Thundering Luv

by Preston, LM

  Jewel’s shaking hands removed the necklace he’d given her. “Colin, you’re a selfish creep, and I never want to see you again. Tell them all what a good job you did making a fool out of me.” Jewel threw the necklace at him, and this time, she didn’t miss. It hit him directly over his heart. Then she ran out of the beach home.

  Colin fell back on the couch, and for the first time in a long time, he pressed his fingers against his eyes, and let the tears fall.

  Jewel wasn’t happy to be home. But since she got there two weeks ago, she’d taken some of Colin’s advice. The walk upstairs to her mom’s room was a long one, but she’d told her mom what she thought of her new fiancé, then what she felt about all the men she’d been dating. Her mom listened and cried, then hugged Jewel. It was the best, most freeing thing she’d done since her father left. After that, Jewel called her dad. Jewel figured since she had the courage she may as well get everything out in the open. Thanks to Colin’s advice, she reminded him that although he loved his new wife, that she, his daughter, would never go away. Her father surprised her by apologizing. Then he told her he’d put his wife in her place. Her father promised he would come visit for Christmas.

  With all that had happened in the last two weeks, Jewel should be happy, but she wasn’t. Her heart felt empty. Every night she went to bed in tears. She’d fallen in love with Colin, and it wouldn’t go away. No matter how much he’d hurt her, everything inside her ached for something she couldn’t have.

  He’d called the morning they left the beach, even showed up at the beach house—she told Megs not to let him in. When she’d seen Colin’s phone calls or texts, she didn’t answer. Matter of fact, she stopped even looking at or answering her phone at all.

  Today was the first day of school. Jewel didn’t want to go now that she realized the sick game that had been played on her. Now she’d be alone, even more so than she was before. Spending time at the beach with Colin gave her hope that after school she wouldn’t have to rush home and stress about her mom ignoring her, the loneliness of having no real friends, or the rejection of having a father that didn’t love her. She had Colin and his love was something she was looking forward to holding onto when she got home. Now that was gone and although her parents came around, the solitude she felt now was unbearable.

  When she went to school she’d be the butt of another joke. This time though, Jewel didn’t want to put on the phony face of happiness and confidence she’d been wearing the last few years of high school. Jewel would show herself. This year was the first time that she didn’t even show up to cheerleader practice. That wasn’t her dream anymore. Creating poetry, even music to go with it was something she wanted to pour herself into now. Colin taught her that. To go after what she really wanted without trying to fit in—be what people thought she should be. But none of those dreams really made her excited anymore.

  Now she just wanted Colin. She wanted to believe he wasn’t in on the joke. That he really did love her. It hurt so bad that she didn’t even want to get out of bed to get dressed for school.

  Her mom opened the door to her room. “Your ride is here.” Her mom had her platinum curls up in a similar ponytail to Jewel’s.

  “Thanks Mom, I’m ready.” Jewel put on her backpack and pulled down her skirt.

  “Oh, by the way, tell Megs there will be no wedding, so don’t bother going to the bridal shop this Friday.”

  Jewel smiled. “Really?”

  Her mom nodded, her blue eyes watering. “I regret putting you through the last few years. You mean more to me than anything.” She hugged Jewel. “Now go, enjoy your senior year without worrying about your old mom.”

  “I will try.” She kissed her mom on the cheek.

  Jewel watched her mom leave, and pivoted around to get her purse off the bed, just as the bedroom door opened.

  A large, warm hand closed on her shoulder. “Jewel?” Colin’s deep, tortured voice sounded behind her.

  She dropped her backpack and spun around. “Uh…”

  “Shh. Hear me out. Please.” Colin dug in his pocket and pulled out the necklace he’d made for her.

  Jewel’s fingers itched to touch the one around his neck. But she stood still, fighting not to cry and beg him to never leave her.

  “Look, I messed things up with you. I didn’t know anything about the scam the jocks ran on the cheerleaders because my cousin and I don’t even say two words to each other. I found out from Jake after I told him I was upset with you because of how Tank reacted to you breaking up with him.” Colin took a step closer. “But what I wanted to say was that if I was your boyfriend, that if you broke up with me, I was afraid that I’d be in much worse condition than Tank ever was. I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want to lose you…or what we had.”

