The Day She Cried

  The Day She Cried

  Copyright © 2017 K. Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence, www.lawrenceediting.com

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  PART ONE

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  PART TWO

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  PART THREE

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Books by K Webster

  Acknowledgements

  About Author K Webster

  She was my first love.

  She was my first hate.

  The very sun in my world tried to burn me alive with her lies and cruelty.

  Until I dimmed her light for good…

  Or so I thought.

  Now she’s back.

  Cracked. Broken. Lost.

  And for the first time in a long time, I feel free.

  Free from our past. Free from my present that suffocates me. Free to destroy her future.

  Her misery is my music.

  Thrilling. Invigorating. Intoxicating.

  For so long, all I’ve done is hate her.

  So why do I love her?

  To my husband.

  I wrote this especially for you.

  I behave sometimes.

  Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.

  Sofía—Vanilla Sky

  Raven

  One month ago…

  I run the scissors along the edges of her hair, careful not to do a sloppy job. This one, I’ll call her Mary, is every bit as perfect as the girls I know. She has sleek brown hair. Not a strand out of place. Same as the others. Perfect. Their lips glossy and their lashes dark. All wearing the same contemptuous stares barely hidden by a semi-polite plastic smile. They look at me, especially this Mary, as if they know everything about me. Whore, she seems to say, as if she knows me. Dirty whore. As if they can take one look at my frumpy clothes and worn shoes and know exactly who I am on the inside.

  They don’t know me.

  Not really.

  Nobody knows me. Including me.

  Even I’m still trying to figure it out.

  And one day I will.

  I continue carving more girls with utmost precision using my razor-sharp scissors, all the while humming a song I’ve made up. One of the pictures I choose is of a blonde. Blue eyes, wide and innocent. I push her picture to the side. She’s different. Her eyes see things others don’t see even though she hides behind the same perfection as they do.

  Do you see me?

  Rome’s bass thumps from his bedroom beside mine and I smile on the inside. Twins. He and I shared the womb, but that’s not all we share. His inky black hair is the same shade as mine. The flecks of brown in his green eyes are slightly darker, but side by side they look similar. To an outsider. He’s well over six feet, but I’m nearly there, which is tall for an eighteen-year-old woman. Our features may be similar, but our personalities wildly differ.

  Rome is angst and irritation and perpetual scowls.

  I’m hopeful and pleasant and always smiling.

  To an outsider.

  I see what my brother doesn’t share with others. The broken heart he still carries for our dead mother. The overwhelming hate he has for our father. The way he tries to protect me by shutting me out. Rome bottles it all up and hides behind glares. He turns up his rock music and offers his middle finger to anyone who dares to peek inside.

  And yet, even though I see past my brother’s walls, he doesn’t even see mine. My walls are invisible.

  I’m shyness and smiles and never tears. I’m untouched. Shielded by the harms of the outside world. Innocent. A peacemaker.

  To an outsider.

  A pang tugs at my heartstrings and I let out a rush of breath. I won’t think about him. I won’t think about anything. My heart makes reckless decisions. I’m tired of letting my heart decide.

  I continue to cut out vapid-looking young women straight from the Seventeen magazine Rome bought me after school and punch holes through their eyes with my pencil.

  They. Don’t. See. Me.

  With no smile, I glue the pictures of pretty girls on the paper, making a rainbow with their eyeless faces. Below them, I paste a picture of a raven. On top of the raven, I glue the top half of the blonde with her eyes still intact. When the glue dries, I’ll be able to lift the flap and see the raven. Just as she might possibly see me. My stupid heart always hopes for silly things.

  I stare at the picture for a long while—until the afternoon sun disappears and I can smell whatever it is Rome is cooking. Next month, we’ll graduate from high school. Rome wants to go off to a fancy university, but the best he’ll be able to afford is community college. I wish he had more opportunities in this life. I wish our father wasn’t a lowlife drunk who hurt others when he was too cowardly to hurt himself. I wish…

  I wish for so many things I’ll never have.

  The squeak of brakes on Dad’s old Chrysler alerts me to the fact that he’s home from his shift at the plant. It’s after dark, which means he stopped by the bar on the way home. And with Rome in the kitchen with his music blaring through the house that will no doubt provoke our father, there’s only one way this night will end.

  Badly.

  I need to run interference.

  As much as I hate our father, I hate it worse when our father beats on my brother.

  So, I put on my smile.

  The one Dad likes. The one they all like. The one Rome hates.

  Because even though he doesn’t see my walls, he senses them. Maybe it’s the whole twin thing or maybe I’m not as invisible as I’d like to think.

