Madness

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Madness

  Kailee Reese Samuels

  Madness

  Copyright © 2019 by Kailee Reese Samuels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  E-Book Edition: December 17, 2019

  ISBN 978-1-947362-79-6

  Editing by The Red Pen Queen

  W A R N I N G S

  are like cups of tea.

  This warning is here for a reason.

  This book is a work of fiction containing explicit, graphic, and violent material.

  If you’re not 18+, put it the fuck down.

  Please practice safe sex.

  Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC)

  and

  Risk-Awareness Consensual Kink (RACK)

  practices in BDSM.

  Communication is key and I do not believe anything should be swept under the rug - sexuality, gender orientation, race, age, or religion. If I help stir the cauldron of conversation and provide an escape for a few hours, I have done my job.

  Play hard and have fun.

  Be good and love one another.

  Enjoy the ride!

  Without further ado, here we go…

  Sal’s Reading List

  Now Printable!

  Sal’s Girls

  Kailee’s FB Reader Group

  Madness Playlist

  Listen to the music that inspired Madness on Spotify

  We Move Lightly – Dustin O’ Halloran

  Circles – Post Malone

  Dance Monkey – Tones and I

  Bad Girlfriend – Theory Of A Deadman

  The Fall – Banks

  All Is Full of Love – Björk

  Graveyard – Halsey

  Bridges – Aisha Badru

  Waste Love – Machine Gun Kelly, Madison Love

  Take What You Want – Post Malone, Ozzy Osbourne, Travis Scott

  Easy – Camila Cabello

  everything i wanted – Billie Eilish

  Fine China – Future, Juice WRLD

  For the hauntings chasing each one of us.

  Run. Faster.

  Contents

  In the Pitch

  1. Misfit Monster

  2. Exactly the Same

  3. Pick the D!ck

  4. Love Choices

  5. Steal My Heart

  6. Pink Overdrive

  7. Systemic Infection Selection

  8. Take Flight

  9. Heirloom Hearts

  10. Steal the Tartlet

  11. Post Apocalypse

  Ms. Samuels Notes

  The First Client

  Need more Sal?

  In the Pitch

  All in the eerie blackened night

  Mischief beckoned with guise

  As the wretched gathered

  Their wishes became lies

  And on the page of graceful wonder

  She searched for hallowed highs

  But the wicked joined in the hunt

  And brought endless words on

  As she trembled with paralyzing terror

  Latching on hopes of dawn

  She slipped into a superfluous trance

  And stumbled into the brawn

  Her suave savior stepped forward

  Commanding and snappy

  He warned with a charming tone—

  "Do what makes you happy.”

  But a monster softly crept up from the swamp

  Blue eyes, sad and sappy

  Shit! The strangers journeyed forth

  Enchanted by a spell

  And confronted vile demons

  With their rebellious yell

  No matter what should come to pass

  His love would always swell

  With losses from the battlefront

  The lovers fought the crave

  His ferocious fists would prove

  Worth keeping as a knave

  But only if she would consent

  To being his sex slave

  In the tale of The Darkland

  She won it from the shrew

  With his big bang in her hand

  She made it go pew pew

  But this fucking love story wasn’t over

  Ain’t even close to through

  Girl! Rise the maiden from the mud

  Douse in princess glitter

  With his tragic midlife crisis

  He gained her surrender

  Forever to claim and collar

  Being her defender.

  Madness infects those in love.

  1

  Misfit Monster

  “I was the butterfly.

  And my wings were never perfect.

  They frayed with a jagged edge dusted with bitterness to…save me.”

  Once upon a time, I lolled in bed, captured between the pages of a fairytale book. I was getting to the good part where the prince shows up and saves the girl. Happily ever after was something I would never have. Happy endings didn’t happen for girls like me.

  “You can’t be serious!” my father yelled loud enough at my mother for me to hear. I tried to return to my Prince Charming when, throughout the house, he blasted, “You cannot just pack up and and go!”

  A few seconds later, my mother screamed, “The hell I can’t!” Dishes shattered, and the battle was on. “I’m going to stay with my parents.”

  “You’re not taking my daughter to live with those people!”

  “Those people are my parents!”

  The slamming of doors and banging in the closet meant one thing—Momma was at it again. She’d pack all her things, load up into the car, and make it an hour or half a day away, only to turn around to come back for more of their marital bliss.

  Oh, the joy!

  I couldn’t remember a time in my almost eight years that they hadn’t been at war. I nudged my older sister, tucked safely in her bed, and under the covers with her earbuds in. She glared like I had stolen her beloved math book.

  “Maddy! Maddy! They’re at it again!”

