Lies Beneath the Surface (Buried Secrets #2) (3 page)

Not only is my heart wracked with the fear of losing Colton, but it is also trembling to the fear of holding on to him. Everything is changing so quickly, and although I stood by and watched it happen, it seems as if it’s hitting me like a ton of bricks. I swear to God, I’ve had to have had my head stuck up my own ass over the last six months to not see all of this happening right before my very eyes. But perhaps, I was just too love struck and blind to see it.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Colton with all that I have, but I
simply don’t know how to move on with him. He’s already a daddy. Me, I lost my baby, well, our baby. And now, I could possibly be carrying the one tiny heart that will anchor our love together for an eternity. I want that love, that eternity with Colton like I want, no
need
my next breath.

I was stupid
for pushing him away for so long, but fear controls my every move where he is concerned. It’s hard to uncage my heart, setting it free for his rough, calloused hands to hold. But, had I been smart enough to have done so to begin with, I wouldn’t have this incessant doubt gnawing at me from the inside.

“
What the hell
?” I heard Colton say, through the chest wracking sobs that paralyzed me in his arms. I thought in that moment he would be mad, upset that I was pregnant. But no…he was just floored. After the initial wave of shock washed over him, you could see the excitement beam from his chocolate brown eyes. Damn, I hope I don’t shatter his world. After all of the heartache and torment we both have been through, this man still clings onto the tattered, raveled threads of what we once were. He has faith that we will be, once again, whole. My God, his strength to hang on to something that feels so farfetched makes me love him even more.

After Colton leaves for work, and I’ve wallowed long enough in my se
lf-loathing, I take a hot shower to ease the tension and stress. I’m still weak, tired and frazzled, but I guess this is just the beginning of it all. Morning sickness ain’t for the faint of heart, that’s for damn sure. I vomited enough yesterday that you’d think I’d be ready to devour a cow from the emptiness of my stomach. But hell no…don’t even mention food, water, sweet tea, peanut butter fudge cheesecake. Don’t mention any of it, ever again, until further notice!

After the tension loosens between my shoulders and the water runs cold, I step out of the shower to towel off and get dressed.
Taking a long deep breath, I try to determine whether I should tackle this pregnancy head first, all alone or should I call on Savannah. Hell, I don’t know of any OB/GYN’s in this area. I don’t even know what the hell an OB/GYN goes poking around for, and I sure as hell don’t wanna find out. But, apparently that’s the only damn mad scientist who can get this kid out of me when the time comes. So if I must, I must. Yes, you sense sarcasm, but that’s only because when in fear, I spread a poker face over the frown and cover up the insecurities and doubt. Otherwise, I may falter, I may crack, and I may simply just lose my damned mind.

Picking up the phone, I dial Savannah’s number, and wait for her chipper tone to greet me on the other end. Hell, I know she’s the best choice at aid right now. She’s been there, done that, got a double whammy and a frickin’ tee shirt.
When she doesn’t answer her house phone, I try her cell phone instead…it rings endlessly, so I leave her a voicemail then send a text message. Where the hell could she be? It’s just after eight AM.

After searching for a doctor in the area on Google
I still haven’t found the confidence to call for an appointment. I simply don’t see the safety of selecting a random doctor from the internet. Hell, I’m having a baby. Not any damn
Tom, Dick, or Harry
needs to be poking around my friggin’ lady bits and precious cargo for the next eight to nine months, ya know.

It’s been an hour since I called Savannah, so I try to reach her again. Maybe she wil
l sense the urgency this time and answer the frickin’ phone. Finally, on the fifth ring she answers, her voice small and mousy. “Hello?” She whispers into the receiver.

“Thank God you answered the damn phone. I’m in a pickle, and I need my big Sis like yes
terday. Get your ass in the car, and get over here now.”

“Carly, what the hell is goin’ on?” She whispers again, but this time her voice is filled with annoyance.

“Why the hell are you whisperin’? Are you sick?”

“Carly, now is just not a good time.
Braden is sick, I’ll try to call you tomorrow.”

“Savannah,
you can’t leave me hangin’ like this. I’m seriously in desperate need right now.”

“Damn it Carly, when are you gonna realize
that everything ain’t about you? I gotta…” her voice trails off, and I’m met with a dull beep. Well screw you sideways too. Wonder what the hell is up with her?

I toss the phone on the table and fall back on the couch, trying to decide what to do now. Savannah was acting really strange. I d
on’t think she’s been that hateful with me since we were kids. Deciding she’s probably been blessed with a visit from Aunt Flo
damn lucky bitch
, I brush off my frustration and turn back to Google to search out a doctor. I find a female OB/GYN at the local Medical Center and call for an appointment. NICE…two frickin’ weeks before they can see me. TWO WEEKS! How the hell am I gonna be able to control these scattered emotions for the next two weeks? Should I talk to Luke now? Do I tell Colton about Luke? Ah damn! I am so screwed.

