Preface

            My heart is pounding in my ears. My lips are moist with my sweat. I'm pretty sure I would be crying if I had any tears left to give...but I don't. As cliché as it sounds....I'm pretty much all cried out. What the fuck does crying do for me? Nothing. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't console me. It doesn't erase these past year. Fuck that, it doesn't erase my entire life.

She moves in my arms, her fragile fingers scratching her pale, brown skin; the movement startles me from my thoughts, causing me to hold her closer to my bosom. She must feel my torture. She must sense my pain. Is that even remotely possible? Is it true what the books say? Can she feel her mother's pain?

I close my eyes. I'm a mother. I'm a mom. I'm someone's mother. I'm too fucked up to be someone's mother. She didn't ask to be here, didn't ask for me to carry her in my womb, and she most definitely didn't ask to have a father like....

My body shivers as my grip on her tiny body tightens. I want to protect her from them, I want to give her everything I never had, I want her to know that I love her that I'm still here because of her....but how can I protect her when ultimately I will cause her the most danger by just being her mother?

He told me I could do this. He said I could do anything if I only believed in myself. But what does he know? I've failed everything else...how could I succeed in something I don't even really want?

I thought I could do this - love someone, be loved, have a family...but I'm not cut out for it, I don't want it, and it doesn't want me either. I want out, and fast.

My grasp on her loosens slightly and I don't glance down as she moves, missing my security, as I step to the windowsill and she whimpers softly; I need to give her the freedom she deserves before it's too late. How will I be able to live with myself? How can I go on from this?

I won't think about that right now. I just won't let my mind go that far.

My arms outstretch to the opening of my bedroom window, as the cold wind hits cheeks, her whimpers increase to soft cries, begging me to pull her back in, to keep her warm, secure, safe, but instead I close my eyes and smile.

Lightweight slips from my fingers and so quickly, she is gone, her cries cease instantly, her bellowing is gone, and I feel.....free. I wish I could cry. I wish I could feel pain. I wish I could feel sorrow but I feel free!

And I think of her as I run from my bedroom. I think of her as I gather my suitcase at the front door. I think of her as I see the bright shining ambulance lights as I run to my car. I think of her as I hear people gathering around the scene. I think of her and I smile.

She's free.

Chapter One

Denial

Eleven Months Earlier

"How old are you again, Ma'am?" She taps her pencil onto her white copier paper as she crosses her legs in front of me, studying my expression, I suppose.

I bite my bottom lip, "Twenty-two." I speak, quietly.

I feel like I'm fourteen. Every few months I have to relate back to a new social worker about my current living situations. I live off the government. Housing. Food stamps. Anything they give for free, I pretty much stand in line first to take. But since this other "issue" has arisen...the government thinks they can pry their nosy asses into my life even more than they should and I think not.

I've been on welfare for as long as I can remember; I've been in and out of foster homes since I was twelve. I barely got out of high school. And now, I'm two months pregnant with my first child - well, technically, not my first, but that isn't important right now.

I thought about getting rid of it. I wanted to; but then I think of how my mother didn't get rid of me when she probably should have and I can't bring myself to go through with it. No child deserves my past. No child deserves my life, not even my own.

My social worker recommended me to this psychiatrist; she is supposed to help me with my feelings and give me some sort of insight of how to be a good parent to my child, but I know the real reason why I'm here.

They want to know if I'm secure enough in my mind state to bring a baby into this world, to raise a baby in this world...they want to if my "old" issues won't interfere with my child's upbringing. Well, I'll show them.

"Uh, it's Candis? Did I pronounce it correctly?" She asks, her crystal blue eyes startling me by how warm they are, I nod and a soft smile graces her features, blonde curls envelope her oval face as she places her pencil and writing pad back down onto her desk, all the while, continuing to study me. "It is very pretty. Do you mind if I ask who named you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. She wants to ask non-important questions first? Okay, I'll play along with her ass. "Emily named me." Her blonde brows rise in interest, "My mother. It means ‘pure' in African," I snort and my eyes roll, "something I am most definitely not."

Her stance doesn't change. It seems she isn't surprised by my sulkiness. Okay, well, at least, she's good at putting on a show. "Why do you think that, Candis?"