  The front door slams, rattling all the windows in the house, and I know I must hurry. I shove my picture into the dilapidated desk drawer and bolt from my room. It smells like spaghetti and I’m sad that Dad will try to ruin the meal for everyone.

  “Dad!” I cry out when I see my father stumbling for the kitchen on a rampage. He nearly knocks a lamp off an end table in his haste to rip into my brother for God only knows what.

  But Dad sees the me I want him to see.

  The smile he likes. The smile they all like. The smile Rome hates.

  His ten
se shoulders relax and he opens his arms for a hug.

  I run to him because I have to.

  I hug him because I have to.

  I choke on his liquor breath because I have to.

  One day soon, I won’t have to.

  Courtney

  Last day of school…

  “Don’t look, but he’s staring at you,” Whitney says, wickedness dancing in her wide brown eyes as she pops a grape into her mouth.

  Naturally, I look.

  My eyes lock with Rome Murray, the school freak. He holds my stare from just below his black messy hair. His jaw clenches and I shudder. Snapping my gaze back to Whitney, I hiss, “Why is he staring at me?”

  “Probably wants to carve you up like a pumpkin and put you on his shelf like all the missing girls on that crime show you always watch.” She pops her gum and leans forward, giving me a full view of her cleavage that’s probably not school acceptable. Not that it would stop Whitney McConnell anyway. Her dad’s a civil defense attorney who plays golf with our principal on the regular. She gets away with everything.

  “Rome doesn’t kidnap and murder girls,” I say with a laugh as I peel the sticker off my apple.

  She pokes at her salad with her fork and shrugs. “Right. That’s his twin freak. She probably has a basement full of dead bodies.”

  At the mention of Rome’s sister, Raven, I can’t help but turn my head and look for her. There was a time when we were almost friends. Back in tenth grade. We’d been assigned biology lab partners. She was quiet and funny. Said some strange things, but I found myself eager to hear what she had to say. I’d almost invited her to a movie or something when Whitney caught wind of it. Ew, she’s a weirdo and people like us don’t hang out with people like her, Court, she’d said. I kept my distance after that.

  The twins are the school’s oddballs. Sure, we have the nerds and the Emos and the freaks who are all people Whitney and I don’t associate with, but the twins seem in a league all of their own. Rome sits by himself as if people are a disease and it’s catching. Raven hides in the bathroom a lot. Sometimes, at lunch, she’ll sit outside under a tree alone. I’ve always wondered why the Murray twins don’t sit together.

  “Anyway, this summer is ours. We’re both eighteen now, so we can do whatever the hell we want,” Whitney says, her lips turning up in an impish grin.

  I smile back. “A whole summer without cheerleading practice or Coach Pelt drilling us seems like heaven.”

  “Until we get to Northwestern. Coach Daniels is twice as intense as Coach Pelt. The squad there practices just as hard as the football players. I’ve watched some of their practices on YouTube. Extreme, Court. We’re going to have to be in major shape.” Her lip slightly curls when she eyeballs the roll on my lunch tray.

  My stomach grumbles. I’d wanted to eat carbs the entire summer, but something tells me Whitney is going to keep me in line. I’m going on an athletic scholarship, so I can’t mess it all up just because I’m starved for bread and cake and, oh God, mashed potatoes.

  “No,” Whitney grumbles as she steals my bread. “I see the way you’re giving that roll your fuck-me eyes. Isn’t going to happen on my watch.” With an evil giggle, she launches it behind me.

  I jerk my gaze around just in time to see it bounce off the side of Rome’s head. When he darts his furious glare my way, Whitney laughs. It’s sweet and innocent, but I can hear the twinge of disdain.

  “Oops. Sorry. My friend is clumsy.” She pats me on the top of the head as if I were the one who threw the bread.

  His eyes narrow at me and he scratches his finger along his sharp jaw line. Something about the way he does it is menacing. He scares me. With one simple movement, he can send ripples of fear skittering down my spine.

  “Why did you do that?” I whine, shooting Whitney a horrified stare.

  She smirks as she picks at her salad. “I was saving you from carbs.”

  “By trying to get me murdered?”

  “Calm your tits,” she huffs. “He wouldn’t murder you…” Another evil grin. “At school.”

  “You suck.”

  “Really well,” she agrees. “Just ask Kason.”

  We both start to giggle at the mention of her boyfriend. He worships her. They’re the stereotypical high school couple. Captain of the cheerleading squad and football quarterback. His family doesn’t come from as much money as hers does, so he follows her around like a lost puppy. Little does he know, after school she’s breaking up with him. She wants to be free for the summer before college.

