B-Sides and Rarities: A Collection of Unfinished Madness

by K. Webster

“Tell me, goddammit!” I demand with a wobble to my voice. “I deserve to know.”

  With a loud exhalation of breath, he spits out words that chill my soul.

  “Sarah, my beautiful wife, I’ve said that phrase every day for two-hundred fifty seven days.”

  But that means…

  “How long have I been like this? How long have I been unable to remember?”

  He shakes his head and storms out of the bathroom, calling out over his shoulder. “You have your answer.”

  Two-hundred fifty seven.

  Almost a year.

  With shaky hands, I fumble to get my shirt back on and drag my panties back up my legs. I chase after him and find him with his forehead against the glass of the backdoor as he stares out.

  “We have this discussion. Every day, baby. Every goddamned day and you never remember. The doctors claim it will come back one day. To be patient with you.”

  Tears roll down over my cheeks and I slide my arms around his bare waist. Resting my cheek on his muscular back, I inhale his scent and it seems a part of who I am, it’s that familiar. “When does it happen? When do I forget?”

  “Every time you go to sleep, you wake back up clueless. That’s why we’ve stayed here in the cabin. I can keep you safe and watch over you.” His hands find mine over his stomach and he strokes the back of them.

  “I’m starting to remember, I think,” I assure him. “Like, I knew I loved you. I knew you hurt me at first but then came to realize it was because you like it rough when we have sex. And I knew you said those words. See, I’m getting better.”

  He remains quiet but his deep breathing and rapid heartbeat, which I can feel through his back, indicate a thousand thoughts running rampant through him.

  “Damien, what if I leave a clue? I can write something down and then you can show it to me tomorrow. I promise, this can work.”

  He turns in my arms and smiles at me. It’s fake and for my benefit. My husband doesn’t believe me. As if we’ve had this entire conversation over and over again. “Sure, beautiful. Let’s leave a message.”

  With a wild determination, I peel myself from him and set to hunting down something to write with.

  This time, I’ll remember.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  “I won’t forget,” I promise as I trace lazy circles on his chiseled chest. I’ll never tire of touching this man. Ever. I can’t believe I would have ever wanted to divorce him.

  “Okay, love.”

  His placating tone irritates me, but I don’t call him out. I instead, burn these memories into my brain. The masculine, clean scent that permeates the air around me after our hot shower. The way his smooth skin feels under my fingertips. The deep rumble of his voice. The way his body connects perfectly with mine.

  “Do I easily give myself up to you every day within minutes of waking up?”

  He chuckles, and I bask in the warmth of it. “Every time.”

  “I love you, Damien. I can feel it. That’s why. I may not remember it but I feel it.”

  His fingers tangle in my hair and he kisses the top of my head. “I know, love.”

  I’m hot.

  Suffocating heat drags me from my dreamless sleep and I attempt to sit up in the darkness. Something heavy prevents me from sitting up all the way and I freeze.

  An arm.

  A man’s arm to be exact.

  Did I get shitfaced last night? Is this a one-night stand gone too long?

  I slide out from under him and slip off the bed. The moment my bare feet touch the chilled wood floor, I sigh in relief. A cold draft of air cools my skin and I shakily hunt for my clothing in the dark.

  Sneaking into the bathroom, I flip on the light and look for anything to cover up with. I find a discarded T-shirt on the floor and quickly throw it on. The mad dash to the door is short lived the moment I make it to the window and see the white blanket of snow covering everything around the cabin. With a sigh, I make my way into the kitchen and flip on the light.

  My gaze falls to a notebook on the counter. Curiosity gets the best of me and I pick it up. Turning to the first page, I recognize my writing. Each page, a desperate plea for me to remember. A plea to remember my identity. My husband. My life. All signed by me. Sarah Hunt.

  Dread consumes me and I heave the notebook away from me.

  “No,” I hiss. “This is a bad dream. Wake up, Sarah!”

  I’m stumbling back toward the door again. Maybe a mad dash through the snow away from this cabin will wake me up from this nightmare. This has to be a nightmare.