My response is automatic. "Well, let's see, my uncle fucked me senseless on my eleventh birthday." I say this nonchalantly. I'm so used to this being the truth that the pain is irrelevant now.

"Is that it?"

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "It all began then, so...."

"Candis," I watch her intently, "is that where you would like to begin our conversation?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Up to you, boss."

She smirks. "Well, how about we get to know each other first, okay?" I remain mute. "I'm Dr. Francesca Bowens. I've been working here at this hospital for about," she cocks her head to the side, "oh, sixteen years; I believe....oh, God that makes me sound so old!" Her soft chuckle surprises me. It sounds beautiful.

That's weird.

"I've never been married. I've kind of resided to the fact that I'm meant to help others and I don't have the time to dedicate myself to someone else." I want to say to her that she's too beautiful to be alone - that women like her are always supposed to end up having the fairy tale but instead I remain silent. "But, I enjoy my job. I love being here. I wouldn't change it for anything in the world."

"How old are you?"

Francesca smiles, "I'm thirty-nine." Her voice sounds distant, as if that brings her sadness to say out loud, to someone else, to know that it is real.

"So, you've never been in a relationship?" I ask, smugly.

Her blue crystals darken, slightly, "Of course," she rubs the nape of her neck, "but things change. And feelings die out. Haven't you?"

"I fuck, Dr. Bowens, I don't do relationships."

"Do you not think you're worthy enough to be loved by someone, Candis?"

What kind of question is that? It's not like I'm missing out on a lot, anyway - love seems to always find a way damage things beyond repair. I don't feel like it's my loss to not experience the shit. I think, honestly, it's a relief.

"It's not that," I lick my lips, "I just prefer the intimacy over the emotions."

She nods her head as she picks back up her pencil and writing pad. I grin sheepishly. It's time for work now. "What about the father of your baby?"

My eyes squint. "What about him?"

Her demeanor stiffens, her body movement shifts, uncomfortably, "Was it just intimacy?"

"It was....," I pick a piece of loose lint from the sleeve of my brown sweater, uninterested, "boredom. I was bored."

"Boredom led you to a married man?"

Her question throws me for a loop and my eyes widen. I almost questioned her knowledge on the subject but I knew she would know too much - everyone knew too damn much about my fucked up life.

"It didn't lead me to him," I roll my eyes; "Doug came to me first."

Doug Suggs had been my foster parent since the age of sixteen; I kind of liked being there. It felt good to be around girls my age who understood how it felt to come from some pretty fucked up backgrounds. Doug and Savannah Suggs were the picture perfect, All-American Caucasian couple - in my eyes, they could do no wrong. I felt special living there. I felt wanted. I felt, even liked, sometimes.

I always drew unwanted attention from the opposite sex and Doug was no different, but it was different with him - in his eyes, I was beautiful, so seductively beautiful that it pained him to love me the way that he did. At least that was how I tried to justify his constant creeping into in my bedroom at midnight and filling me up with him, every night, it was this...I hated him during those fleeting nights. I wanted him to stay the man I saw during the daylight. The man that I adored. The man that loved his wife and his foster children. The man who would never hurt another.

I begun to accept it; I knew it wouldn't change and in a way, I didn't want it to. They were the only family that I had left - if the secret got out, if it was known...I would be alone, again. I was tired of being shipped here and there. I was tired of being unloved. And they loved me. I had to hold onto that for as long as I possibly could.

So, even when I moved out of the home after I graduated from high school, I continued to see him on discreet basis. I wanted to remain a part of the family so I did what I was already numb to - I gave him me.

The pregnancy was not planned - I received the worst beating of my life when I told him about the baby, our baby....that was when the circus began. Savannah learned the truth and she reported him. It turns out he was sexually molesting three other girls that still lived under his roof. Savannah lost her foster children and Doug went to jail....and me? I lost my family.

I blame this stupid baby for everything. I blame it for ruining me. I blame it for costing me my family.

"Candis, how do you feel about what Doug Suggs has put you through these past several years?"

I cut my eyes to the floor, ashamed, "They were my family." I mumble, softly, my throat itching suddenly.

