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Didi Oviatt

Author of suspense novels Search For Maylee, Aggravated Momentum, The Stix, and New Age Lamians. As well as the short story collection Time Wasters and (co-author of) The Suspenseful Collection. Columnist for The Conscious Talk Magazine.

Now Accepting Guest Posts #submissions #welcome

I’m so excited to be accepting guest posts! My door is officially open. If you’re a writer who has anything helpful to share about your personal journey and/or career, be it encouragement or even writing tips and tricks, then please… be my guest!

I’m also a big fan of general inspiration!  If your story tugs at my heart strings and contains a message that can be helpful and inspiring to the readers of this blog, then please allow me to share it!

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Submit your post pitch as well as a short sample to my  CONTACT page.  

All guest posts that are selected and featured are encouraged to contain purchase links and promos to personal works at the bottom of posts!!! Once live, each post will be neatly organized and linked in on the main ‘Guest Post’ page, as well as findable in the drop down below it.

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Featured post

Excerpt: Search For Maylee #coldcase

Their eyes locked and for one brief moment they were the only two people in the world. Josie, Craig, Jeremy, and even Maylee faded into mere background.  The sharp gray shards of color in his eyes pierced through her, and she drank in their naked vulnerability. There was a sense of surrender in the upward pull of his brows. It was a look she was yet to see plastered on his handsome face, a look that melted her insides.

As she welcomed him in, the sexy familiar scent of him threatened to consume her. It smelled like spruce bark and ocean, and it followed him into her apartment, her heart, her future. They had opened up to each other in a way that there was no turning back from. Even if it had only been by phone. No matter what he had to say, there was sure to be a way around it. Autumn was confident of that.

Their greeting was somewhat awkward. Chance didn’t know whether to fall to her knees in apology, or to scoop her into his arms for the embrace he’d been pondering about for weeks. He opted for neither and took a seat.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this. I wish I could have came on different terms.” He openly admitted with a hint of surrender bleeding through.

“It’s fine,” Autumn lied.

She tried her best not to look back toward her bedroom as it contained an overwhelming secret of her own. Lingering post-vomit body chills shot up her spine, and her stomach continued to spin. She took a seat next to him, close enough for their legs to brush. The heat of his body left an impression on every part of her that was close enough to feel it. The fluttering in her chest turned rapid as he gently placed his hand on her exposed knee. Tight lengthy yoga shorts were definitely a good choice, she thought.

Chance leaned in toward her, ready to spill the beans on his entire operation. But, as soon as he opened his mouth to speak he realized the lightened shade of her skin, the warmth of her leg under his wanting palm, and the cloudy haze that was covering the whites of her eyes.

“Oh my God, Autumn. Are you okay?”

She had to clear the lump from her throat before words could push through. The only thing she could see in his devilish eyes was concern, and all that she wanted to do was bury herself in his arms. She toyed with the possibility of crawling onto his lap and allowing the smell and comfort of him to engulf her while she cried like a baby.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, containing her ridiculous urges.

Autumn wrapped an arm around her stomach. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Looking at those photos triggered something in her guts, and the two rounds of vomit she’d experienced might not have been enough. There was no question about it, she was most definitely sick.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He asked.

Instinctively Chance reached a hand up to feel the burning heat of her forehead.

Amazon Description:

Since Maylee was abducted from her high school the very month of graduation, her Aunt Autumn has never lost hope in finding her. It’s been three years. Autumn has finally reached inside herself and found the courage to track down an old lead. She moves across the country to find him. Will Autumn be able to pry Maylee’s case back open? More importantly, what will Autumn uncover in the process of searching for Maylee? It’s a cold dark world we live in, and she is about to find out just how cruel it can be. Strength and determination are on Autumn’s side and she will do what ever it takes.

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American Donut Choices – Guest Post, by Mike Lukas

I’d like to welcome Mike Lukas to the blog today! I’ve had quite a few submissions for guest posts since I opened my doors, and it’s so EXCITING! I intend on posting one guest post a week(ish) so please feel free to keep the Submissions a-comin’. 

