Belong

  Belong

  N.B. Baker

  Contents

  Copyright

  Warning

  Title Page

  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

  End

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2017 by N.B. Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Robin Harper Wicked by Design

  Photography: Eric Battershell Photography

  WARNING: This book contains sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.

  Belong

  By:

  N.B. BAKER

  Chapter One

  The minute I hear the car door slam, my skin begins to crawl. Great, he’s home. Maybe if I keep quiet and make myself small, he won’t pay any attention to me. “Please, God. Don’t let him notice me. Just have him continue acting like I’m dead too. Please, God.”

  I wish that I could blend into the background, that I could simply disappear. Purely vanish from existence.

  Hearing his footsteps as he crosses the room to me, I pretend I don’t know that he’s here. I merely keep washing the same plate over and over again. “God, please!” I beg.

  The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap perfume permeates from him, filling my nose, making me want to puke. I have no doubt that he’s spent the entire day at the bar trying to drown out my mom and sister’s memory with poison of choice— Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, or Jim Bean.

  For the first few months, after their deaths, he would at least pretend as though he was trying. Endeavoring to go to work, striving to act as if he had his shit together. What he didn’t attempt to do was hide the fact that he hated me and blamed me for everything that had happened. Our relationship quickly got to the point that I really didn’t give a shit anymore. I didn’t care where he went or what he was doing; as long as he wasn’t around me and was doing something…anything to help keep us afloat financially.

  As time passed, I was sure he no longer held a job. He would disappear every day, but there wasn’t any money coming in to substantiate his actually working. The fact is, the money that I stashed away had begun to disappear. I’d come home, my room would be trashed, and anything I had saved would be gone. Past due and disconnect notices were lining up as well as the bill collectors who were calling at all hours of the day and night. The reality was, we were going under. No, going under was an understatement, we were nearly past that. We were swimming in debt.

  One night, when he didn’t pass out within five minutes of arriving home, he told me that he had decided that he didn’t want to be a manager for the power plant anymore. He thought that working at Paul’s Pump Station was a better, more suitable job.

  What the fuck? Paul’s Pump and Pimp! As everyone in town calls it and that’s if they are being nice. It’s a hole in the wall, drug and hooker infested cesspool. One night, when my friends and I were out driving around, we saw some sleaze ball fucking some whore in the ass while she sucked on some other gross fucker’s cock. Just driving by the place makes me want to take a shower using steel wool and get a tetanus shot.

  I was ready to voice my opinion on what a dick decision that was when an overwhelming feeling of defeat washed over me. I didn’t even want to know the details; at least maybe it would mean him contributing to the household.

  The house is literally falling down around us. Our home used to be beautiful. In the summer there were always potted flowers and plants all over the place. In the winter stunning lights would be hanging from anything that mom could hang them from. Now it’s just a dump. I do what I can to try and help keep it up. I mow the yard, keep things tidy and clean, but me trying to fix something is just comical. Do not, I repeat do not put a hammer in this girl’s hand. Nothing good can come from that. One time, I missed the nail and ended up putting a huge hole in the wall. That didn’t go over well at all. If I remember correctly, I had a few bruises from good old dad after that one.

  Suddenly, he grabs a handful of my hair, pulling hard. Bringing me back to the here and now. “About time you did something around here, you worthless, life-wrecking fucking bitch. Letting go of me, he slams me into the counter, crushing my ribs. Then he mumbles a few more cuss words under his putrid breath before stumbling into the living room and flopping down on the couch.

  My dad hasn’t been the same since the day we buried my mom and sister. The night that they were hit, that fucker killed more than just them. I’m positive that my dad died that night too.

  We were all supposed to go to the movies, but I had come down with a stomach bug. Mom decided that she would take Stella and dad could stay home with me.

  Mom and Stella were walking across the street when a Jeep came speeding around the corner and hit them. We were told that the driver probably wouldn’t have even stopped if it hadn’t been for the brick wall that he smashed into. When he exited the vehicle, he simply stood there looking at the slaughter for a second or two, only to take a gun out of his jacket, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger. I wish so much that if that bastard was merely going to eat a fucking bullet, he would have just done it. Why did he have to destroy my world too?

  I could never comprehend that a parent might have a favorite child, but Stella was dad’s favorite. He had no problem showing it. Maybe it was because she was the baby. But if Stella could keep dad happy and off my ass then I was happy. Mom, she never showed favoritism. There were always kisses for both of us in the morning when we woke up, and before bed. Sweet notes were placed in our lunch boxes and she would run interference between dad and me when necessary. She would always take extra time for either one of us girls no matter what, it was purely the way she was.

