by C. Sunrise
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
One Captive
Two Momma
Bel
Three Birthday Party
Next morning
Four Kace
The Dream
Five The Date
Six Family Dinner
Seven Papas Office
Eight Revelations
Nine Family History
Ten Captive
Eleven Goodbye
Not Healing
Twelve Captive
Thirteen Kace's Story
Fourteen Captive
Fifteen The Club
Sixteen Breakfast at Blaze's
Seventeen Captive
Eighteen Shifters
Nineteen Kace's House
Twenty First Time
Twenty-One Pancakes
Twenty-Two Captive
Twenty-Three The Shift
Twenty-Four Captive
Twenty-Five Training
Twenty-Six Bel
Twenty-Seven Parents Return
Twenty-Eight Halloween
Twenty-Nine Where am I
Thirty Epilogue
About the Author
Books by C. Sunrise
Website
Acknowledgement and Dedication
Whoopsie Daisy
(Book #1 of the Whoopsie Daisy series)
C. Sunrise
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Publication and use of trademarks, movie, and music references was done without authorization from the trademark owner(s) and therefore does not reflect upon the trademark owner(s).
Publisher, cover design, and editing: C. Sunrise
Copyright © 2020 C. Sunrise
All rights reserved.
ISBN: B08F7FX4PP
ISBN-13:
ONE
The ground is cold and hard beneath me and a dirty, damp, musky smell fills the air—perhaps even the smell of urine. I lurch forward as the putrid smell calls to my last meal, nearly displaying it on the concrete floor below. I clasp my mouth, swallowing hard to rid my mouth of the acrid contents. With a groan, I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead, hoping to reset my brain.
Ugh, why do I feel so groggy? What did I drink last night? I don’t remember drinking enough to feel like this.
No matter how much I drink, I always find my way to a nice, soft, warm bed or couch—never a cold, uninviting floor. I slowly stand up, reaching for the wall as I gain my balance. The coolness of the wall causing a shiver to run through my body.
Panic sets in as I lift my head and look around the room. There’s little light in the room, only a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room. That’s when I realize, I don’t know where I am. There’s nothing but the bare concrete walls and a distant steel door, with a tiny strip of light shining underneath it; the only exit from this cage.
I walk over to the door and push down on the handle. Nothing. I pull the handle up. Nothing. As my anxiety increases, I frantically push, pull, and yank the handle while banging on the door.
“What the hell?!” I shriek, stepping back from the door. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?! If this is a joke, I’m not laughing!”
My heart pounds on my chest as if it’s as desperate to escape its cage as I am. All I can hear now is the sound of the steady pounding.
My palms are sweating. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I push my hand firmly onto my chest, trying to calm the beast within. The tears that were welling in my eyes trickle down my cheeks.
Breathe. You must remember to calm yourself.
I think back to my training and the words that became my mantra and perhaps now, my saving grace.
Go to your happy place. A happy beast is a calm beast. Go to your happy place. See it. Feel it. Hear it. Fill your senses. Live in that moment.
Go to your happy place.
I close my eyes and visualize my happy place—a peaceful beach at sunset at the end of a warm day, surrounded by the important people in my life.
My parents are there. My beautiful, fun, loving parents. The fact that they named their only child Whoopsie speaks to their light-hearted personalities. We have had our struggles lately, but reflecting on an entire lifetime of happy memories with them has a calming effect on me.
Beside them, is Rebel, my best friend for many years, and her boyfriend Jay. One cannot help but smile in the presence of these two colourful characters.
On the other side of my parents is Percy, with his dark, charcoal coloured hair placed perfectly on his head, as if he’d just run a comb through it. Ruffling his perfect hair gives me great pleasure. Looking at Percy and thinking about the memories we’ve shared causes my lip to twitch, my smile expanding.
It’s working. The fear is subsiding, and my rational side is regaining control.
To my left stands Blaze and Kace. To say my life has changed since they entered it would be a massive understatement. These two men make you feel the need to take a cold shower after every interaction with them or a hot shower with them.
Easy, Whoopsie. Those probably aren’t the best thoughts to be having right now. We’re trying to calm the beast not get it worked up. Damn hormones.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, imagining the feel of the sun kissing my cheeks, the sound of the water lapping the lakeshore and the birds chirping in the distance. Perhaps the best part is the smell of fresh air.
“Where are you? I need you. Any of you. All of you. Please help me,” I plead aloud, opening my eyes and hoping someone will hear my cries. My struggle to control my emotions tells me I’m not trained enough to deal with this situation.
Could this be a training exercise? This isn’t anything like any of the training I’ve done before. This must be real; I’m caged like an animal. Oh the irony.