  “Colin, I...” Jewel starved to kiss him, to cry, to let him know she forgave him.

  “No, listen. I-love-you,” his voice cracked, “and I…please, Jewel, please say you’ll forgive me and I will spend everyday showing you how much I need you in my life. I won’t leave you. I won’t push you to do anything you’re not ready to do. Just p-please take me back.”

  Tears were falling down her face. “Colin, I love you too. Never stopped. Can’t stop. I shouldn’t have doubted that you were nothing like those bums. I was shocked and hurt on so many levels it just bubbled up and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me? Can you still really love me after the way I hurt you?” Jewel hoped so.

  Colin kissed her like she was his air, and he was drowning. He lifted her up in his arms and spun her around. “Do you want your necklace back?”

  Jewel laughed, filled with so much joy tears fell down her face. “Yes! And I want you Colin…just you.”

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  PURGATORY REIGN, by LM Preston (Sample)

  Closer. Come closer. Peter’s large frame leaned on the door to the gym, the one thing he actually liked about the rundown, makeshift group home. He beat his fist against the wall and listened to the kid scream obscenities while searching for him.

  The bully was just who Peter wanted to see. Peter hungered to kick the bastard’s brick-head the last two days for roughing up a younger kid. He didn’t want the reason for the fight to be too obvious, or else Pastor Finnegan would lecture him about turning the other cheek and all. But Pastor Finnegan could save that forgiveness monologue for someone that needed it—Peter didn’t. He’d given up on turning the other cheek the day his life went to crap. Peter refused to call him by that long last name, and the Pastor usually let it slide—if he was in a decent mood. Even so, the old man was hard to shake once he got a sermon started. Being the only authority figure in Peter’s life for the last eight years, the old lunatic had grown on him.

  The burly dark-haired boy bellowed, “Peter! Where’s my money?”

  Peter’s jaw clenched. And he taunted Remmy with his middle finger pointed up. Then he flicked his chin with his fingers to egg the kid on further, knowing the bully would charge him. The big, dumb ones always did.

  Remmy’s face reddened and with balled fist he barreled toward Peter. Peter whirled and pushed Remmy’s head down to the floor. Remmy’s soft, bulky frame shook as his arms slid out and he grabbed for Peter’s calf. Breathing easy, a sneer on his face, Peter slid out of Remmy’s reach to kick him on the shoulder. Remmy’s upper body jerked back and he howled; his pale blue eyes filled with fury.

  Peter reached down, and snatched Remmy up by his collar with ease, then slammed him against the frame of the door. His elbow was firmly placed under the stocky bully’s chin, putting just enough pressure on his neck to strangle Remmy’s cough. “I’m the head dog here! You pull that move with another kid I’ll kick your teeth in without nothin’ to hold me back. The cash I took from you…consider it payment for me not wiping your sorry face across the floor.” Peter yanked back his fist, preparing to knock punk out cold.

  “Peter! You st
op that. Boy. I’m warning you.” Pastor Finn’s gruff command froze Peter’s fist in place.

  Peter’s eyes narrowed at Remmy’s cocky grin. Exhaling, Peter pulled his fist back further and landed a blinding blow to bully’s nose, knocking him out cold on the floor. Punching the maggot out was worth whatever punishment he’d face.

  Pastor Finn’s firm hand grabbed hold of Peter’s black curly mass of hair. “You’ve pushed me too far this time, boy! To the cellar, and clean it, that’s where you’re sleeping tonight.” He whipped Peter around to face him. “Your allowance for the week is cut off. Now git!”

  Peter stared at Pastor Finn’s tall, bulky chest. Looking the man in the face could cause him to get even a worse punishment. A serious beat down that only Pastor Finn could deliver. Who’d ever think a retired cop would want to become a pastor? The offbeat man of God could read him like the back of his hand. Today though, Peter wasn’t in the mood for it.

