My furbabies and hubby love the water and so do I! We go camping whenever we can and have a blast cuddling by the fire, eating s’mores and listening to the waves crash against the shore. Reading is a long time passion of mine and I’ve always had trouble ending the books when I close them. Characters and scenarios would flow through my mind, further keeping me from much needed sleep. After a time, my own characters began running through my head, demanding to have their stories told. I am the author of the Ascent series, my first published novel is The Ascension of Laney, a New Adult Paranormal Romance.
GOOD or EVIL?
It’s a decision I’ve warred with my entire life but this time I’m determined to let good win.
My mother left me.
He threw me away.
The angels didn’t want me.
Everything points toward evil and I wonder; was the choice really mine?
The plate crashes against the wall just above her head. She flinches and I smile. Fear glazes over her eyes as I step a fraction closer.
“Please don’t,” she pleads but I don’t care.
Her back hits the wall first and her breathing gets erratic.
“I don’t want to. You know I hate doing that,”
“You know I can’t mow the lawn,” she squeaks. Mom walks with a limp, an injury she sustained years ago from her abusive father. Funny how it's her daughter she allows to abuse her now. I should feel sorry but I don’t. The weak woman in front of me can barely take care of herself much less me.
I chuckle, “you’ve done it before.”
She shakes her head vigorously, her pony tail scraping the wall behind her. “I could barely walk for days afterward.”
I shrug and pull away, dropping her to the floor. “Then hire someone.”
“Sasha, please,” she shouts as I turn and walk toward the other end of our home.
My bedroom is just on the other side of our single-wide. I glance back at her in the kitchen but she isn’t visible through the cabinets. She’s still sitting on the floor where I left her, I’m sure. The door to my room hangs crooked so I have to slam it twice before it sits perfectly, almost perfectly in the door jamb.
I turn on my stereo, drowning out the sobs that are sure to come. She should have had that abortion my sperm donor of a father begged her to have. Every so often, I feel bad for the way I treat her, then I remember the nights I’ve gone without food. The days I’ve spent digging in garbage cans for a morsel of something to eat.
She can’t sustain a job long enough to keep us fed, always claiming the work was too hard on her leg. I knew the truth. She takes enough hydrocodone to keep an entire military squad from experiencing any pain. She’d rather sit at home, popping pills than making money to put food on the table.