I stand there for what feels like hours, but was likely only a few minutes, taking turns between feeling sorry for myself and deep breathing to calm my emotions. After several breaths, my rational side starts to regain control. If I want to get out of here, I need to pull myself together and figure out what is going on. I take two more deep breaths to slow my heart rate down enough to hear my thoughts.
Think, Whoopsie. Think.
With my heart under control, I can now hear a slow, steady dripping sound coming from somewhere. I cannot see well enough to know if it is coming from within this room or not, but it would explain the damp, musky smell in the room. I follow the sound, but it does me no good. Even with the poor lighting I can see the dripping is coming from a tiny crack in the otherwise sealed ceiling, rather than a window or any other form of an escape route.
I huff in disappointment.
This fucking dripping sound is making me have to pee. Where the hell am I supposed to do that? Speaking of urine, have they kept other people in here before? Is that why it smells like urine?
“For fuck’s sake, you don’t have time for that.” I scold myself, “Focus Whoopsie. You need to focus on the bigger problem at hand. Survival first.”
I place my fingers on the wall, gently grazing the cool concrete as I walk around the room.
I still have a lot to learn about my “condition” but the most important thing that I’ve learned is how to recognize and control the changes that happen when I�
��m emotionally charged—like right now. My uncharacteristic potty mouth is an early warning that my emotions are taking over. I can also feel pressure building in my eyes, a precursor to the pending change, and I fight to maintain control.
My strengthened mind-body connection and self-regulation has been helping me keep my secret safe, my family’s secret, but I still have lots to learn about controlling and using my condition to my advantage. Until then, I breathe and focus on keeping the beast within.
How do I go from one of the happiest nights of my life to being here in this situation?
“Why am I here? Who would do this to me?” I ponder aloud, again hoping someone will respond.
With no sign anyone is listening or even anywhere near my general vicinity, I think back to when it all started—when life got uniquely complicated. There has to be something in my memories that will shed some light on my current situation.
I lean back, a shiver running down my spine as I press my body against the cold wall. I keep my eyes trained on the door, remaining hyper-vigilant concerning my only exit. My vision blurs slightly as my mind drifts back into my past…
TWO
This is it. The day before my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m not sure what it is about turning twenty-five, but something just feels different. Special even.
I make my way across the soft, sandy beach of the lakefront resort. I told Bel I would meet her here after she gets off work and we would walk home together. Not that I need an excuse to spend time on the beach.
Bel and I have known each other since childhood. She practically lived at my house. Then we ended up going to the same university. We recently graduated and moved back from the city to our relatively small country town. Bel got a job running the resort, a hotspot for travellers and the town’s primary source of revenue, and I started my job as a veterinarian. We live together in a resort cabin, which is more like a beach house, for free—a perk of Bel being the manager.
Another perk is being able to hold my birthday party on the resort’s beach. They’ll provide everything we need, including clean-up. Not that I’m planning on having a massive party, but being a long-time local and holding an outdoor party means it’s basically an open-invitation event.
I’m so busy admiring the view of sun setting over the hills as it paints the lake with vibrant colours and thinking about my party that I trip and fall in the sand.
“Oooofff.” I gasp as I land on the ground.
“For fudge sakes!” I hop up quickly and dust myself off, glancing behind me to see if anyone was watching.
All you had to do was meet your bestie at the beach on her way home from work. That’s all, Whoopsie. Simple. Now, here you are with sand in your face and who-ha.
“Bel, over here!” I shout as I notice Bel making her way across the beach.
She comes over and gives me a hug; she’s touchy-feely like that.
“Hey, girl. Did I just see you eat sand?” She smiles and shakes her head.
“You know it,” I reply, and we both laugh. Bel has grown accustomed to my clumsiness over the years, in addition to my many other quirks.
She smiles warmly. “I love you, Sie. You are such a goof. My goof.”
I reply to her statement with an enthusiastic jazz-hands performance, to which we both laugh again.
“Never change,” she demands, her expression serious.
I nod my head in agreement. This is one reason I love Bel; she loves and accepts me for me—quirks and all. I’m a bubbly, clumsy, and overly friendly person who is not afraid to be goofy. I also don’t feel the need to swear like a sailor or party like a rock star like several of my peers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do either of those things. Needless to say, not everyone can handle my weird personality, as others have labelled it, and that is fine with me. My parents always encouraged me to be myself and be comfortable in my skin, even if it is not in alignment with social norms. “Always be true to you,” they would say.