  He had to roll out. Get some air. He’d been in this dump for what seemed like forever, and was never allowed off the grounds. Some strict stupid rule Pastor Finn drilled into them. Peter had been sneaking out for as long as he could remember. And he was doing it again today. Beating the new bully up proved to be a great diversion for some fresh air.

  Peter nodded at the pastor and, with a spin, headed in the direction of the cellar.

  “Stay down there until after breakfast. Maybe hunger will make you remember the rules here.”

  Peter slowed his stride. “Right, Pastor Finn. I get the point.” With a grin sliding across his smooth chocolate face, he casually walked toward the cellar.

  He let out a sigh, thankful no one would follow him into the depths of the rundown parish. Peter figured if the place wasn’t on so much land to hide the raggedy dump, the state would’ve condemn it. He dragged his hands along the jagged cement block walls leading to the basement stairs. The old lunatic used the basement as storage for all kinds of explosives, weapons, and antiques. Peter belted out a chuckle as he remembered teasing Pastor Finn about being an undercover hoarder.

  Navigating his way around the stacked boxes, bins, and racks, Peter stopped just past the six-foot statue of one of the saints. He swore the old dude stole it from some real church for his rundown chapel on the other side of the huge basement—the one in which he forced all the kids he collected, or that were sent to him, to sit for two-hour sermons.

  For all the old man’s craziness, he was like a father to Peter—maybe even worse than a father when it came to being over protective. Pastor Finn was like a savior, parent and jailer all wrapped up into one mean package. Pastor Finn’s warnings didn’t spook him though, so with a shrug, Peter stretched.

  Taking a deep breath, Peter knelt on one knee, let out a growl and pulled on the metal ring of the thick wood door in the cement floor. The cellar was Peter’s secret treasure, and a way to steal some freedom. His heart beat furiously in his chest at the anticipation. He pushed the heavy door back. It landed with a slam and bump. Deftly, he swung his legs over and climbed down the ladder.

  The cellar was dark, damp, and quiet, just the way he liked it. A torn twin mattress was in the corner, his corner. He’d been the only kid to ever be sent to the cellar. Mainly, because he knew how to piss off Pastor Finn. Truth was, he got a kick out of seeing the man all keyed up. Did it on purpose really, as a test to see how far the preaching man would let it go before he’d pawn him off on someone else. But the old man never did, at least not for the time Peter had been at the orphanage.

  Peter kicked the mattress, and lay down until it was safe to roll out. Counting the minutes silently for a while, Peter hummed to the beat of a rap song he’d heard. The club he hung out at on his escape excursions was an outlet for the one thing that seemed to help him escape from his sucked up life—dancing.

  Minutes elapsed. It was lights out upstairs. Finally, it was time. He jumped off the bed, refreshed, and kicked it out of the way. The small, slightly rotted wooden door it covered was the key to his temporary taste of independence. He sat back and with two hard kicks, the door opened. Peter squeezed his thick, muscled frame through the space and shimmied out onto the flat cement pavement.

  Staring briefly into the clear starry night, he took the jagged, broken steps two at a time. The warm summer breeze teased his loose curls while he cleared the stairs. He ran quietly the quarter mile to the garage.

  “Damn!” he muttered. The light was on above the garage that held Pastor Finn’s babies. He really wanted to take a motorcycle tonight, but there was no way he could get one without being seen.

  He consumed a deep breath, and ran the two miles to the first city street that put him in the upper South West side of Washington, DC. As he broke through the wooded area just in front of the city block, he slowed his walk to a casual swagger. He slipped a hand in his jean pocket and grasped the forty dollars he’d lifted from Remmy. And chuckled. Remmy had beaten up and stolen money from at least four kids at the orphanage. Money they earned for doing chores that Pastor Finn doled out. Most of the kids were thankful for the bit of cash they could use for candy when Pastor Finn’s assistant went out to the store.

  The city was fairly tame that night. Although there were people walking past him to get to the various nightclubs that littered this part of the city, it wasn’t half as crowded it usually was on a Saturday night.

