Hooked on Loving Him (Baxter County Blues #2)

Prologue

“How does this work? I’m not the laying down type unless I’ve busted a nut and need to get some sleep afterward.”

“With this being our first visit, how about we start with the basics.”

“Basic for some is complex for someone else, so be more specific. What do you want to know?”

“I know from my appointment book that your name is Kayshon. However, it's all I know, so why don’t you share what you’re comfortable unpacking during this initial encounter between us?”

I wonder if this woman is as capable of handling my shit as Kyce claims she is.

“Okay, how about we start with what made you schedule this appointment?”

“Let’s start with your credentials instead.”

Hell, if I’m laying myself bare, I need to know this woman can handle what I’m about to drop in her lap.

Shifting on the lounger, I stare into the brown orbs of the woman my brother has spoken highly of. Her sister locks are neatly and freshly done. Her warm brown skin is blemish-free. Her brown orbs shine with merriment and a tinge of caution while observing me. The black blazer and matching pants are paired with a purple blouse, giving her a professional outlook I appreciate. The bling on her finger lets me know that she won’t be another woman who preys on the men she encounters, which slightly puts me at ease.

“I’m Dr. Letitia Baxter. I’m an award-winning licensed professional counselor with years of experience. Whatever you share with me will never be uttered to a single soul. Not even my husband will know the ins and outs of the things you share with me. This is a safe place, so feel free to tell me anything… everything that burdens you.”

I sigh once the doctor finishes her spiel as the weight of my life settles within me like a heavy boulder. Unpacking my life won’t be easy, but after the nightmare I had last night, I know it’s time to get this shit off me.

“I killed my mom.” The words tumble from my mouth without preamble as my eyes instantly mist at the thought of my beautiful mother.

Looking at Dr. Baxter, I note her eyes bulging as her lips twist, and her left hand begins writing on the notepad in her lap. Heat and tingling in my face have me ready to get up and run out of here, but I forge ahead. Only this time, I stare at the carpet beside Dr. Baxter’s chair so I don’t have to deal with whatever thoughts she might be thinking.

“While I didn’t pull the trigger, it was my fault that she died. What’s crazy is I should have been used to Dad’s rants and shit because he was always griping about something. The nigga had a temper out of this world and always gave Mom and me shit. If the sky was cloudy, the nigga bitched. If Mom didn’t have dinner done, despite working like him, he bitched. If I left my shoes on the shoe rack by the front door, he bitched. I’m not sure if he was ever happy, but that day, I had a funny feeling that I ignored when I went to sleep.”

A lump forms in my throat, forcing me to stop talking and blink excessively to keep the moisture in my orbs from slipping from the corners of my eyes. Heaviness enters my extremities as my body temperature increases from the memory slamming into my psyche.

“Do you need a minute, Mr. Patton?”

Dr. Baxter's professional yet compassionate tone causes a low chuckle to leave my lips, allowing me to recover momentarily.

“Nah, I don’t. I also need you to call me Kayshon. Hell, I just told you that I killed my momma, and that’s not the worst thing you’re gonna hear from me. You’re about to be my homie, Dr. Baxter. There ain’t no need for pleasantries,” I say with a weak smile.

“All right. Does Dr. Baxter work for me to be your homie, or do you need something less formal to call me? I’m good with Letitia if you are.” A pleasant smile brightens her face as she crosses her legs, peering intently at me.

“Bet. Letitia definitely works for me.”

“All right. Let’s unpack what you’ve shared. Why do you think you killed your mother, Kayshon?”

Leaning back against the lounger, I gap my legs and close my eyes momentarily as Mom’s bloody body slams into my psyche, causing tears to break the wall I’m attempting to hide behind. My lips begin moving of their own volition as I start recounting the events that led to my life taking a nosedive.

“I’m so sick of your shit, Lance. Ev ? —”

“Man, fuck you, Camille. You sick of my ? —”

“Dad, please. P-put the gun down.” My voice is shaky, making me sound and feel much younger than eight.

My chest is tight, and the vein in my neck pulses wildly as my eyes bounce between my parents. I’m unsure what caused this current battle between them, but my legs are shaking as I fight to hold onto my bladder. Yelling had me switching from the bathroom to the living room where mom spotted me as I looked on in horror. Seeing Dad looking like a raging bull while brandishing his gun should be a shock, yet it’s a common occurrence that I wish I could change. Dad wields his weapon like a third hand, and I hate it.

The rapid rise of his chest and the crazed look in his eyes make tonight feel different than any other time he’s gone on a rampage. The air in the room feels heavier than usual, and Mom’s posture isn’t normal as her hands lift as if she’s surrendering to an unknown intruder. Her eyes hold a glossy sheen, her beautiful mahogany face is a mask of uncertainty, and worry lines fill her forehead.

“Put the gun down, Lance. Your son is watching you act a fool right now. Put the fucking gun down, you damn dum ? —”

*boom, boom*

“Noo. Mommm.” My stomach rolls, and my breath stalls at seeing Dad pull the trigger, sending two loud blasts from his gun. The blank and unapologetic expression in his eyes will haunt me forever as I stare at Dad for a millisecond before turning toward Mom. Dad’s right shoulder lifts before returning to its usual position as I swallow the lump in my throat.