Mike, it’s a pleasure to have you here today. This super foodie Donut post is so much fun! I have to say, I ran straight to my local Crispy Cream as soon as I read it!  Enjoy bloggers, as I’m sure you’ll do the same! 🙂   Welcome Mike!

Which donut do you think of when you hear that word?

Yeast-raised or cake?  Ring or rectangle?  Glazed or chocolate-iced?  Sprinkles or chopped nuts?  Jelly-filled covered in powdered sugar or a cinnamon flavored twisty-braid?  Maybe you picture a white paper bag full of warm donut holes or a cardboard box of coconut-dusted flattened spheres.

So many donut-related choices.

And what about the pressure of ordering an entire dozen?  Ever buy donuts before work or school?  There’s always a line, and when it’s your turn, you best know which exact dozen you want.  And how to subtract.

“May I help you?”

“Let’s start with two chocolate crullers and two glazed.  How many more?”

“You have eight more.”

“One of the pink-frosted cake and two of the Boston Éclairs.  How many more?”

“Five more.”

“Are you sure?”

Come on, man, don’t question the donut lady’s math.  She’s been up since 4:00 a.m. making eighty-nine different varieties of fried dough for you.  She subtracts from twelve for a living, pal, you gotta trust her numbers or we’ll be here all morning.

Who sells the best donuts?

Dunkin’ Donuts, Tim Hortons, local Mom and Pop?  Where I live, there are about four different donut shops, and each one has their own way of making them.   Some are crispier, some are doughier, and one place has icing that melts too easily.  When I lived in Los Angeles, everybody ate Krispy Kreme donuts.  They’re like warm, doughy crack, and I’ve watched grown men and women eat their entire dozen in the parking lot before they even pull away.

Hey, no judgment here.

My guy is the yeast-raised, chocolate-iced ring.  It’s a classic that’s available at most locations.  The best version of it I’ve had is from Biagio’s Donuts on the east side of Cleveland.  Warm, doughy, tasty firm icing, always fresh.  My family of six grew up eating two Biagio’s donuts apiece after Sunday mass.  It’s the first place I take my mom when I visit.

Buying donuts for others makes you a hero.

Show up anywhere with a dozen donuts – your office, a meeting, any gathering of friends – and you own the moment.  You’re the boss while they last.  Just show up and utter the sweet, magical words of the donut bringer:

“Help yourselves, everybody.”

There’s always a mad dash to be the first one in the box.  First choice is golden. You get to pick the best of the bunch, but it’s not necessarily easy to do.  With the way they pack them all in sideways, it’s hard to tell which is what.

Unless you’re a pro.

If it’s not your first donut rodeo, you only need a second to terminator-scan and recognize what’s in the box.  My eyes can spot my yeast-raised, chocolate-iced ring in a box of sideways strangers as quickly as I can find my wife in a roomful of women.

I know what I like when I see it.

My problem is when someone else bought the donuts but didn’t include my favorite.  Now I’m forced to consider second- and third-tier choices.  Yeast-raised glazed is an acceptable alternative to my chocolate-iced guy, but after that the choices start thinning out.  Jelly-filled?  Too messy for me.  Maple icing?  Too flavor-specific.  Frosted and sprinkled cake donuts?   Why would you even buy those?

Unless it’s the last donut.

Then I feel lucky just to be involved.  Whatever is left, as long as it hasn’t been poked or fingered, is at least a donut.  And as it’s true for sex and tacos, any type of donut is better than no donut at all.

Today is donut Friday in the Lukas household.

If our kids wake up and get to school on time all week, they are rewarded with a donut when they get home on Friday.  It’s what they look forward to and what motivates them to start their days.  If I don’t get the donuts before noon, though, I’ve discovered that our favorite shops close down by then.  I’ve bought grocery store donuts when that’s happened, but I might as well have brought home frosted Brussels sprouts the way my kids one-bit our bakery section’s finest.