  “Leave them alone, Lys,” she thwarted, snatching the covers from my fingers. “Go to bed and forget about it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up, and it will all be pancakes and sunshine, dumplin’.”

  My eyes filled with tears as the increasing violence in my parents’ marriage took hold. This wasn’t love. This was chaos. And though they believed they were only hurting one another, Maddy and I were the innocent bystanders getting smacked by their spiteful words of contempt.

  So much noise...

  So much noise…clocks ticking…cards flying…so much noise.

  The house should have been filled with love and laughter.

  But all I ever heard was yelling.

  Stepping into the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror at my long ratty dark mocha hair and big blue eyes. I was thin. And hungry. For love and food and a home. A real home with happy people and smiling faces.

  Opening the drawer to take out my brush, I noticed the sharp silver scissors, gleaming under the lights. Even with the door shut, I continued to hear their fight. I crouched in the corner of the bathroom, blocking my ears wit
h my hands, and praying for the war to end.

  Stop the noise…

  Stop the noise…

  “I hate you!” my mother bellowed. Another dish, photo, or lamp crashed to the wall. “You’re an egotistical bastard who only cares about himself!”

  “You’re so full of yourself!” The roar of my father shook my very core until tears streamed down my cheeks. “And you’re the tramp fucking my best friend!”

  “Fuck off!”

  “No, sweetheart, fuck you!”

  I remembered the day with complete clarity. They had been fighting since I came home from school. I hated their noise more than anything. If they could have quibbled silently, then I might not have gone off my rocker.

  But the noise...

  The noise was just too much...it was never-ending.

  So, I did the only thing I could to end it. I wiped my tears on my nightgown and took a deep breath.

  Standing on wobbly legs, I pulled the scissors out, opened the door, and blinked as my father walked down the hallway. He stopped and glanced at me as he issued the command, “Lys, we’re leaving before she does.”

  She being my mother.

  She was the crazy one, according to him. I was taught to overlook his drinking and the bruises on her cheek because she was the crazy one. Not him.

  I knew better, they were both reckless, and like oil and water, they never should have been together. It would have been safer for Maddy and me to toss flaming matches at a gasoline tanker.

  From the other room, she yammered on about the car. We only had one, and she was bound and determined to take it.

  “Lys,” he said, squatting down. “We have to go before she takes you off again.”

  He wrapped his arms around my frail body. A single tear trickled down my cheek as I plunged the scissors into his back with all my might. He fell to the floor with his eyes open wide.

  “Lys… What did you do?” he mumbled in agony as the pretty red color spilled onto the expensive Berber vanilla carpeting. “Lyssa…why?”

  In his weakened state, I pushed him onto his back and plunged the sharp blades into his chest six more times until he took his last gasp.

  Half the noise was silent now.

  With my feet in the crimson goo, I wiped the scissors off on an unstained bit of my white nightgown. I grabbed my dirty clothes from the hamper and changed before creeping through the hallway to the corridor of my parents’ bedroom. My mother was in the closet, probably in more ways than one, as I carefully stepped onto her bed.

  Her bed was the one place I was never allowed. She called it her sanctuary. My father purchased the bed for her as a wedding gift.

  Behind the door, she was still carrying on and whining about how my father wasn’t much of a man since he preferred guzzling back beers with the boys to dealing with her narcissistic behavior.

  “Lys!” She grabbed her heart and breathed heavily, startled by my appearance on the beloved bed. “Get down now! But since you’re dressed, you must be ready to go.” She placed the suitcase on the bed, and I lost my balance. Thankfully, I caught myself before I fell. She turned away and snapped, “Get off my bed!”

  Splitting the scissors open in my hand, I tugged her head back and ran the edge over her neck. Immediately, she fell to the ground, and I dropped the weapon on her overpriced goose down comforter.

  Pity.

  My hand spewed with red—my own blood—from the gashes, but I felt nothing. No pain. No remorse. No emotion. I had never seen my blood before. I flicked my tongue out to taste it and smeared it over my face. I did a naughty thing and would get grounded for sure, though I wasn’t sure who would punish me.

  And this was how the fighting finally stopped.

  Because I killed them both.

  Maddy’s screams of terror echoed through the house as I presumed she recognized the trouble I caused. I jumped off the bed and waited. One look at my blood-covered grin and she questioned, “What did you do? Lyssa! Oh, my God! What did you do?”

  With my tangled hair dangling against the sides of my face, I answered, “What you thought of doing for years.”

  She didn’t say another word.

  It was quiet now.

  No more noise...

  I spent the next ten years in Littleton Juvenile Psychiatric Facility for the Wayward until funding went kaput.