  I bite into my apple and ignore the guilt twisting in my belly. It was our pact. We’d both break up with our boyfriends this summer. I really like Lee, but what Whitney says goes. And he’s going to a different university anyways. Probably better this way.

  “Life is about to get a whole lot more exciting for us,” Whitney chirps, dragging me from my inner thoughts. “Get ready, bestie, we’re about to cause a storm.”

  One week later…

  “God, you smell good,” Lee mutters, his breath hot against my throat. He presses kisses up to my earlobe and gently tugs there. Heat courses through me and my panties are soaked with need. Lee was who I lost my virginity to before Christmas and we’ve had sex countless times after. I was supposed to break up with him last week after graduation. But then he went on vacation with his parents. And now, he’s here.

  “Lee…” It’s all I can manage with his hand up my shirt and his mouth on my neck. Right now, in this moment, I don’t want to break up with him. I want him to fuck me.

  “When will your mom be home?”

  “Not for another thirty minutes,” I whisper.

  He pulls away and flashes me a dimpled grin. Lee plays football with Kason. I think he’s better looking than Kason, but I’d never tell Whitney that.

  “Looks like I have time to get inside your wet panties then, huh?” His hazel eyes twinkle with mischief.

  You’re supposed to be breaking up with him.

  “Just enough time,” I agree, my words breathless.

  He laughs and peels away my shirt in record time. Clothes get ripped away in a flurry. Once his cock is sheathed in a rubber, he pushes inside me. Whitney blabs about orgasms all the time, but I’ve never had one with Lee. I can get myself off, but when he and I are together, it’s different. It’s more of the human contact that I get off on. I like the way it feels when his hard chest is pressed against my breasts. I like the way his eyes turn wild with desire right before he comes. It’s orgasmic in a different way.

  “Fuck, baby,” he groans as he ruts away on top of me. “You’re always so tight. I’m going to come so hard inside you. You’re gonna milk my fat dick dry.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. It comes out as a whimper that he misconstrues as a moan of pleasure.

  “That’s it,” he urges. “Get after it, girl.”

  This time, a giggle slips out. His dirty talk is…special.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He closes his eyes and thunders his hips against me. “Fuck.”

  I’m grinning up at him, enjoying the way sweat drips down his temple, when he finally comes. With a loud groan, he orgasms.

  “You’re so hot,” he murmurs, his eyes reopening to admire me.

  I beam at him. “Thanks.”

  His frown that appears suddenly steals my smile. “But…”

  My heart stops inside my chest. “But what?” Do I have a pimple? Is my face looking greasy? Has he noticed I’ve put on a pound?

  “But, we’re both going to different colleges and…” He slides out of me and rolls off the bed to dispose of the condom. His voice carries from the bathroom where he starts taking a piss. “I’m just not ready for a long-distance relationship.”

  The words—words I’d planned on using on him myself—sting when they’re directed my way.

  “W-What?”

  He flushes the toilet and bypasses the sink to hunt for his pants. Embarrassed, I sit up and drag a pillow across my la
p.

  “You heard me,” he grunts, his gaze not meeting mine. “We should see other people.”

  I blink in shock. “But we…you and I just…”

  He snorts. “It was just fucking, Court. That’s all we ever did.”

  “You were my boyfriend,” I screech. Hot tears well in my eyes and I hate how emotional I’m getting over this.

  “Don’t be dramatic.”

  A tear snakes down my cheek and drips from my jaw. “That’s it? Just fuck and run?”

  He shrugs as he buttons his jeans and grabs his baseball cap from my dresser. “If you want to fuck again sometime this summer, as friends, you have my number. I just don’t want to be tied down. I’ll miss your blowjobs, though, baby.” He winks at me as if we’re sharing a cute secret. Bile rises in my chest.

  “Lee…”

  “There’s nothing else to say,” he says softly. “You’ll probably meet your husband at Northwestern. I was just a lame high school boyfriend. You were just some girl I dated for a bit. I promise, there is more out there for the both of us.” He tips his head before swiping his keys from my dresser and heading out.

  This summer is already off to a shitty start.

  “I guess I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Whitney bites out as she paints her toenails a bright orange that makes her golden skin seem even tanner.

  Lee officially broke up with me last night and I’m still bothered by it. It was my plan to break up with him, so I don’t understand why I’m upset either.

  “Yeah,” I concede. “I guess you’re right. But why did he have to fuck me first?” That’s the part that stings the most.

  My best friend lifts a brow and levels me with one of her no-nonsense gazes. “Because he’s an asshole. Most high school boys are. We’re about to embark on a whole new world. We’ll be around men at Northwestern. Actual men who aren’t pussies and know what they want. Lee did you a favor.”

  “He said we could still fuck this summer.”