Sugar Lane Volume 1

by Harlow Hayes

  The door opened, and Peter stood looking irritated, frazzled, and tired.

  “Peter, were you asleep?” She moved forward to step in.

  His hand landed on her stomach and stopped her.

  “Peter, what’s wrong? Let me in.” She pushed past him, and the sweat above his eyebrows flickered in the light.

  She had the strange feeling again that she’d had at the house before she left. Something wasn’t right, and this time it left her shaken.

  “Elsea, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice irritated. “You should have called.”

  “What?” Elsea asked, confused. “Is there someone here, Peter?” She looked at him, afraid of his answer. Her cracking voice exposed her for what she was—insecure and full of fear.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “What is wrong with you? You’re acting crazy.”

  Elsea didn’t believe him. Not this time. She had been called crazy so many times in her life she almost believed it, but something told her not to. Even behind her fear and her cowering, something was inside her that was fighting to be released. Fighting to be heard and not walked over.

  However, that something wasn’t powerful enough, and she turned toward Peter and walked toward him, outstretching her arms, hoping to lock him in an embrace. Before he could lock his arms around her, she heard a noise come from the direction of the kitchen.

  Something was rustling back there. The alarm beeped from the door opening, and then she heard it shut.

  She turned away from Peter, but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into his body.

  “Let go of me!” she cried, the distress clear in her voice. “Who is here, Peter?”

  She looked up into his eyes, and she didn’t see love but rage. If she was honest with herself, that was his usual temperament. The savageness. She searched his eyes for love, but she could not find it. Her heart was so fragile, so much like cracked crystal in that moment. She stepped away from him slowly.

  “No one,” he yelled. “Leave it alone.”

  The only thing that Elsea could think about was Peter and Hannah and how close they were at the neighbors’ party. She broke away from his hold and ran out the front door. She was going to cut whoever it was off as they tried to make their escape. She ran from the front porch around the side of the house.

  It’s Hannah, it has to be, she thought to herself. Elsea knew that she was the whore that she never claimed to be, and there she was, sleeping with her fiancé. Elsea turned the corner of the house and ran toward the back. As she ran she felt a pop in her ankle, slipped, and fell face first in the mud, writhing in pain. When she looked down, a pile of clothes rested in the dirt. Pink lace undergarments, a coat, pants, and other things. She looked up. It was obvious they had been thrown from the window.

  She got to her feet, ankle throbbing, limping in pain, spitting mud from her mouth. She steadied herself on the pile of cement bricks that sat lined up against the side of the house. More rustling came from the backyard. She grabbed a piece of one of the broken bricks that rested in the mud. It was larger than her hand, so it could do enough damage if she needed it to, but it was light enough to carry without slowing her down.

  When she turned the corner, a naked woman stood before her, shivering in the cold. The woman let out a scream in fear as she tried to cover what she could of her private parts with her hands. Elsea stood there covered in mud, looking like she had just risen from the grave. She breathed hard, holding the cement brick in her hand, watching the heat of her breath float away in the cold air. She tightened her grip around it and raised it up to her ear, ready to smash it against the woman’s head. She wanted to see the blood ooze from her skull, to hear the sound that it made when it cracked it open. She imagined that it would sound like a nut in a nutcracker. She was ready to hurt her. Ready to finally inflict pain on her, but when she looked the woman in the face, her eyes cleared, and she realized that it wasn’t Hannah.

  “Who are you?” Elsea demanded.

  The woman cowered over in fear. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

  All the rage that Elsea had felt leading up to that moment was gone, and there she stood, weak and helpless all over again. She didn’t want to hurt this woman. She was tormented, torn apart by her own frailty, her inability to even confront this woman, her inability to confront Peter.

  The brick dropped from her hand into the mud. The woman ran past her, grabbed her clothes, pulled them to her body, and ran back down the street.

  Elsea felt like life was leaving her body. Everything was being destroyed right before her eyes. It was as if Satan himself had come up from Hell and punched her in the stomach.

  Peter came up behind her, putting her in a hold that restrained her arms.

  When he touched her, the rage inside her returned. It rose in her like water in a tub that was almost over the brim. She squirmed against his strength. She wanted him hurting just like she was hurting.

  “Elsea, stop!” Peter said, struggling to contain her. She was full of rage. He gripped her tighter, and Elsea lost her breath.

  Elsea relaxed, and he loosened his grip. She slipped out of his arms and into the mud.

  “Look what you’ve done,” he said. “You got us both covered in mud.”

  “Peter …” She had returned to her natural state. Passive. Her wedding was tomorrow. “How could you?” Tears began to roll down her cheeks, clearing the mud from her face.

  Peter stooped down and looked her in the eye. “You should have called.” He stood up, walked away, and left Elsea in the mud.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sex is Amazing

  The night before the wedding

  Four days before Christmas

  Rhema’s house

  It was 2:45 a.m. according to the kitchen microwave, and Rhema stood at the sink in the dark, peering out the window into the backyard. Ice clinked in the glass she held, and her silk night robe clung to the sweat of her back. She wiped her forehead with her hand and was disgusted by the slick of sweat that was left on it.