  I’ve just turned the knob when two hot, strong arms grab me from behind.

  “Shhh, it’s me, Damien.”

  ABOUT THIS STORY:

  When Annabel loses her entire family, she’s forced to start over. A new town, a new life, and a new social class at her school. She’s no longer the head bitch, nor does she care. Popularity is no longer anything she’s concerned about.

  Until they make her their target.

  What happens when one of her tormentors happens to be the hottest guy at school? And her only savior is his brother? Will the new girl come between two brothers or will she hold her chin high and let them do their worst?

  Skip to Track 3

  Prologue

  Vibrations from somewhere nearby pull me from the darkness of sleep and I squint open an eye to hunt for the sound. The morning sun blinds me from my position on Melanie’s bed and does absolutely nothing for the throbbing inside of my head.

  Tequila shots, the cause of my pounding head, are evil.

  Every noise in her bedroom seems a million times worse and I think I might barf at any second…again. Yep, tequila shots are most definitely evil. And Melanie’s snores rank right up there with the evilness of said tequila shots.

  “Mel, stop snoring,” I groan as I pull the pillow over my head and kick my best friend a little too harshly.

  “Hey, leave me alone, Bel,” she murmurs, kicking me back before passing out again.

  Even though I’m hung over as hell, I’m still happy that I’d managed to talk my parents into letting me stay with Melanie instead of having to go with them. Aunt Maggie had invited us to go visit her in Seattle this weekend. Normally, I’m all for visiting my aunt in the city—such a far cry from our country bumpkin town. The shopping is amazing and I always find some awesome outfit to take back home with me. Unfortunately, this particular trip fell on the weekend of my best friend’s seventeenth birthday. I had to beg, with a little help from Mel, relentlessly, until they’d caved. Finally, they gave up on the “cross my heart” promise from Melanie and I that we would both be good while they were gone.

  We may have fudged a bit.

  I mean, I didn’t lose my virginity or anything crazy like that. But, we did, however, go to a party where we both made out with boys from our town’s local college and got wasted off our asses. I’ve learned my lesson though. After puking all night and this one hell of a hangover today, I swear I’ll never drink again.

  Of course, that’s what I said last time too.

  My phone vibrates again from the nightstand next to her bed and I whine. It’s probably my Mom checking in or my twelve year old sister bragging about a new outfit that she got instead of me since I’d chosen to stay home.

  Another vibration.

  Ugh.

  Rolling over, I snatch my phone and unplug it from the charger. I blink several times to see Aunt Maggie has called over twenty times.

  Something deep inside of me cracks. Not only does Aunt Maggie never call me—she always calls Mom—but she certainly wouldn’t call so many times in a row. My inner self begs for me to roll back over and go to sleep because whatever she is calling about, I will not want to hear. When the phone begins vibrating in my hands once again with another call from Aunt Maggie, terror freezes the blood in every vein of my body from my head all the way down to my toes.

  With a swipe of my thumb and a deep breath, I answer the inevitable.
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  “Hello?” I choke out.

  A wail greets me on the other line, followed by a garbled, “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry for what?

  God, please no.

  Sitting up so quickly, the room spins, I whimper into the phone. “What happened, Aunt Mags?”

  “B-b-baby, I-I’m so sorry but—”

  Please no.

  Tears roll down my face as a sob gets lodged in my throat.

  “Are they okay?”

  More sobs on the other line.

  “N-no, Bel. T-they’re dead.”

  Chapter One

  Annabel

  Two and a half months later…

  “You’re a smart, pretty girl,” Aunt Maggie smiles as she gestures to me while we stand outside of the building of my new school. “They’re going to love you.”

  Absently, I look down at my outfit. For my first day as a Roosevelt Rough Rider, I dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans, a worn pair of tennis shoes, and a black hoodie. The hoodie matches my mood. Black. Just like my heart. I didn’t even bother with my hair. My long, dark locks are pulled haphazardly into a messy bun. In this city, not only is it a waste of time to straighten your hair because the rain will frizz it out anyway, but I don’t care. Being adorable is no longer on my radar.

