Free Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy) by Kimber S. Dawn Page B

smirking back over her shoulder at me as Roman, the dutiful husband helps his beloved wife into the SUV with a helping hand at the small of her back and the other holding her elbow.
    It’s been a week since Mac left. I refuse to move forward, and I can’t move back, so instead I linger in stasis. Building my anger and despair, as well as my self-hatred. Yes, you read correctly, my self-hatred.
    I had it all. Everything I planned for, everything I diligently worked for years for. All of it gone because of a simple thoughtless action to a reaction. Mac’s wrists were bleeding. By underestimating her will and drive to flee me, and overestimating my power and control over her, I released her bleeding wrists from the rusty shackles without any further thought than just the action. For that, I lost everything there ever was worth living for, and I do not wish to continue.
    As soon as I can rid myself of these clucking mother hens, I’ll take care of my pitiful, worthless life, but I’m learning that is easier said than done—Getting rid of the hens, the life ending thing is simple, easy. A .38 to the chin or temple, it’s pretty fail-safe.
    “Son?” Mother’s voice and the clicking of her heels echoing down the hall pull me from my thoughts and back to my seat in front of Mac’s shrine, my eyes trace the frames detail as Mother’s voice causes my muscles to go rigid with tension, “Son? Didn’t you hear me callin’ ya, child?”
    My face sinks into my hands and I sigh, “Yes, Mother. What is it?”
    Her fingers comb my hair as she babbles on, “Well. Roman has asked that I return soon to help with Ivy. Lizbeth and I were talkin’. Don’t you think it’d be nice if you two went to the beach house down south? Enjoy some sand, sun, some sibling fun. Then we’ll regroup in the fall, maybe settle back down in the old plantation house in Louisiana and move on from there. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”
    “No.” I mutter the words without moving. From my peripheral I see Lizbeth walk into the kitchen before turning to quickly retreat.
    “No? Well, why not? What else do you have to do other than sulk around and watch as your life passes you by?”
    In a tone a tad darker than Mother would approve, I explain, “I do NOT want any sun. I’ve loathed sand my entire life. I’m fairly certain my sibling, or sister, is more fucking damaged than I, thanks to you, and therefore I am in no way inclined to aid you in encouraging her disillusions, nor her borderline incestuous fantasies.”
    Mother gasps, and I watch as her face mirrors shock before abruptly standing and storming from the room.
    I can’t continue to live this way for much longer.
    Living without a purpose. How does anyone live without a purpose?
     

Chapter 13

    The mind is a beautiful thing with more self-protective triggers than any other organ in the human body. Its defense systems are astonishing. The complexity and lengths the mind is able to create or adapt into conscious rational thought of what is and what simply is not, are incredible.
    There is no other living organism with the ability to lie to itself, and then manipulate the lie into truth for merely providing a sound and just mind.
    When Mace receded into the corners of my consciousness on the fifth day of solitude within the prison walls, I was not surprised. Neither of us spoke a word during the mental transfer. It was not needed.
    While she may have boasted and poked fun at my lack of ability to endure the physical pain and agony, in the end it was her, not me, that felt blow after blow and prod after prod. In my humble, weak opinion she earned her rights to brag.
    And now, I’ll earn my right to show face and coexist among such a brave, strong woman by pulling our weight while she calls a timeout. I just wish we were still at the hospital, at least there we had a soft bed and pain meds.
    “Heather Payne?” My eyes flicker to the overhead florescent light, then land on the bare beige