t going to be okay, sometimes it was nice to hear the false reassurance. It helped ease the sting of disappointment.

  I’m unsure of the exact moment Lilly died, but now that she is gone, the voices left behind either whine or beg me to quit because they are just so fucking tired. And I’m tired too. Once positive Lilly’s voice died and went silent years ago, a new, loud voice was born, and this bitch scares the shit out of me.

  I call her Lilith.

  Lilith is unlike any of the other voices I have dealt with. She knows when to handle me with kid gloves. It’s like she senses when I need it. She also barks orders and lets me know what the fuck is up when I am lost or in the midst of my own perfect pity party. However, I also have this suspicion that she and I are in some twisted game. I’m playing chess but she’s playing cat and mouse. And while I’m lost and confused as hell trying to figure out my next move, this bitch sees the next twenty moves ahead. She makes damn sure that I know once she becomes bored, I’ll hear her say, “Checkmate.” And that will be the end for me.

  I do have to give her credit though; out of all the other whiners up there, she is the most rational one, and when I listen to what she says, shit does get better. Not permanently by any means, but hell, at least she’s producing something resembling a fucking solution. I know that if I did have a morning-after visitor right now, my attention would be more easily diverted, and Lilith would be made to sit back and quietly wait before starting up again about the perfect answer, the perfect solution to every ones problems.

  “Jesus H., my head feels like it’s about to split open!” It’s pounding like a jackhammer behind my damn eyes. “Stupid ass, close this shit before passing the fuck out next time.” I pull myself up out of the bed. “Well shit, at least I have both my gown and my robe on, right? It’s got to be better than waking up on a floor stark-ass naked. Fucking been there. Done that. And they stole my t-shirt! Fucking sucks!” My voice echoes off the walls of the empty, cold, tomb-like hotel suite.

  I stumble my way to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and yank the thick curtains shut to get the damn sun out of my eyes.
>
  “Is it too much to ask for every day to be a rainy day? Who the fuck doesn’t like rain?” Taking a step, I trip over some shit I can’t see.

  After I make my way into the bathroom, I turn the lights on to the dimmest setting. As I look into the mirror, what I see staring back at me is not at all what I pictured I would see in my head. My hair has gotten so thin, and the skin on my face is thinning too. My once bright blue eyes have dulled to a colorless gray and look sunken in with bags underneath. My cheekbones are still high, but now they look sharp and harsh on my gaunt and hollow face. I can’t even see any laugh lines anymore.

  “Fuck, an. This is why you always at least make out with Jack D before you subject yourself to this horridness.”

  With my bed calling me, I head to turn off the lights but notice a few lines from the night before. Shocking that they’ve gone unnoticed until now. Grabbing the straw next to them, I bend over and inhale. Annnnnnd there they go.

  The voices start up again. Some are screaming, some are crying, some are bitching at the others, some bitching at me. The normally loudest and clearest one, Lilith, remains quiet. She doesn’t utter a word. I feel her eyes on me; I feel her smirking at me. And why shouldn’t she smirk? She has already won and she fucking knows it.

  I take my long, stringy blond hair and tie it up quickly in a French twist. Might as well snort all the lines. Why let them go to waste? Leaning over the mirror, I grab my handy straw and finish both thick, long white rails.

  What better to go with them then my man Jack? I pour myself a double in the only clean tumbler I can find and slam it back before brushing and flossing my teeth to get the yuck out.

  Once I look back up into the face of my most hated enemy, the piece-of-shit shell of a person I was supposed to become, what I see isn’t so bad. Maybe today will be a good day; the voices are all quiet. Thank God.

  Stumbling out of the bathroom, either because of the darkness or possibly the fantastic fucking meds, I make my way back to the king-sized bed and I giggle while singing, “Meds, hahahaha! I fucking love my meds. If you’re crazy and you know it, shake your meds!”

  Still giggling, I let my body to fall back into bed then snuggle up under the down comforter, and I swear, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I hear Lilith’s voice clearly whisper in a cooing tone, “Today will be a good day, Lillian. You’ll see. We just keep those other bitches quiet. Yes, I know, love. We both know that you used to be sweet and innocent, but then shit happened—LIFE happened. Yes, baby girl, today is a good day. It’s the day we rectify the shit that happened.”

  If someone were to ask me at what point in my life it all began, when things started to spiral out of control, when the unraveling threads of my life first became noticeable I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it.

  As a child, I never had the best of the best, but my parents made sure we didn’t go without. Both of my parents worked hard in a small town, making only minimum wage. And being children of the eighties, my brother Allen and I spent our days outside. We rode our bikes everywhere—to 7-11 for Icees and Big League bubble gum. We trudged through the woods, climbing trees, splashing in what we called rivers. We built forts and played war. But most of all, we used our imagination. Our parents didn’t have a college fund set up for us. Like I said, it was the eighties.

  I never excelled in school; I was always too busy having fun. I had a few friends, but mostly Allen and I stuck together. I had to thicken my skin up pretty early in life. I always looked like a cheerleader but couldn’t stand the cattiness and backstabbing that went along with that group. The in crowd didn’t like me because I wouldn’t conform and the not so in crowd didn’t know what to make of me. So during elementary school, I was either by myself or with Allen. He was my best friend. Our imaginations would just bounce off of each other and always seemed to create fun havoc. I knew one thing was absolutely certain—Allen was the coolest kid brother in the world.

  One night, the street lights come on and we are way too far to make it home in time. The whole way home, Allen is trying to come up with a reason. He is getting nervous and a little scared, I can tell.