  Surviving is the only thing I care about.

  “Have a great day,” Aunt Maggie waves. She became my sole guardian the day my parents and sister perished in a car accident about an hour outside of Seattle. I love my aunt, but I miss my family. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them. That I think I could have been killed right along with them had I not been a stubborn brat and stayed home.

  I force a smile and wave back. “See you tonight.”

  My feet have a mind of their own as I walk slowly toward the school. I drop my gaze down to my shoes and am mesmerized by the splashes they make with each step in the puddles. I’m completely enraptured that I don’t notice the group of girls right in front of me. That is, until I crash right into the middle of their huddled group.

  “Watch where you’re going, freak,” a blond one hisses. Her eyes disdainfully roam my appearance.

  Freak.

  It wasn’t long ago that Melanie and I used to giggle about the “freak” at my old school. Paul was a quiet kid with thick rimmed glasses. He always smelled like body odor and he would suck on his fingers. It was disgusting and we oftentimes made fun of him loud enough for him to hear.

  Now, I feel guilty. I treated him like crap. I was nothing more than a spoiled child that thought she had that right. As I stand staring at the group of girls eyeballing me like I’m trash, I suddenly miss Paul.

  My eyes find the blue ones of the blonde and I attempt a smile. Smiles are rare these days and even those are forced. What is there to smile about when your family is taken from you? Nothing, that’s what.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly.

  The girls giggle, and I think maybe they’ve forgiven me until the blonde speaks again. “Not good enough, freak. Your kind aren’t allowed to talk to my kind.”

  My eyes widen at her blatant rudeness. Melanie and I may have teased Paul, among others, yet I thought it was all in fun. But now, being in his shoes, I realize it isn’t much fun for the one on the receiving end. So sorry, Paul. We weren’t ever this nasty though.

  “What exactly is your kind?” I snip out, leveling my gaze at her.

  “Ashley, she probably has rabies. You’re standing too close,” a brunette with a bobbed haircut bites out nastily.

  Rabies? Wow.

  “We’re cool and you’re not. You are a freak. Don’t forget your place,” Ashley tells me snootily.

  With a roll of my eyes, I flip her the bird and push past her. The girls all squeal at the fact that I didn’t back down to their leader. From where I came from, I was the leader. And even though I have no desire to be one here, I won’t let them walk on me.

  “Watch your back, bitch,” Ashley threatens.

  I turn around to her as I walk and flip her off with both hands this time. When I turn back, I slam right into a brick wall—or very solid guy I should say. I’m momentarily intoxicated by his scent and the way his strong arms have grasped my biceps to steady me. My eyes lift and find angry, chocolate colored ones.

  Does everyone in this school have an attitude problem?

  “Eric! Don’t touch her, she’s a rabid dog,” one of the girls calls out from behind me.

  He flicks his gaze to them, but doesn’t release me. Finally, he looks at me again. “Watch where you’re going, Fido.”

  The guy, Eric, who stands well over six feet, is handsome as ever with his mop of brown, unruly hair gelled to perfection, full lips, and strong nose. He smells heavenly and looks good enough to eat. But he’s a jerk. Just like the bimbo babes behind me.

  My lip curls in disgust. “Let me go before I bite.”

  His eyes briefly twinkle with amusement.

  “Let her go,” a deep voice from behind him growls. The voice is protective, and I immediately feel drawn to it. At the command, Eric releases me with a tiny shove. I stumble back a few steps and glare back at him.

  “Touch me again and you’ll die,” I warn.

  Our eyes never leave one another as he walks past me toward the group of girls. When he passes me, I drag my gaze back to my protector.

  “Baby, she’s a clumsy freak. Stay away from her,” Ashley barks at him from behind me.

  I bristle at her words and bite my lip. I miss Melanie. And Paul. Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them away. I really miss Mom, Dad, and my sister Cadence. This new life sucks.