So many donut-related choices in America.

We must be doing something right.

  • Mike Lukas

About Mike Lukas

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Mike Lukas is an American humanist writer of somewhat humorous or dark short stories, political and silly op-eds, and children’s fiction whose goal is to use words to engage, amuse, and affect a lot of minds in a positive way.

He was a moderately successful touring stand-up comic and Second City Improviser for 24 years with multiple national television, radio, and festival appearances who decided raising his two children was more important than travelling the world to make strangers laugh.

Now Mike wakes up every day at 4:00 a.m. and writes until noon, feeds his dog and three cats, reads whatever book he’s reading, takes a nap, grabs the kids from school, feeds them a snack, does homework, makes dinner, washes dishes, then goes to bed.

Life is good.

Mike lives in Dallas, TX in the home his (hard working yet beautiful) wife Gretchen grew up in, and they have two young children together.

CONNECT WITH MIKE HERE:

https://mikelukas.blog/

https://twitter.com/MikeLukas4

https://www.facebook.com/Mike.Lukas4

https://www.linkedin.com/in/mike-lukas-writer/

Thanks for being a part of my Blog today Mike!  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another hankering for something round and perfectly glazed! YUMMM!

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Binge Everything… Even Writing

I don’t know about you, but I’m one of those freak shows who do things by binge. Like, practically everything.  I even saw a card reader once who told me that I might as well have a neon sign over my head that says Compulsive. I get obsessed over one thing or another for days, weeks, or sometimes even months depending on what exactly I’ve thrown myself into… because at least I follow through! (for the most part lol)

When it comes to shopping, this is how I roll — I find something that I love and I buy it in bulk or subscribe for months, and I over do it each order so that I can ‘stock up’.  When I get on a shopping kick, I really shop. I’ll even rack up a little bit of credit card debt if I’m in a real big shopping binge because some things a girl’s just gotta have!

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I also binge with food, in every way possible.  Binge cook, binge eat, binge diet… You name it, and as long as it has anything to do with food then surely I’ve binged it.

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And because food bingeing obviously requires a follow up of binge exercising, I do that too! Clearly they go hand in hand. This is usually what my foodie loop consists of — Binge eating sugar and overloaded carb foods for a few months till I rack up a dozen extra pounds which is stored solely in my muffin top and neck roll. Literally… and no where else. We don’t even need to get into my rapidly growing fear of developing a neck waddle as I age. It’ll be straight to the lifestyle lift for me, I’m sure of it!

Next (once my neck is too round to bare) I’ll Binge on the fruit and vegies for a week or two, do a 5-7 day cleanse, pick a diet to keep me in line for a few weeks/months, and then I’ll hone in on an exercise program that almost kills me right out the gate so that I can binge on that too. This happens at least once a year, sometimes more.

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I binge clean. I’m a pretty cleanly gal in general. I keep a tidy home, and have great hygiene. I don’t like to feel dirty or germy at all, it drives me nuts. But notice I just only said tidy, as in I’m a surface cleaner. I keep everything picked up and dusted off that I can see, and nothing else. I keep my bathrooms clean, and my dishes done, but I if it’s something that I can’t see then I only clean it on a binge. This actually says a lot because I’m only 5 foot 2 inches tall, there really is a lot that I DONT see.

So, about twice a year when I’ve had to stand on a chair to reach a random item of sorts and I’ve notice something so completely filthy *like the top of my fridge for example* then I can’t help but to get carried away cleaning for at least a week, usually two. Once I start pulling crap out of cupboards and drawers to clean underneath it all, I wind up de-junking, organizing, and douching my entire house with bleach one room at a time consecutively until I’m completely satisfied. Sometimes I’ll even go a step further and paint, just to have that real fresh feeling out of the deal, because if I’m going to deep clean, then by hell I’m going to do it right!