  Dad used to be a loving and caring husband and father, he was. It’s not a secret that we didn’t always see eye to eye. However, what teenager and their father ever do. I remember him and mom dancing around the living room, even if there wasn’t any music, sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, snuggled under a blanket watching an old black and white movie.

  Every Saturday afternoon, like clockwork, they would take Stella and me for ice cream, even in the dead of winter. Every time, dad and Stella would get chocolate with marshmallow topping, while mom and I would get chocolate chip mint.

  The accident was almost ten years ago, yet sometimes, it seems like it was only yesterday. I miss them so much. The massive hole their death left inside me seems to be too deep to bear sometimes.

  I miss my dad too, at least the dad I used to have. I always hope that he will come back to me someday, that I won’t be left alone in this world. I don’t know if that is ever meant to happen. I guess that’s why I keep sticking around though, hoping someday maybe we can be some kind of a family again.

  The toxic voices in my head start screaming at me. “It should’ve been you, Sarah
! It should’ve been you! Everyone would of have lived happily ever after if it would have just been you. No wonder he fucking hates you! It should’ve been you!”

  Tears run down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my flannel shirt. Fuck these feelings—what’s gone is gone, never to be had again.

  After finishing the dishes, I slap together a turkey sandwich in case the drunk bastard wakes up from his alcohol induced coma. If I don’t do it now, he will end up yelling until I come back downstairs, or until the neighbors call the cops again. So, I might as well just do it.

  Standing above him, I gaze down at this person I don’t even recognize anymore. He looks like the man that’s my dad. But he’s damaged. He’s broken. I fight the urge to drop the plate right on top of his head; instead I drop it on the end table making a loud thud. He doesn’t even flinch at the sound.

  All I want to do now is wash the grease from work off my face, crawl in bed with a good book, and live in someone else’s world for a while. Books have been my escape, my savior from all this crap. I can j vanish from my life. At least for a little while.

  Grabbing my bag off the table, I slowly trudge upstairs. My ass is dragging. I’ve been working double shifts at the diner to stay out of the house, and the extra money isn’t bad. Now that I’ve figured out that I can’t keep any spare cash in the house, I pay what bills I can, but hide away every extra cent, trying to save up enough money to get out, when I’m ready. I don’t know why I stay. Perhaps guilt, or hope. Hope that one day my circumstances will change. Maybe I’m just scared of the real world.

  I found out very quickly that you can only party every night and crash on some stranger’s couch for so long until bad shit happens.

  One night, at a party (at a house that I still have no idea who it belonged to) after hours of smoking, I don’t know what, I passed out on a couch that felt like it was covered in grease and smelled of dirty gym socks. Shit, I didn’t care, it was a place to be that wasn’t home.

  I remember it like it was days ago.

  The feel of my pants followed by my panties being tugged off pulled me out of my alcohol and drug induced stupor. My legs were being pulled so far apart it felt as if I were going to snap like a wishbone. I don’t know how many of them there were. Some were pinching and biting my tits while others took turns slamming into me over and over. The foul smell of cum, sweat, and blood filled the air. I didn’t know what it was, but I know that they used some kind of foreign object to rape me. I remember the unbelievable pain and burning the tearing caused. I could hear laughter and repulsive fucking comments all around me. I tried to open my eyes, but there was something tied around my head so tight that I couldn’t. I tried to scream, but someone had their hand clamped over my mouth so no sound could escape. No matter how hard I tried to fight back, it was useless. They were holding me down. I had no chance of getting away. Then the thought crossed my mind that it was what I deserved. So, I stopped struggling and simply laid there accepting my punishment. I kept repeating in my head, ‘You deserve this.’

  That’s when this voice woke me from my trance. It was booming and angry as fuck. It yelled things like, “What the fuck are you doing? I will fucking kill you! You dirty son of a bitch, get the fuck off her!”

  Even though it was a seriously messed up situation, there was something about the voice that made me feel like everything was going to be ok. That I was somehow safe at that moment.

  There were loud thuds, like baseballs being thrown hard at a brick wall, and the sound of furniture breaking all around me.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital room with my best friend Amie sitting at my side. She was the only one there when the doctors gave me the news. And is the only one who knows to this day. They had caused so much damage that chances of me ever being able to have children were pretty much gone. At the time, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. I mean really, as fucked up as I am like I would ever have anything to offer a child.