  We stop at an intersection, waiting for the cars to pass. “Allen, I hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but we’re not gonna make it on time. We are going to be in trouble, bro. Face it. Worrying about it isn’t going to fix anything. Just roll with it.”

  His eyes narrow at me. Maybe he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He hops on his bike and takes off once the cars pass.

  Whoa, he is pissed!

  Once I catch up with him, he is out of breath and his sandy blond hair is stuck to the sweat on his forehead. I start laughing at him because he went from ninety to nothing. He is still pissed off and now he is exhausted.

  “What are you laughing at, Lil? What’s so funny? I swear, if Dad gets the belt, I’ll find a way to blame this crap on you!” he yells at me between breaths.

  “Allen, Dad isn’t goin’ to spank us over being late, you dork. It’s Mom. Now she’s what you need to worry about, ’cause she’s going to do crap like take away our bikes and make Dad lock them up. Besides, what’s the big deal? We’ll freaking walk until Mom and Dad aren’t pissed anymore, okay? So just calm down, will ya?”

  We are still about fifteen minutes from home when a car flies around the corner, coming within inches of hitting Allen. My heart flies out of my chest as I watch him swerve his bike off the sidewalk and into the grass, scaring the hell out of us both. When I look back, Allen is under his bike with a gash across his sweaty brow, his sandy blond hair is now wet with blood and sweat.

  “Allen! Oh my god! What… That car almost freaking hit us! Are you okay?” I help get the bike off of him.

  I take my scrunchie out of my hair to try to dab his gash and see how bad it is. At this point, I am worried—not about being in trouble though. I’m worried because I don’t like seeing my little brother hurt, and I really don’t like to see him bleeding. I look down into Allen’s eyes. Instead of the tears I’m expecting, I see that he has a grin across his face as big as you please.

  “Okay, little bro. I think that hit your noggin took was a little worse than just a cut and some bleeding. I think it knocked your marbles loose. Come on, up you go. It’s getting later and now I am worried about that belt of Dad’s.” Once I get him up, I try to help him back on his bike. His shoulders are shaking, and he laughs. It’s not giggling laughter either, but a full belly one with his head thrown back. I look at him like he’s an alien from Gallaga. “What’s so funny? You are crazy, you idiot. Here, I’ll just walk both bikes. Let’s just get home.”

  After walking a dozen feet, he’s still laughing. “Don’t you get it?” He points to the now sopping, bloody scrunchie he’s still holding against his head. “This is the perfect excuse. Now we have a reason why we’re late!”

  “Oh God! This is just great. Now my brother will be forced to ride the short bus for the rest of his life because he couldn’t stay on a bike and keep his head from cracking against the handlebars. This night can’t get any worse,” I rant and slow down my pace.

  “Nope.” We’d made it to our driveway. “But it is about to get a lot freaking better, Lil.”

  Once we walk into the house, both Mom and Dad are pacing. Mom’s eyes fly straight to Allen. Her face pales as she falls to the couch with her hand covering mouth, and I swear she is going to pass out.

  Dad rushes over. “Allen, Lillian, are y’all okay? Where in God’s name have y’all been? Your mother has been worried sick! Lillian! Damn it, you know what time you two are supposed to be home! And son, good gracious what the… What happened to your head?”

  Mom takes a deep breath and straightens her dress as she stands. She’d let her mask slip for half a minute when she first saw Allen was hurt. This woman has always amazed me. I watch her all the time, even when she doesn’t know it. She is my idol, my mentor, and the best mom in the whole world. She is strength epitomized. She is the meaning of the word ‘beau
ty.’ She is funny, crass, smart as a whip, and quick with words, and I have yet to see Katie Shaw walk into a room and that room not light up. I’ve also watched the five foot two, one hundred ten pound Katie Shaw reduce a man twice her size into a sniveling mockery of a man all for a coupon.

  “David,” Mom says, settling back into composure. “Honey, you can’t shoot fifty questions one right after the other at them and honestly expect an answer.” Turning to Allen and me, she says, “Lillian, go wash up and set the table. Allen, come on, son. Let’s get this cleaned up. God, Allen, you’re filthy,” walking behind him and brushing leaves and dirt off his shoulders and back.

  I head in the direction of the kitchen. But my dad’s voice stops me. “Lil, sweetie, just go wash up, take a bath. I’ll set the table up for ya, kiddo.”

  Running up to him, I hug his neck and kiss his cheek before I dash off, calling out over my shoulder, “Thanks, Daddy.”

  After I’ve scrubbed the river, woods, and spilled Icee juice off, I put my pajamas on and head to the kitchen.

  “…wasn’t her fault. Lil said we were going to be late, but Dad, I’d been practicing this front-wheel wheelie for weeks! And I finally got it!”

  Sitting down at the table, I cut my eyes at Allen, and he knows what I’m saying with that look. I’m saying, “What are you doing, you idiot? We practice the story first! The story is always practiced first—always!”

  “Ahhh, I’d say by the look of that gash,” Mom says, “and the fact that you’re going to be sporting a shiner tomorrow that you didn’t finally get it!”

  We laugh and Allen continues. “Well, all I’m saying is, if anyone needs to be in trouble, it’s me. Lil wanted to go, but she knew if she left me she’d get in trouble. She didn’t lose track of time. I just wanted to get the wheelie perfect. I’d been trying all day, Dad.” I don’t know whether to be shocked or in awe of my little brother.