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I binge watch Netflix about once a year. I find a series that I quickly addict myself too and you can’t peal my ass off the couch if you tried. I once watched every single season of Sons Of Anarchy in a five week span, then I jumped right into Breaking Bad way to fast afterward. Needless to say, I pretty much kissed a few short months of my life goodbye. We ate a lot of fast food, and I skipped showers far more than I’d like to admit. My husband was a cranky guy, and I didn’t even care because I was really into my shows.

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Then there is drinking. AWWWW drinking!  First off, don’t get the wrong impression. I can have a few beers here and there and it’s totally fine. I don’t freak out unless I allow myself to indulge in whiskey. Then it’s HELLOOO binge night! Shit gets out of hand.  I try and limit myself to special occasions for whiskey. Wine is awesome in moderation, clear liquor isn’t for me, BUT whiskey is my vice. I love it, and that’s a bad thing. I become invincible in my own mind and I don’t know when to stop!

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Last but not least, I BINGE WRITE!

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In some ways binge writing Is the best! My sister in law once asked me how I’m able to fit it all in, and how I manage a novel a year. “It takes normal people years, I think,” she said. I remember her exact words because really neither of us had a clue on ‘normal people’ nor on how long the average novel writing time was, so it was funny when she said it exactly like that anyway. I also remember telling her that it’s because I get sucked in and become a raving type-a-holic lunatic until I’m finished.

It’s good and bad actually, to be a binge writer. A good writing binge is extremely productive, especially if it lasts a couple months straight. I always feel so accomplished after! It isn’t all cherries though because I get weird when I’m writing certain characters and certain scenes. I get pulled into my characters moods and circumstance to the point that my poor husband has to pick up my pieces. First he’ll point out that I’m, “being weird, and why am I so off?” Then he has to do a bit more cooking and picking up after the kidos than usual which makes him cranky too. Eventually he talks me into a break so that I can get my own personality back and stop driving him up the walls.

Burying myself in my writing is always a bitter sweet time for me. I turn recluse, and am perfectly content not to see or talk to anyone for weeks at a time. It’s kind of like a reset button for my head, I get to let my imagination run ramped and escape reality. Whether I get weird or not, I’m still able to pull myself out of it eventually, and what there is to show for the ‘time out of real life’ is entirely worth it! The more I put myself out there and the more people who actually read my stuff, makes me want to binge more often!

Currently I’m getting ready to dive into book two of New Age Lamian trilogy, and I’m soooo ready! Wish me luck friends, I think this could be my best binge yet!

Weekly Inspiration Roundup Vol. 22

Excellent Roundup this week over at When Women Inspire!

When Women Inspire

Welcome to the show weekend! I’m so excited to be going to see a Christmas play and also to get in some spiritual time. How will you spend your weekend? As always, I bring you the weekly inspiration roundup. This edition covers a range of topics, from self-love to a message about going from bystander to upstander to stop violence against women. Read on for more of what the blogging community has written this week:

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White Water Black Death, by Shaun Ebelthite #booktour #review @shanannigans81

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Author: Shaun Ebelthite

Release Date: Septemer 2017

Genre: Thriller/ Suspense

“A cruise ship is the perfect target for a biological attack”. These are the chilling words emailed to the Seaborne Symphony in the mid-Atlantic.

Magazine editor Geneva Jones has been sent on the trans-Atlantic cruise to help secure a major advertising agreement from the CEO of the cruise line Rachel Atkinson, but her efforts to win her over are curtailed by a mysterious crew death. Geneva suspects foul play. Rachel insists its suicide. A former investigative journalist, Geneva can’t resist digging deeper, but what she finds is far more devastating. There’s an Ebola outbreak on the ship, everyone is trapped aboard and Rachel is trying to keep it secret.

Geneva knows enough about Ebola to be terrified, but she’s also onto the biggest story of her career. As panic surges through the ship, she becomes fixated on a single question. How was the virus brought aboard? The answer is worse than she could have imagined, and the greatest exposé she’ll ever get, if she can only prove it.