I could hear her intake a deep breath. She was expecting me to be upset with him - to hate him. This surprised her. "Mr. Suggs sexually assaulted you for over six years...you consider him your family?"

My heartbeat quickens. "Dr. Bowens, this isn't the first time I've been used like that, okay?" I can myself growing hot. I need to calm down. It's not her fault. "They had a home. They wanted me to do well in school. They cared about my thoughts and feelings. I had sisters there. I had brothers. I had a home, Dr. Bowens." My voice cracks and I sigh, "Sex means nothing to me. I could give a flying fuck about my body-"

She shook her head, her eyes serious, stern, "You should, Candis."

I coughed. "Why? That part of my life is irrelevant to me. It's just there for meanings of use."

Her eyes soften. She seemed hurt. Maybe even sad, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the timer on her desk went off, ending our tension immediately. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was through with the mind therapy until next week.

Thank God!

I stood from my chair, stretching my arms over my head and I felt butterflies in my belly then and it made me halt my movement. My baby. I rolled my eyes. Stupid baby.

"I can't wait for our next session, Candis," Dr. Bowens muses, her eyes suddenly bright again, she stood from her desk and circled around to stand before me, smiling, "we have a long journey ahead of us...."

I arched my left brow. "Journey?"

She shook her head. "Next session, we will talk about that....but I want you to do me favor until then," her hands rose to my shoulders, giving me a squeeze, "try to write down the good things from before you went to stay at the foster homes and before your eleventh birthday....remember your mother."

I gulped. "My mother?"

Dr. Bowens nodded, "You say you had no family before the Suggs, but remember what it used to be like when you lived with her, Candis, because you were loved by someone, you were her home." My eyes watered slightly, "Just write little things down as you try to remember them and we'll talk about those feelings you have, okay?"

I inhaled deeply. I don't know if I can do that. I don't know if I want to remember that life. My mother was....she had been a Goddess in my eyes. If I let myself go back to that time, I was afraid of what I might find.

I stepped back from her touch, "All right." I quickly moved around her, keys ready in my hand, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible. It was beginning to take its toll on me now. I wasn't as ready for this as I once thought.

Her line beeped on her phone and automatically the intercom spoke, "Dr. Bowens, your nephew is on line two. He says it's urgent."

She rolled her eyes and moved to her desk, instantly picking up the line and as she did this, I grabbed my purse from the armrest of the chair I had been sitting on and made my way to the door. My heart was pounding in my ears as blurred images of my mother's pale skin ran through my mind, scarring me.

"...you are such a huge liar, its ridiculous!" She was mumbling through her receiver, oblivious to me and so I knew I had to get away before she started talking again, "Well, as long as you stop by here to see me sometime while you're in town then I'll stop complaining." She laughed, "Oh, hush! Please don't bring him by my office....I'll go insane, I promise I will....oh...he's there? Well, you know I love him!"

She turned her head slightly to see me moving out of the door and she quickly placed her hand over the receiver and smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Candis! Forgive me. My brother's son is such a handful."

I eyed her and couldn't help but notice her glow. That happened quickly. "You love him." It was a fact.

Dr. Bowens' crystal blues glistened, "He's like the family I never had; like the son I should've had...," she winked, "he's my home." She nodded her head to urge me on, "Don't forget the favor, Candis. See you next week." And with that, she turned her attention back to her nephew and I walked out of her office and breathed easily.

These damn protocols with government assistance were getting the best of me; if I had half a brain, I wouldn't go back next week. I would call her and tell her to kiss my ass, but something was stopping me. I was intrigued. I had some issues. Everyone around me knew this. But it was sort of weird...I liked having someone to talk to. Someone to complain to. I don't have friends. I work, come home and just get ready for the next day. I'm blessed to make it through the day without falling apart from all these thoughts of mine. It's too many thoughts in my head. It's too many demons that I can't necessarily handle on my own right now...not with this thing inside of me.

I needed this woman; well, not necessarily, I just needed to talk...to someone, anyone, that would listen to my crazy ass. I'm too afraid to be alone with my thoughts, too afraid to be alone, period. Who knows what pain I can cause to myself or better yet, someone else?

***