  Instantly, I was no longer a threat.

  I was deemed fit for society by a panel of six in white coats and dropped off at a seedy bus station with two hundred bucks, more pills than a pusher, and a toasted turkey sandwich.

  Clearly, they hadn’t been listening.

  I sold the pills.

  And made a few friends.

  Bring on the noise, motherfuckers.

  Six Months After Release

  2

  Exactly the Same

  “No!” My sister’s early morning scream wakes me from a dead sleep. I’ve been staying with her boyfriend, Richard Astrophe, since my release from the psych ward. “Stop! Leave me alone!”

  Their beautifully harmonious and horrifically abusive—because it really was both—relationship continued my belief that love was an impossibility. One minute they were in tandem with a bountiful and blissful love as they found nirvana in a shared pipe, and the next, they were tragic, incapable of looking at one another, let alone living together.

  But I… I had nowhere else to go.

  Dick, as I referred to him, was the local, small-town drug dealer. He didn’t much like me with my loads of scripts that I took to selling, but I certainly wasn’t about to swallow that shit. Ten years did nothing but convince my mind that drugs tasted sweeter when bathed in chocolate.

  So, I took up residence in their spare bedroom, which stored all the things Dick traded for drugs and then resold—from a vintage record player to rare signed sports memorabilia. Shrug. Don’t ask me. I always got cash. No cash; no candy.

  “Stop it!” Maddy yells again, only this time, it isn’t like all the others. She sounds genuinely frightened, and I fear something is very wrong. Shoving cream-filled chocolates in my mouth, I stumble to my feet and veer towards the door. I glance around the packed room for a weapon to wield against the prick. I may not like my sister, but I’ll be damned if he is going to hurt her. “Get off of me!”

  In the closet, I scan past the fur coats and expensive designer label gowns. The floor is covered in thousands of dollars’ worth of shoes. Bulky tennis shoes for him; stilettos for her.

  Who is he selling to?

  Shoved under the bed, I spot a set of golf clubs. I know nothing about golf, aside from knowing people walk around a pristinely manicured lawn and smack small balls.

  “I’m gonna smack a set of small balls,” I quietly think as I pop another chocolate on my tongue. Maddy buys them for me because she knows they’re like a sedative for my nerves. She hates them—“Those are so nasty, Lys.” I simply snarked, “So is your need for Dick’s dick…”

  This is not going to be pretty.

  But murder never is.

  Cracking open the door about an inch, I peer around. I see nothing, but I hear the scuffle from the bedroom. I tiptoe down the hallway. My cat, Nida, rubs against my leg and loudly purrs. “Shh!”

  Their door is ajar, providing the view of their ornate four-poster bed. I’m positive Dick got the black lacquered monstrosity with the enormous gold lion heads on each post in a drug deal. He gave it to Maddy as a present. It strangely fit the almost jungle-like motif of their bedroom. Dick was strange, and my sister was downright weird.

  What a way to make me feel…normal?

  On the bed, Maddy squirms beneath him, pinned by his weight. He lifts to unfasten his jeans, and she manages to roll off onto the floor. She wiggles towards the bathroom as Dick grabs her foot, pulling her back, and ripping her panties off. I cover my mouth and gasp at the sight of his schlong—a rather grotesque piece of male meat—long and thin.

  She craves…that?

  His first thru
st impacts with harshness as I quickly recall why I do not engage in such acts. I was approached several times by the male nurses at the psych ward, but I preferred playing the lap cat of Dr. Nellie Witter-Ratrow. The Chief favored the female patients and kept her most treasured one intact while humoring her—shall we say, whims?

  Fairytales don’t exist for girls like me.

  I’m more of a play the best hand I can, and if able, sneak a few cards under the table kind of a gal. Survival is paramount, and ceasing noise is an absolute. I cannot function in stressful, loud situations.

  Dick is going at it, raping my sister, as I ponder the situation. His expression contorts to a hateful, aimless gaze, paralyzing the struggle against his attack.

  Laying on the floor, she spreads her legs wide and almost welcoming his advances. She loudly moans once, and he rips open her blouse before covering her mouth with his palm. He sucks on her flesh, biting the nubs and glowering with a hideous grin plastered to his smug mouth. The primal sounds from her lungs emit a lustful longing.

  This is so fucked up.

  Her body arches, accepting the pain and pleasure, and rocking against his moves. I stare, silent, and awed by the violent act, as my body reacts in ways I don’t anticipate. My breathing intensifies with theirs as I reach between my legs and curl my fingers against the bone. I bite my lip and shut my eyes.