Add to  Goodreads

Available to Purchase on Amazon

About the Author

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Shaun Ebelthite was born in Namibia, raised in South Africa and educated in Dubai in the Middle East where he is a maritime and cruise journalist. He has been covering all aspects of ocean transport for more than five years and runs the Middle East’s foremost online cruise magazine. He has had two children’s books published, and is now branching out into a new genre with his first thriller.

Cruise Arabia

Amazon

MY REVIEW:

I’d like to thank the Author as well as R&R Book Tours for the free copy of this book that I received in exchange for an honest review.

There’s a lot going on with White Water Black Death by Shaun Ebelthite. Lots of characters, lots of complexities. It’s very fast paced, which I thought was awesome given the setting and tone. A few of the scenes were extremely unexpected, so the shock factor is really what kept me turning the pages rather than character attachment. I didn’t feel very emotionally invested with the people in the book, especially for the first half (maybe a little less… like a third.).

At first I couldn’t quite pinpoint my attachment struggle because it really is well written, yet I had to go back and re-read several pages a few times in order to draw a clear mental picture of what was really going on and with who. I feel like there are too many characters, and they’re a little underdevelopment out the gate, so it takes a while to get them all straight. I was a little confused. Luckily it turns around and the story really picks up once the characters are mentally cleared. It winds up being an excellent and very intense thrill ride!

That said, there are a couple distinct qualities about this book that I really loved.

First thing’s first, the plot is so unique. If you’re going to write a book about a deadly virus then what better place to put it than an inescapable cruise liner in the middle of dicey seas! What a setting! After reading it you can bet your ass I won’t be caught dead booking myself a cruise vacation anytime soon… if ever!

Secondly, the secrecy was very intricately laced and it really brought the story together. From the beginning to end it felt like every single character has something to hide. I found myself questioning everyone and looking for a motive and/or conspiracy behind everything, which was great. Also the secrecy between the Captain’s staff and the guests. The lies they tell left and right in order to keep everything under wraps and avoid a panic is so gut wrenching and eye opening, its almost surreal to think about something like this really happening. I’m willing to bet that if this book ever becomes a bestseller then there would easily be a very noticeable dent in the amount of cruise ship vacationers.

Lastly, there is so much more to the depth of the plot than just the sickness and it gives the entire story that much more umph. Geneva the reporter on board, is a really sneaky snoop — as any great reporter should be. She is relentless and utterly determined to get to the bottom of the secrets amongst the crew members and staff.

Ultimately I enjoyed the read, and am glad I picked it to review. 3.75 rating

For your chance to win 1 of 3 digital copies of “White Water, Black Death” click here!

Blog Tour Organized By: 

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R&R Book Tours

 

Do You Christmas Craft?

We’re on the third year of the very first tradition I ever started all by myself with my own little family. It’s so exciting!  I’m not an extremely crafty person, but I’m trying and I love to see the twinkle in my kids eyes when we’re working on projects together. I help them with silly little paper learning crafts often, and I turn them loose with paint on a regular basis… washable of course.

It’s actually a nice constructive way to keep them busy so I can get my own things done once in a while without shoving them in the corner in front of a television or a tablet! (or listening to them fight over toys because they’re 5 and 3 and they’re “SOOO bored”) In fact, my kitchen table isn’t an eating place at all, it’s usually a paint station that gets hosed down with bleach every few days to start fresh. I put up pages of shapes, letters, and numbers for them to paint or to try and draw fresh on their own. I get stacks of those cheep little wood things to paint and glue crap on. And, we have piles and piles of pet rocks at my house.

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But back to my point… our yearly Christmas crafts are different! Much different!!!