  Moonlight shone through the patio widow so clearly that she could see her reflection in the glass. She looked like she’d just had a romp with the Devil. David had always done that to her. Always left her satisfied, and always disheveled and sweaty. According to him, if they weren’t sweating, they weren’t doing it right. Even though it disgusted her, she felt proud all the same. Those were the nights that she lived for. Making love to David and then coming downstairs to get some peace and quiet. The yard was in good order, but the pool was covered. She wished that it was summer, but the winter had its own appeal. The light dusting of snow on the ground seemed to make the outside glow, and a subtle wind blew through the branches as they danced in the moonlight.

  She dumped her unfinished water and ice in the sink and placed the glass in the dishwasher. Then she turned around to go back upstairs but froze when she saw a dark figure dart across her backyard. She saw something move again, and she jumped back, trying to catch her breath. She was completely unsure of what she had just seen. Once she found her bearings, she walked closer to see what it could be, but her view was obstructed by the glare on the glass, so she walked closer, hoping not to be seen.

  The black figure was trying to scale their privacy fence to get over to the other side, but it was apparent that they were out of shape. Rhema walked away from the window and into the office and unlocked the gun cabinet. She pulled out the 9mm that David had gotten her for Christmas a few years back.

  We paid too much damn money for this house, and I am not going to be robbed, she thought to herself. She had worked too hard for what she had. When she made it back to patio door, she peered out again, and the figure was still trying to jump the fence.

  What an idiot. Why didn’t he just use the gate? But the point was to not be seen. After the tenth and final attempt, the figure stepped into the moonlight, and she could see that it was Kyle. Kyle lived in the house next to them, o
n the other side of the Kellys, with his wife Emily and their two boys. He was in his late thirties, an average-sized guy, stocky with a beer belly and skin that had been reddened by the sun. He was a paramedic and an assistant football coach at one of the nearby schools. Emily was the obvious breadwinner, but he wasn’t too bad looking, and by looking at his build you knew that at some point in his life he had been athletic, but that time had passed.

  Rhema reached to unlock the door, eager to confront him, until she saw Maggie climb over from the opposite side. Rhema stood looking through the window confused, until she saw them kiss. Rhema repositioned herself to get a better view. She wasn’t so much surprised as intrigued. It was cold outside, but that didn’t seem to bother them. She watched as he pulled down her pajama pants and leaned her up against the fence. Rhema watched, amused. These people were going at it in her backyard right in the middle of winter.

  She watched them for a good eight minutes, then she heard a cry that sounded more like a dying cat, and it was over. He gave her a boost over the fence, and once she had made it safely over, he walked back to the other side of the yard and stared at the fence. He appeared to be thinking, then he turned and walked over toward the gate, checking his surroundings.

  Rhema laughed. His fat self doesn’t want to climb the fence, she thought. She was excited for the entertainment, but as she put the gun away, her excitement turned into anger. How dare they. She knew that she had to teach them a lesson, but she wasn’t going to worry about it at the moment. She would fix them tomorrow. She went back upstairs and woke David and demanded a second round with the Devil.

  ***

  Rhema sat at the breakfast table, sipping her coffee. Sun rays beamed through the sheer curtains as Rhema reveled in her morning ritual. Julian had just left to go to a friend’s house for the rest of the weekend, and David had just kissed her goodbye before leaving to run errands. Elsea’s wedding was today, and Rhema felt that she had more important things to do than deal with this wedding.

  Mrs. Kelly had already called her several times, but Rhema just looked at her phone as it rang. It buzzed again, and Rhema provided the same response as the previous calls: a glance and then a decline. This was her morning, and it wasn’t going to be interrupted. Her evening hadn’t been restful, but she felt rejuvenated, and her energy was going to be spent doing what she needed to do before she decided to be of any service to a nag like Mrs. Kelly.

  She thought about Julian’s party. How Elsea was so nervous. Thinking of Elsea’s armpit-ringed sweater made her nauseous, but for some reason she felt sorry for her. Maybe because she reminded her of herself as a child, but Rhema had grown up fast and learned at a young age that she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone. It was her nervousness, the fear in her eyes that seemed so familiar but angered her beyond reason. Weak. That was what she was. If a person wasn’t willing to fight for themselves, they got exactly what they deserved. That was Rhema’s philosophy.

  Weakness was the human condition in her eyes. People acted in kindness, but she knew better. Most were regulated by social expectations; that was the only thing keeping them in check, and she knew because she was one of those people. One of those people who had to fall in line in order to keep from being targeted, from being ostracized. It meant she was weak. Not strong enough to be herself. Weakness and fear. The thought made her burn with rage because no matter how much she tried to eliminate the fear and weakness, it always found a way to resurface.

  She glanced down at the notebook and pen that sat on the table next to the coffee. She opened up the notebook, picked up the pen, and began to write. Pride and satisfaction rose up within her, and a smile stretched across her face. When she was finished, she looked down and read her masterpiece.