  I have no idea who my savior was that night. I guess it will forever be a mystery. I ended up on the doorstep of my best friend Amie’s apartment building in the middle of the night. When I asked her what happened, she said, “Someone called and said that you were at a party and had drank too much and they were giving you a ride here.” When she arrived downstairs and opened the door, the only thing she saw was me, lying on the steps, wrapped in a blanket. What clothes I did have on were ripped to shreds. My hair looked like a rat’s nest, and my makeup had run all down my face. When she looked around, there was no one in sight. So, she loaded me into her car and took me straight to the hospital. The rest is just another ugly monster of what I’ve come to accept is my life.

  Closing the door to the bathroom, I try and put the ghosts of the past to rest, but just like always, they continue to torment me. Digging around in the drawer, I find a rubber band and pull my fire red curly hair back into a ponytail. The cool water feels refreshing as I splash it over my face but it does nothing for my ivory skin that looks lifeless and dull. My eyes are sunken in, and dark circles accompany the bags under my eyes. Man, I am too fucking young to look this haggard.

  Back in my tiny room, I slip into my favorite sweats, turn the bedside lamp on, and curl up under the covers. Pulling out the bookmark, I escape into a world that I know will never be mine. A world where the hero would move heaven and earth to make sure his love knew how much he cherished and loved her. When just being close to each other makes them feel complete. Like two souls who belonged together.

  I read until my eyes are so heavy that I can’t read another page. I set my book on the night stand and shut off the light. Pulling the blankets over me and close my eyes.

  The sunlight pours through my window, blinding me. When I roll over and see six o’clock in bright red, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. Shit, I’m late! My shift at the diner starts at six-thirty; if I haul serious ass, I can still make it on time.

  I’ve worked at Delish for the past couple of years. It may not look like more than a little two story house, but it’s one of the best-kept secrets in the Denver area. Leila took an old run down house, and single-handedly turned it into a successful business. I joke with her about running a brothel out of the upstairs. She always says it would only make things busier than she could handle.

  Delish’s menu is vast, to say the least. We serve anything from a green river, burgers, and fries to iced

  When I walk through the doors, the blissful aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls assaults my senses. To no surprise, we are hopping busy. I throw my bag under the counter and grab an apron along with an order pad. Leila starts calling out table numbers, so I know where to start. It doesn’t take long, and we mostly have everything caught up. Customers are happy. They are talking, drinking coffee, and filling their stomachs with yummy deliciousness.

  Leila bumps my shoulder, grabbing my attention away from the old couple that has been telling me about a rascally old squirrel that likes to steal the bird seed out of their feeder. They don’t understand why he does that when he has his very own feeder hanging from the next tree.

  I excuse myself and take the steaming cup of coffee that Leila hands me. “Thank you!”

  “For what? Saving you from hearing about the bird seed bandit again or for the coffee?”

  With a smile on my face, I reply, “Both.”

  Leila is a beautiful person both inside and out. She tall, with a beautiful curvy figure. Her hair is short and spikey and as black as night. She’s a huge Hello Kitty fan. She has tattoos of the cartoon character all over her arms and the most elegant angel across her chest. She is definitely a very special person.

  Taking a long much overdue drink of my coffee I instantly feel better. If I could, I would drink coffee twenty-four hours a day. Flavored, black, hot or cold it doesn’t matter to me as long as there’s coffee in my cup, I’m happy. Amie says that she thinks there’s coffee running through my veins instead of blood. Anyone who knows me would
n’t argue with that.

  Several hours later, Leila and I are wrapping silverware into bundles at the front counter when the bell dings as the door opens. In walks a group of the hottest guys I think I have ever seen. They all have that bad ass look to them, but there is one that immediately catches my eye. He gives me that feeling like there are butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach. If someone offered me a hundred bucks, chances are I couldn’t form a coherent thought at this very moment.

  He’s tall, very muscular. I swear his chest is the size of a fucking billboard. His eyes are a rich caramel brown with flecks of gold. Just a little bit of dark hair is poking out from under the bandana he’s wearing. There are gauges in his ears, his lip and eyebrow are pierced, and while both arms are sleeved with tattoos. He’s wearing your typical bad boy clothes. A T-shirt that fits to show off every muscle, jeans with rips in the knees that hang just perfectly from his waist, paired with black motorcycle boots. He flashes me a sweet grin and a wink, pulling me out of my little daydream. Shit! I’ve been fucking busted.

  Leila leans over toward me. “Hey, once they’ve settled in and you’ve closed your mouth do you want to go get their order?”

  I know my voice is about ten octaves louder than normal “What! Me?”

  Tossing my order pad at me, she says, “No, the other waitress that’s working right now. Yes, you!” She smirks at me. “What? Can’t you handle that table of delectable dicks?”