  He’d made it out three times this month—getting in trouble just came easy to him. The teen club that opened earlier that summer was his favorite spot. He liked to dance, but only planned to chill and listen to the music instead of mingling. Getting in through the back was always easy, and his only option since he didn’t have an ID. Although, Pastor Finn had taught him to drive every kind of vehicle he owned, for some reason the old fart wouldn’t let him get a license.

  Whatever. It wouldn’t stop him. The club was tucked between several tall office buildings. A small neon light proclaimed the name—JAM HOUSE. Kids mulled around waiting in line. Peter slowed his stride to watch for the security guard that went periodically to the back to make sure the alley stayed clear.

  “Petah! Petah…” A soft but insistent call closed in from a distance. Rapid steps tapped behind him.

  Peter groaned and shook his head when the tingling on the back of his neck started. Not her…not tonight. He should’ve never given her any money. For some reason, him being a sucker for a hungry, dirty, crazy fourteen-year-old girl gained him an unwanted pest. He’d been avoiding her for over two months. Unfortunately, this night she’d tracked him down. Probably wandered around, haunting the spots she knew he frequented.

  He hunched his shoulders and quickened his steps, glancing back angrily at the club he wouldn’t be able slip into now. The nutcase spoiled that for him. Peter stepped briskly, hoping the girl’s short legs wouldn’t allow her to keep up with him. She walked with a slight limp. The handicap was one of the things that kept her from following him in the past. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to find him on his nights out.

  Peter glanced back, and was surprised at how well she kept up. Her greasy, long, brown hair swung around her shoulders like a cape.

  “Petah! I see….you! You wait for me, Petah. My fri…end.” Her hand waved at him.

  He questioned how she’d survived on the streets for so long. “Kiss off. I don’t have no food for you today. Leave me the hell alone and go home!”

  Peter pivoted, looked across the street before he stepped off into a jog just as several cars were plowing down the street. He hoped the girl wouldn’t cross the street to catch up to him. The cars would deter her. He jetted in front of the first car in the cluster of speeding vehicles rushing to beat the yellow light. Someone honked, and cursed at him while they swerved around him. Peter didn’t look back. He wouldn’t look back at the girl’s pale, sad, and desperate face. Peter had problems, issues of his own. Taking on hers, was just not something he could do.

  As his foot touched the curb, he heard a blood-curdling scream.
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br />   “PETAH!!!!!!!!”

  A sickening thump made him jerk around. His face crinkled with fury. The car threw the sparse girl’s body upwards into the air, and sped off down the street. She bounced several times on the pavement. Peter ran and knelt beside her. Blood dribbled from her lip. And he felt like garbage, being the cause of her injury.

  She smiled at him. “Petah. I…knew you would come.” Her dazed eyes never left his face. “Take me home, Petah.”

  He shook his head and searched around. Surprised the street was now deserted. Tendrils of guilt filled his chest. Another one…my damn fault. My fault. He slid his arms under her frail form and picked her up. Her broken body was light in his strong hands. Peter expelled a cough, choking on his shame.

  “Where’s your home? Your family?” His eyes watered and he blinked to keep himself in check.

  “No family. Dead,” she sang. “All dead. But Petah…my friend.” Her hand lifted and she caressed his cheek.

  He searched around briefly and hurried across the street. It didn’t take long to spot a deserted, boarded up house. There were many that littered this side street of the city.

  “Please don’t let there be no meth addicts in here,” Peter mumbled, and kicked at the window on the side away from the alley.

  The girl groaned and then released a broken giggle.

  Peter shook his head. “Only somebody crazy would laugh right now.”

  “Crazy? My name’s Hanna…n-not crazy.” She snuggled her head against his chest.

  Peter bent slightly and squeezed them through the broken window, careful not to cut Hanna or himself. He laid her on the dusty wood floor and took a quick glance around to make sure they were alone.

  “Why did you do that? Follow me?” Peter demanded. He ran his hand down her twisted arm and dirty blouse to check for injures. His eyes closed when he realized that pieces of bones stuck out at odd angles from her arm. Not to mention, her leg was a tortured mess of bones twisted with meaty red pieces of her bleeding flesh.