However, I learned at university that I would have to adorn a professional facade to be successful, which meant taming of my Whoopsie-ness to some degree. So, there are two Whoopsies, the professional ‘masked’ Whoopsie who does her best to keep her quirks on a leash and the off-the-clock Whoopsie who lets it all out. Letting the real me out is like taking your bra off at the end of a long day; it feels so damn good. So, I surround myself with people who can handle the real me, like Bel. When Bel and I hang out, it’s like we’re still in high school and I’m convinced we’ve found the fountain of youth. I can’t imagine my life without her.
Her expression softens. “Are you excited for your big birthday party tomorrow? Twenty-five, doesn’t that make you a classic?”
“Heck yeah, I’m excited! And I’ve always been a classic, by the way,” I say as I cock my eyebrow. “We’ll have the biggest and best party EVAAAAAA.” I flick my hair and throw my head back, doing my best impression of a stereotypical party-girl.
Bel jumps excitedly shouting, “yeah, girl,” before busting out into a series of energetic dance moves. Trust Bel to take things a step further. I have a feeling this is her burning off some of her pent-up energy after being stuck in an office all day.
I scrunch my face as I watch her bounce around in the sand in her high heels. “Bel, we should probably get off this beach before you break your leg. Who wears pumps to the beach? If I tried to do that, I’d probably break both arms and legs. Hell, I just fell in the sand and I’m wearing flat sandals.”
Unfazed by my expression, Bel primps her hair dramatically. “You know me, I always dress to impress.”
I chuckle, bringing my hands together and curling my fingers into a heart shape over my chest. She winks playfully and we turn and walk back to our place.
“Momma invited me to spend the night at their place tonight,” I explain as we walk. “They want to make me a special birthday breakfast. Who could say no to that? Who would say no to that? I’m going to head over there now and get some beauty rest before our big day tomorrow.”
My parents live out in the country on an acreage, on a vineyard to be more specific, in a very large home with a large pool, pool house, and a garden out back—all nestled amongst the hillside, vineyards, and small farm area. This is where I grew up and will always consider home. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to, and I never pass up an opportunity to visit.
“I love your parents’ place,” she replies, her words laced with jealousy. “And your parents too, of course. How come I don’t get to spend the night there with you?” She clicks her tongue and pouts.
I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head to the side. “Seriously, you have to ask why I didn’t invite you?” She knows I won’t fall for her act. “Last time you spent the night out there, you almost burnt the house down making popcorn. I do not want to end up spending my birthday in the hospital dealing with smoke inhalation.”
Bel smirks and huffs. “Oh, that.”
I pause for a second before my eyes light up. “Although,” I drawl, and Bel looks over at me. “There are a few new fire fighters in town that I wouldn’t mind running to my rescue.”
Bel nods hungrily and we both laugh.
“Are we still on for shopping and getting our nails done tomorrow afternoon?” I ask as we approach the door to our quaint beach house.
“You bet! I have to make sure you wear something to show off those legs of yours at the party.” she says, her voice laced with mischief. “Just in case you finally meet your Prince Charming.”
There it is.
I laugh at her incessant need to hook me up with some random man, any random man. I open the door and step inside, flicking my sandals off my feet and onto the door mat. Bel follows me and groans as she steps out of her shoes.
“Good call. I wouldn’t want to show up to my birthday party looking like the Paper Bag Princess. But, as fun as this is hearing your plans for me, I had better get going to my parents’ place.”
“Sounds good. Good night,
Sie.” She salutes and tosses her purse on the nearby couch, muttering something about her dogs barking as I turn towards my room.
“Good night, Bel,” I call out over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
I quickly grab a few things from my room and head to my parents’ place. It takes about thirty minutes to get to there and by the time I arrive, my parents are already in bed. There’s a note on the kitchen counter saying they both had an exhausting day but that I’m more than welcome to grab some left-overs from the fridge if I’m hungry. Never one to turn down food, I heat up some left-over Chinese food and catch up on a couple of my favourite tv shows before turning in for the night.
I awake the next morning to the sound of birds chirping outside of my room. My room faces the gardens at the back of the house which are always full of birds, bees, and other country critters and waking up to the sounds of the country is one thing I miss most about living at my parents’ place. Although living on the beach has its advantages too. That being said, I’m not much of a morning person and there are some mornings I’ve cursed the all-to-chipper birds who wake me earlier than I would like.
“Ugh, it’s way too early to be awake,” I mutter as I sit up and stretch my arms over my head. I scoot to the side of the bed, toss my legs over and push myself off the bed. I stand there, in a semi-dazed state, for a few moments letting my eyes, brain, and body wake up. My stomach completed the process, growling loudly and reminding me of what awaits me downstairs.