  Emily,

  You don’t know what I’m about to tell you. Your husband has been spending his nights with me. With me. I just want you to know that he loves me, not you. At night he is in my bed, and when you’re not home, I’m in yours! If you want my advice, you better find yourself a good attorney because you are on your way out, and I am on my way in. You are worthless to him in every way, especially in the bedroom. That is why his lips are constantly glued to mine. Get your life in order, bitch, because your man is mine.

  Sincerely,

  The woman screwing your husband

  She sealed the letter in an envelope and even provided a stamp. She addressed the letter to Emily and set it on the banister so she would not forget it.

  Rhema dressed and went for her morning walk as usual, the letter in hand. When she felt like there was no one watching, she slipped the letter into Emily and Kyle’s mailbox and continued down the street.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Weddings Suck

  Elsea stood in the deacon’s office at the church and looked at herself in the mirror. The mirror had always been her enemy, but today it was kind to her. Her face was made up and her hair was pulled back away from her face in a perfect updo. Her grandmother’s veil cascaded along her shoulders, and the white crystals on the dress sparkled under the florescent lighting. She looked more beautiful and serene than she ever thought she could, but on the inside she was screaming.

  After leaving Peter’s house the night before, she didn’t know what she was going to do. The last thing she remembered was getting up out of the mud and walking inside to get her shoes. Peter stood at the door and watched her leave. She managed to wipe some of the mud from her face, but she was still covered in it, and the only thing he said to her was, “See you tomorrow.”

  Even as she stood there, she could still smell the muddied soil on her skin, and it made her sick to her stomach. How was she going to marry Peter after what had happened last night? Even with that, she still loved him and didn’t know what her life would be without him.

  It won’t be that bad, she said to herself. She had been voiceless, passive her whole life. Never really in control of who she was in the moment, let alone who she wanted to be.

  The door opened, and her mother walked in, distracting her from her thoughts.

  “Are you ready, Elsea?” she asked. She came up behind Elsea and stared at herself in the mirror, primping her hair.

  Her mother wasn’t like most mothers. At least not like the ones that she saw on TV. They doted over their daughters on their wedding days, gave useful life advice, and embraced them before they started their new life. But not her mother. Elsea felt that she was worthless in her mother’s eyes, and the harsh truth was that she would never get the embrace that she so desperately wanted because she was the wrong daughter.

  “Did you hear me, Elsea? Are you ready?” her mother asked again, irritated.

  “Yes … yes, I am,” Elsea said as she took one last glimpse in the mirror.

  “All right. I will be outside greeting the guests. At least this is a small, quick service. I’m so glad you don’t have any bridesmaids or groomsmen because if there was a wedding party involved, this would have been miserable.” With that, she took her leave.

  Elsea felt sadder than she did before. She’d wanted to have bridesmaids and all of that other stuff, but the truth was that she didn’t have any friends. Sure, there were people that she knew and interacted with on occasion, but most of them were Peter’s friends, not hers. Even the people at work thought she was strange; she knew because they would stop talking or move away every time she got close. Even her own sister wouldn’t stand up there with her, not that she wanted her to. Elsea had asked because her mother made her, but of course she was turned down. Her sister appeared to everyone else to be a perfect, beautiful, charismatic young woman that had a heart of gold. But Elsea knew better. She was a mean, hateful little bitch, and she knew it if no one else did.

  “Elsea, they will be ready for you in about ten minutes,” a voice behind her said.

  Elsea jumped, thinking she was by herself.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rhema said, approaching Elsea.

  Elsea didn’t want Rhema t
o read the doubt on her face, but she did a poor job at hiding it. She seemed to be so perceptive about everything else, and she couldn’t bear the shame.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhema asked.

  Elsea’s body tensed. It was all too obvious, but Elsea tried her best to give the most convincing lie.

  “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

  “You look a little more than nervous,” Rhema said, adjusting her train. “You look petrified. What is it?”

  Elsea looked at Rhema, unsure of what to say to her. She could feel sweat gathering under her dress, and a wave of heat overcame her. She did not really know Rhema. They had moved in almost a year ago, but Elsea had never really spoken to her for an extended period of time until the party. That’s how it was on their block. Over the years, people would move in and move out and no one would really take notice. No one really knew the people that they lived next to. Even now, there were two vacant houses across the street from them. The neighborhood was a revolving door, and she didn’t expect Rhema and her husband to last long either.

  However, in the brief moments of encountering each other, Elsea could tell that there was something about Rhema that was a little off, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. But she had no one else to confide in. She had no sister to talk to and no mother to talk to and certainly not an understanding father. She was tired of being brushed off, even by Peter, so she spoke.

  “Peter has been cheating on me.”

  “What?” Rhema asked. “How do you know?”

  Elsea lowered her head. She already knew, she thought. She could tell.

  “I caught him last night with another woman,” Elsea said, crouching to her knees, burying her hands in her face. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Rhema crouched down beside her, awkwardly embracing her.