They’re special. They don’t get played with after (no mater now cheesy they wind up looking), and they’re saved to use as decor next year. I have two kids, and each year I do some sort of seasonal decoration that we can put their hand prints, names, and the year on! I’m sure as they get into their teen years they’ll whine about it and not want to do such silly things anymore. But, I’m okay with that because I fully intend on being that super annoying mom who makes them buck up and do it anyway. The plan is to have a dated hand print Christmas craft for every single year of their lives to surround myself with when they’re completely grown and moved out. Even when I’m old and senile, I’ll have boxes and boxes of trapped time and growth that I can indulge in at Christmas time while I swing my cane around and swear at people who piss me off.

Here is last years craft sitting on my kitchen counter right now next to a family photo (dripping paint smudges and all!):

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This year my husband and I have really outdone ourselves. On one hand our crafts are going to be beautiful, yet on the other hand I feel like we’re setting the bar too high for the years to come. I can just see myself trying to outdo the craft the year before every year until eventually we’ll have a house sized choo-choo train covered in life sized portraits to commemorate the years of crafting lol. The perks of someone who gets carried away and over does things often!

I can’t tell you exactly what our craft is this year because we’re making almost a dozen of them and giving them to a bunch of family. My mom is my biggest fan, and reads all of my blog posts so I don’t want to give away the surprise. *hi mom*  For now, lets just say the kids hand prints turn out very adorable!  You see, my husband works with metal. I don’t think I’ve ever shared that here before, so there’s a little insight into our personal lives. He’s been a welder since he was a teen as he grew up on a small farm, and now he supervises the machine floor in a shop he’s been employed at for about nine years or so. They make buildings, electrical stations, gas pipe, mining stuff, and a lot more really big things.

They have this gigantic laxer cutting machine that can cut practically anything out of what ever type of metal you want. So this year he’s been given an assignment by the naggy wife, and luckily he pulled through. I can’t wait until they’re finished! The Christmas spirit is strong at our house this year, and I love it!

So lets hear it..  Do you all Craft for Christmas? What are your traditions?

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Prologue: Aggravated Momentum (18+ reading)