When the roiling emotions are too
thick to break away from me, I decide to spend the rest of the day curled up with my kindle. Colton did say that I need to rest, so why not take it all for what it’s worth.

I
grab a fluffy throw from the trunk under the window and settle on the couch, pulling the cover up high on my neck. I scroll through my Kindle before settling on
Life’s A Cappella
by Yessi Smith. Within minutes, the Kindle slaps my face, startling me from my sudden pull of sleep. Laying the Kindle on the coffee table, I roll over facing the thick cushion, and allow sleep to carry me off to dream. And it does. Except the dream quickly turns into a nightmare.

Perfection.

per•fec•tion noun \
pə
r
-ˈ
fek-s
hə
n\

: something that cannot be improved : something that is perfect

In Joshua Blake Moore’s eyes, his picture should be notated beside this word in the dictionary, so everyone in the world would have a clear idea of what PERFECTION looks like.

The man does NO wrong. Behind every act, there is a reason.
Whether I understand it or not should NEVER be questioned. I am just to trust in his good word because he is perfect and does no wrong. He has the right answer to everything. In fact, I am certain he has the cure for cancer and world hunger, stowed away for safe keeping. But he is too big of a pompous, sinister ass to want to shed any rays of sunshine or happiness to anyone, aside from himself. Perfect, that is Josh. Down to every perfectly combed hair on his head, and the neatly pressed Dockers that I iron each morning at five AM. The man knows no limits at perfecting his own perfection.

But you can guarantee, the one royal screw up in his perfection is me. I’m never enough. Never smart enough, never fast enough, never pretty enough. The house is never clean to his liking, the meals that I la
bor over a hot stove for hours always taste like shit. The paint color in the master bath is too bland for his taste. If traffic on the parkway is held up, in one way or another it will be my fault. Don’t ask me how, Josh has the answer to everything. He’ll tell you how.

It ain’t
for the sake of trying on my part, that’s for sure. I’ve always tried my damnedest to make Josh happy, and to be a good wife. But I’m simply never enough.

When
we got married, we said our vows promising to love each other in sickness or in health, for better or worse. For a short while, there was the better. And when I say short, I mean
short
. Once Josh had his talons in me, his ring on my finger, and his children in my womb he changed for the worse. He ripped away the mask he hid behind, and revealed the malicious, sinister man that I fear each day. But he still wears that mask for the world to see. Only I see the monster beneath it. And he wears that mask so well, that even if I did try to warn others, try to escape from his venomous clutch, I’m sure I’d be deemed insane. Yes, he has that many people fooled.

I wake at five AM
each morning to get Josh ready for work. My day starts with brewing his coffee, scrambling eggs, and frying bacon-swingy. Not crispy. I learned that the hard way, when the back of his hand met the side of my face the first time I burned the bacon.

The twins were just three weeks old, and I’d been awake all night with Brailee. She suffered terribly with colic. While c
ooking, she commenced to crying so naturally I picked her up to soothe her, and I forgot about the bacon frying. He wasn’t understanding to the fact that our daughter’s needs came first. He was just worried about the texture of his favorite breakfast meat.

After seeing the first set of purple bruises on my
puffy face, he was remorseful and promised it would never happen again. And me being the naïve woman that I am believed him. I should have escaped then, took my children and ran as far away from his clutches as I could. Wish I would have saw his ugly exterior then before it was too late.

His next assault happened the night I met his old college roommate, who is now his boss. He had given me direct orders for the evening, from the dinner menu all the way down to the linens on the table. I spent the day cooking, cleaning and running errands,
hoping to impress his boss. The evening went off with a hitch. After his boss left and the kitchen was cleaned, Josh removed his mask, unveiling the pure evil that terrifies me in my dreams even to this day.

Apparently, I had bought the wrong bourbon, and Josh wasn’t too pleased with my mist
ake. That night, he took a belt and welted my skin, from the top of my neck to the back of my ankles. I learned my lesson that night and walked a fine line ever since. But it’s still never enough.

He tried to hide his beatings, hitting me where it was easiest to cover it up, but as the abuse progresses through time, through the anger that he has bottled for weeks of not slapping me around; those are the ones that earn me heavy makeup and sun glasses, even when the clouds have cast over the sun.

The simplest things set him off on his abusive rampages. From lint on the carpet, to the radio in the car being turned to a station he doesn’t like. It doesn’t take much. He never hits me in front of the kids; he wears that perfect mask I was telling you about. But I know that look, when I’ve upset him, and I know when to expect the brunt of his abuse. It will build up for days, sometimes weeks even before he goes into a drunken stupor, and then takes it all out on me.