  “You new here?” the deep voice from my protector questions. I see a hulking frame at the top of the stairs. His arms are crossed and he’s grinning at me. My knees buckle upon the sight of him but I manage to hold myself upright. He’s every bit as good-looking as Eric—in fact…

  “Is that jerk your brother?” I demand as I trot up the steps, ignoring the insults from the group behind me.

  He sighs and furrows his dark brows. “Yeah. I’m sorry. He forgets how to be human sometimes. I’m Evan.”

  My eyes follow his strong outstretched hand and I feel the need to touch him. Something about him tells me that the moment I touch him, I’ll never want to let go. That thought creeps me out. So, instead, I shove my hands into my pockets and raise my brows at him.

  “I’m Annabel. Also affectionately known as Fido,” I grumble.

  He senses my sarcasm and frowns. Once he realizes I’m not going to shake his hand, he drops it at his side.

  “Annabel is a pretty name,” he tells me kindly. His brown eyes are lighter than his brother’s but their features are much the same. This Evan is quite the looker.

  “Thanks. I need to find my class now,” I mutter and push past him. I’m not here to make friends. My friends are back home. I still talk to them on Facebook and over the phone occasionally. All I want to do is graduate from high school. Then I can move on with my life—what’s left of it anyway.

  Evan catches up to me and matches my stride. I have no idea where I’m going so I reach into the side pocket of my backpack and fish out the folded map and class schedule. Mr. Murdock, Room 102—must be close.

  He peers over my shoulder and then points. “Second door on the right.”

  I nod my thanks and stalk away from him, toward the sanctity of my first class. I’ve just settled at a table beside an empty chair in the back of the classroom when I hear a deep chuckle. My eyes lift and I groan to see Evan walking toward me with a smug grin on his face.

  “Long time, no see, Annabel.”

  Exhaling loudly, I ignore him and unzip my bag in a hunt for my notepad and pen. After I locate what I’m looking for, I face the front of the classroom and wait for the teacher to greet us. I’m doing my best to snub the eyes that are no doubt boring into me.

  “If you want to make friends here, maybe you should talk to the ones that are trying to be friendly,” he
says softly from beside me.

  Without looking back at him, I clip out, “Maybe I don’t want to make friends here.”

  As if on cue, Ashley and the brunette sashay into the room. When my eyes meet the blue eyes of Ashley, I have the urge to stick my tongue out at her but refrain because I’m not a child. Apparently she is though because she sticks hers out at me before sliding into a chair near the front.

  That girl is so annoying.

  ABOUT THIS STORY:

  Everyone’s fighting a battle. And only the strong survive.

  Skip to Track 4

  Prologue

  Chrissy

  It’s late, and I finally hear the snoring echoing through the crumbling box of a trailer we live in. To most people, the snoring would be annoying. To me though, the obnoxious sounds mean I can finally relax. The muscles in my belly, always ever so taut with anxiety, begin to unknot themselves and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Now, for my shower.

  Jessica’s voice from school haunts me as I creep through the hallway toward the bathroom. “Chrissy is so gross. She smells like an onion.” A cockroach skitters out in front of me, narrowly missing my bare foot, and I stifle a scream. Screaming now would be a death sentence.

  Sometimes, I wish they knew—they, being the kids from school. Those spoiled brats have no idea what it means to suffer. They have no idea what it means to go hungry to school or be made to wear clothes that are too small because your family can’t afford new ones.

  They have no idea.

  There are times I pray to God to let me have one day in their shoes. One day where I can sleep in a bedroom all to myself without worrying that a bug is going to crawl into my mouth while I’m asleep. One day where I can wake up and take a shower without having to worry about my mother’s longtime boyfriend, Larry peeking in.

  Just the thought of his dark, weasel eyes sweeping over me each time I’m forced to be in the same room with him sends a shiver shuddering through me. I hate Larry. I’m convinced a demon has possessed the man. Nobody can be that evil and still be human.