My hands are as far above my head as they can reach, my back intensely arched, and my calf muscles tighten, extending to the footboard. My pumpkin orange painted toes point as they join the stretch. The sun beams through a tight crevice in the drapes, challenging my eyes to regain vision. I squint and strain to open them. Its late afternoon, and I’ve been sleeping for four hours. Sadly, it’s the most uninterrupted sleep my taxing life has allowed in over a week.
The sensation of piercing eyes causes the hair to raise on my forearms. After I finish rubbing the sleep from my face, I glance around intently. No one is here. Weird. I swear I could feel someone’s presence. It must be my nerves. My thick down comforter drops from my shoulders as I sit up for another stretch. It isn’t usually this hot in my room, so I’m glad I was able to sleep through my sweat. My body is clammy. The tank top and shorts that cling to my skin are damp and wrinkled.
I’m supposed to meet Markie for a girl’s night in an hour. I better hurry. I told that weird friend of hers from work that I wasn’t going to make it, but changed my mind after debating all week. The decision is made: I’m going. Markie is one of my closest friends, but she’s changed since Beth died. She’s distanced herself. Now, with everything else going on around her, I’m afraid.
As the water heats, steam fills my shower and escapes through the bathroom door that I usually leave open. I like stepping out of the shower feeling clean and refreshed, not muggy and overheated. I think about Markie’s situation as I rub an oversized purple loofah across my skin. A deliciously scented lather forms on my protruding ribs and bony hips. The stress of all these deaths has taken a serious toll on my appetite. My body is shrinking, I’m beginning to look sickly.
I wonder how I’m supposed to tell Markie that I’ve been sleeping with the one acquaintance that’s off limits. I guess I can’t. Not now anyway, it will have to wait. I should feel worse about it than I do, but he’s convenient, and I’m lonely. He’ll do for now. It must be the guilt of it that’s forcing me to go to this stupid club tonight. Any smart woman would stay away.
My fingers scrub harshly into my scalp. My eyes squint tightly, trying to block the shampoo as it washes away. Before they can fully open, the shower door slides. A shocked gasp rises from my throat, and I force my lids open through a painful soapy haze. The air escapes my lungs in a slow, relieved sigh. I take in the sight of him. He stands naked with a grin, ready to join me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.
“What does it look like?”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“You’re pretty sexy when you’re startled.”
“I really don’t have time for this.” I snap, “I’m in a hurry.”
He pushes his way in anyway and shuts the door behind him. He stays just out of reach of the spraying showerhead, and watches me wash off. My back tingles and the blood rushes to my skins edge in reaction to his touch. The last of the soap bubbles disappear into the drain at our toes. He picks up my leg at the thigh and presses me forward against the shower wall.
With one hard thrust, he forces himself inside me. It is a lot rougher than his usual tactic. I gasp and press my hands against the wall for balance. He moves violently, but I like it. Strong fingers intertwine through my wet hair at the base of my scalp, then he pulls it, hard. My head jerks back with the powerful tug. A quiet, excited, involuntary squeal escapes my open mouth. His breath is hot on the back of my neck.
“You like it hard, don’t you Joyce?” His voice is lower than I’ve ever heard him speak.
“Yes!”
For the first time in my life, I get a thrill from hearing my name. He releases his hold on my hair and shoves me back against the wall. A firm arm presses against my back. I’m unable to move my chest or shoulders, and am forced to take him in on his terms. Just as I’m about to crumble under his strong hold, a menacing whisper echoes in my ear.
“This is going to hurt.”
A shock pools to my center and a chill runs down my spine. It takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away from him. He squeezes my body tightly against his own. Then he loosens his grip, allowing me to turn and face him.
“What are you talking ab…”
A sudden pain consumes my neck, cutting me off mid-question. My voice catches in the center of my throat and is unable to escape. Instinctively, I grab hold of the sharp pulsating pain and squeeze. The fluid filling my hands, and running down my arms is much thicker and hotter than the shower water. Everything is beginning to blur. I look at him, trying to plead with my eyes. I am unable to speak. I lean against the wall, in effort to regain balance. Everything is spinning. I pull my bloodied hands from my neck to take a look. My vision is distorted, but not enough to disable the sight of color. My scarlet fingers spin and blur.
I feel cold. I want to grab him, beg for his help, but I can’t. My body slumps down the wall. My legs become weaker and weaker. What have you done to me? I scramble through the black and red blur, struggling to take a look at his face. For a flash, I see him. His head is tilted to one side and his face is blank. A hint of a smirk forms across his lips. I black out. I can still feel but I can’t see. I pull in breath with short shallow pants. I can hear an awkward gurgle coming out of my throat. My body is ice cold under the hot running water.
My life slowly drains away, yet a sharp digging pain reminds me that I am still alive. One piercing jab after another stings into my ribs, chest and stomach. I try to kick, throw my arms or scream, but cant. I can’t move. It only takes a few more jolts to realize that I’m being stabbed. Over and over the shock spreads across my body. After what seems like a lifetime of torturing pain, it finally fades. A faint sensation is left at my neck. There is something touching my midsection, something inside it. That too melts away until there is nothing left. I don’t feel anything anymore – no pain, no fear. I give up the struggle for breath and let myself go to the darkness.

 

 

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Could You Love A killer?

The color in my sister’s face has changed. Not just today, but slowly over the last few weeks. The dark rings under her eyes are prominent, and the rosy hue of her lips have faded into a sickly cream color.

“I’m just saying, Markie, it’s been two weeks since you quit working.  Nothing’s happened while you’ve stayed home.  Maybe it’s best to give it a little more time.”

“Exactly.” Her voice is shrill. “Nothing. No leads, no arrests, not even a person of interest. Nothing.”  She says matter-of-factly.

“That’s not exactly true. They’re still watching Jared.”

Markie rolls her eyes and lifts the shot glass sitting directly across from my own.

“Fuck Jared.” She mutters.

Our glasses clink together.  My throat burns in reaction to the rampant liquid and it heats my chest. I wash it down with iced soda, then pour us each another.  *****’s murder changed my sister in a completely different way than Beth’s had.  She’s developed a weird sort of anxiety that comes and goes almost hourly.