Today, just so happened to be one of those days. Braden has been home sick with the flu for three days now, so naturally everyday house work has been neglecte
d. When Josh came in last night reeking of Jim Beam and stumbling through the glass coffee table, I knew today would be the day that I would endure his steel hand. I even stayed awake all night, scrubbing puke stains from the carpets on my hands and knees so I wouldn’t wake him with the carpet shampooer. By five AM when his alarm went off but he didn’t get out of bed, I knew we were in for a sparring match. Only it’s always in the cards for me to be the underdog.

I drove Brail
ee to school and hurried home to begin cleaning house. Braden was sleeping soundly when I left, and since Josh was home, I thought nothing of waking him up. I just let him sleep. When I walked into the house, Braden was on the couch crying. He had thrown up all over his bed again. I took him to the bathroom and ran him a luke warm bath to chill his fever and wash away the vomit. After he was settled in the tub, I went into his bedroom to strip the bed linens and scrub the mattress. Except Josh had already beat me to it.

“I’m sorry he woke you. He was sleeping so well finally, I didn’t see any need in waking him up just to ride with me to take Brailee to school.” I whisper behind him as he scrubs aggressively against the mattress. “Here, let me finish this u
p; go on back to bed and rest.” I tell him, laying my hand upon his shoulder. He flinches, jerking away from my touch. As he continues to scrub, I decide if he doesn’t want to stop cleaning the bed, fine. I’ll just join him. I go to the hall closet to get the mini shampooer. 

As I kneel down to begin scrubbing away the puke ridden stain, he back hands me with the scrub brush
gripped tight in his fist. My head whips into the bed post, leaving me dazed and seeing stars. I fall back against the floor, but react quickly jumping up to my feet. If I give him one inch of weakness, he’ll take a mile of me. I hide the tears, forcing them to stay deep behind my eyes. He hates to see weakness. And when he sees weakness he only feeds off of it.

I step back into the corner
and take a deep breath, trying my hardest not to make eye contact with him. Just ignore the elephant in the room and it will disappear shortly, right? He looks up at me shaking his head, then continues to scrub the mattress. He knows that I won’t leave him to his task, only because I know that will anger him more. Kneeling beside the bed again, I grab the hose of the shampooer and continue to scrub. Josh’s right hand slams into my face again, with the brush wound tightly in his fist. He reaches over and rips the shampooer cord from the wall, then continues to scrub with the brush.

“Fine. Have it your way. I’ll go check on Braden.” I say
, gently shielding my face with my hand as I step out of the room. The phone rings several times, but I ignore the caller to tend to Braden. I bathe him quickly then dress him in some pajamas, and send him downstairs to the family room to rest on the couch. At least down there, he won’t hear the sounds of his daddy’s hands battering my face. I can only use the same excuse with the kids for so long before they start to get curious. For now, they just think that Momma is very clumsy.

I toss the soiled bed linens into the washer, and ma
ke my way back to Braden’s room. The phone rings again, and I race into the office to grab the cordless. I answer the phone in a hushed tone. It’s Carly. She’s rushing her words; excited, scared, nervous. I’m not sure but I can’t concentrate on her problems when I have plenty of my own. Before I can tell her goodbye, the phone gets ripped from my hand and slung down to the floor. Josh encases my throat with his steel, corded hand, bracing me up against the wall, shattering family photos to the floor. “You stupid, pathetic bitch. You utterly disgust me,” he sneers, crashing his fist into the left side of my head. A black void clouds my vision, and silence falls upon me.

An hour later
I wake up in my bed. Raising up the room spins around me, causing stars to filter my vision. The music playing sends booming echoes through my ears, stirring a nasty migraine. I brace my hands on both sides of my head and wince from the sudden movement of my arms. My back is tight and sore, and with each breath I take my lungs scream in protest.

“When will you ever learn?” I hear Josh ask. I turn slowl
y, looking through the darkness to find him sitting in the corner. He presses pause on the iPod, and the disturbing words of
Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
that I’m so accustomed to during his abusive rampages, silences.

“I’m sorry.” I manage a raspy whisper. He walks to the side of the bed, reaching me a glass of water and a Lortab. I swallow the pill back, then lay back down on the bed. “Sleep,” he orders, and I pinch my eyes closed. I hear the door pull shut behind him, and only then I am able to release the pent up breath I have wedged in my chest. The sheer terror that Josh sends coursing through my veins, repulses me. How one person can
be lovingly tender one day, to flipping like a light switch to a sadist the very next, is beyond me. It is the scariest transformation I have ever witnessed.