It’s as if she’s slipped into a permanent state of shock. When she isn’t pacing around itching her skin and grumbling at everyone, she becomes a blank slate.  Physically she is present, but inside she is gone.  A manic state seems to take over, and she fades away.

It’s a good thing the owner of her theater let her take a leave of absence.  I’m quite certain she wouldn’t be able to work like this.  She can’t even function around the house like a normal person.  I’ve had to carry her weight in practically every way.  I don’t mind the cooking, shopping, or the cleaning. I even had to shampoo the couch and carpet in the living room.  There was a hint of urine that was starting to get to me.  I know that I should have turned it into Detective Sharpe. I couldn’t do it, though. I’m still too undecided about what to make of *****.

It’s too much to risk. I’ve seen him pee on far too many friends’ houses and people’s cars after they’ve upset him. Once I asked him why, and his response was, “I can’t think of anything nastier or more degrading than being pissed on.”   I know how badly he hates Markie, so I cleaned it up — along with the rest of the carpet in the house, to make it seem like a normal thing to do. I even told Agent Reese that I was trying to do something nice to cheer Markie up — I’m pretty sure he bought it.

I love *****.  I’m glad we are back together, too, but at the same time I’m confused.  I don’t want it to be him, but something is off.  I know him better than anyone.  He’s hiding something, I can tell, yet somehow the deaths are drawing me closer to him. It’s unnerving and stressful, but I’m determined to figure it out. I even pretend to be vindictive, just to see if I can lure any kind of confession from him.  Though he does make a good point about Markie, she really is a selfish bitch.  She doesn’t care about me, and never has.  I’ve tried my entire life to put her first, right along with everyone else.

I may talk a big game, but inside I’m just as big a wimp as the next person. Who would have thought that I’d be the one holding everything together and trying to get to the bottom of things?  Markie and I have fun together, for the most part. We can talk to each other freely and openly, we’re even comfortable enough to play practical jokes, but she holds back, I can feel it.  I’m just not Beth.  I will never measure up to her best friend, therefore she will never let herself open up completely. It kills me.  Every time I try to tell her how I feel, she clams up. She turns away from me and shuts down. She always has, too, even as little kids.  Markie has never trusted me, and never loved me.

If ***** does have a sadistic side, if he really is a killer, then I think I can get past it.  Even after watching ***** die. I love *****, and he loves me. I can help him.  Right?  The more I consider it, the more certain I am that he’ll let me help him. I don’t want anyone else to die, but I don’t want to lose him either.  He is worth it.  Isn’t he?  God, I wish I wasn’t such an indecisive fucking fool!  It’s a curse to be so understanding.  I get where he is coming from, I really do.  I even understand the thrill of death, I have felt it myself.

I take a profound look at Markie.  She sits across from me and glares blankly into space. It’s a look I have grown accustomed to. The only person she seems to normal up for is Detective Sharpe, or ‘Phil’, I should say. I don’t think he’s going anywhere, so I might as well get used to it.  She even calls him by his first name, and it’s much more irritating than I want to admit.  The simple truth of their strange little connection is exasperating.  It makes my helping ***** very complicated.

Not everything is as it seems in what appears to be an average family. When danger lurks so close to home, skeletons emerge, and the darkest of secrets surface, causing twisted desires to become reality. Aggravated Momentum offers the perspective of some very diverse and unique characters, including fun, witty personalities to fall in love with, along with an intellectual killer to die for. You may be surprised as to whom exactly you can relate. Is it the cold, calculated murderer, who’s name is yet to be revealed? Markie or Kam, the independent sisters, guilty of nothing more than getting tangled with the wrong people at the most inopportune times? Or, the cowardly snake curled in a hidden corner? Who are you, exactly? And, more importantly, who are they? The deeper you dig into the psyche of another, the more breath taking are the secrets you will find.

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