I’m unsure if Dad’s actions are more surprising to Mom or me as her eyes balloon before she staggers back. Her body drops like a ton of bricks, hitting the floor unceremoniously as she immediately grabs her chest.

“Y-you shot me,” Mom says.

For countless seconds, I’m frozen in place with my eyes darting from Mom to Dad, who’s now ranting incoherently. My brain and feet sync simultaneously, causing me to race over and drop beside Mom. A deep red circle saturates Mom’s once-pink blouse as the sight before me feels like I’m in a dream. Mom’s left hand is clutching her chest tightly, where the hole seems to be enlarging by the second. My eyes are keenly on my shero as moisture begins blurring my vision.

“Mom,” I cry.

“I keep telling you not to fucking play with me, Camille. You just don’t know how to sit the fuck down and shut up sometimes.” Dad’s hard voice reminds me of his presence in the room as I momentarily shift my focus from Mom to look behind me.

Dad is pacing the floor with the smoking gun in his hand while his lips move without giving me the ability to understand what he’s saying. He’s not paying attention to Mom’s inability to respond, as his eyes are elsewhere. Gasping from Mom has my eyes returning to her as tears slip from the corners of her eyes. In her orbs, I see sadness, regret, and fear as blood slides from her mouth like drool. A cold shiver runs down my spine as a helpless feeling settles within my bones, causing moisture to sprout from my eyes.

“G-g-get h-help,” Mom says weakly, but I’m frozen in place as my hand covers hers, where her brown skin becomes red from the blood oozing like a faucet.

“Aye. Y’all better send a squad for my old lady and the police too. Yeah. The police because I shot her. Yes, I’m still here. Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna run like some pussy. I fucking shot her. Mhm. I told her ass not to try me. M—” Dad’s voice is as calm as if he’s discussing the weather, causing a tremble to invade my body.

Taking my eyes off Mom, I see a phone up to Dad’s ear as he continues pacing the floor. His face is a mask of lines and a deep frown, yet his countenance has no remorse. The sight of him still clutching his weapon as if it were a part of his body is equally disturbing and causing my mind to spiral. Trembles under my hand again shift my focus back to Mom, who gives me a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I-mm-I love you, K—” Mom’s words cut off before she can finish saying my full name as her body becomes completely still.

“Mom. Mom.” Shaking her still body, I struggle to see her, as rapid tears make it impossible to see clearly.

At this moment, I know my life will never be the same again. A chill fills not only the air around me but also my body. My chest beats wildly as I frantically wipe away the tears to see Mom’s dead eyes peering into me. The light and sheen from this morning are no longer present as I fight against the wail, begging for permission to exit my throat. Falling forward, I lay on Mom’s body, releasing the gut-wrenching wail I’m unable to contain any longer.

“Please come back, Mom. Please. I’ll clean my room like you asked. I’ll go get help. Please. Please. Mom.” My voice is muffled as I try to hug Mom’s unmoving body while pleading for her to return to me.

“Get your ass up, boy. She gone and damn sure ain’t coming back no matter how much you beg. I told Camille to stop babying your little ass so much.” Dad yanks me off the floor with enough force to pull my arm outta the socket and shift Mom’s body.

My chest rises and falls rapidly as I stare at him with an equally raging bull stance while contemplating how I can exact revenge for Mom.

“Oh. You think you can handle me, little nigga. Your momma ain’t here to keep me from knocking you on your ass.” The hatred in Dad’s eyes as if I was a stranger and not the child he helped to create had a chill going down my spine.

“Put down your weapon!” someone shouts, causing me to look toward the entrance to see two police officers with their guns drawn.

?

When Jesus is my portion

A constant friend is He

?

My body is tense and unmoving as I stare at the lifeless form of Mom’s body in the box before me. The past week has been a whirlwind as Dad killed my shero before turning the gun on himself, and I was uprooted from the only place I knew as home. With Mom being an only child and her parents refusing to take me, I’ve been forced to live with Dad’s mom, Grandma Patton. Instead of Grandma Patton attending Mom’s funeral with me to give me the comfort I needed, she dropped me off in front of the church and told me to call her when it was over. Mom’s parents haven’t said a word to me, and they are sitting on the opposite end of the first pew at this church, which feels extremely cold and lifeless. They’re making me feel as if I’m the person responsible for the death of their child when I’m a child myself. I feel like I have a contagious disease with how distant my grandparents are from me.

Mom, why did you leave me?

Mom’s face is puffy and ashy with a heavy coating of makeup I’ve never seen her wear before today. If it weren’t for the braids she wore, I wouldn’t believe the woman in the box is my mother, because I don’t recognize much else. My once vibrant, fun, and maker of amazing heart-shaped pancakes whose love for me outweighed the crap she often dealt with inside our home can’t possibly be this still woman.

**

His eye is on the sparrow.

And I know He watches over me.

**

Had He been watching me, I wouldn’t be watching Mom like this. Please shut up, lady.

My mind begins wandering as I tune out the woman singing whatever song this is. My heart is cold as ice on an Alaskan mountain as I fidget with my fingers. My clothes are wrinkled, and my hair is overgrown because no one cares about my presentation like Mom did. My horror increased when Dad, like the coward he was, pulled the trigger a third time, ending his miserable life. While Mom’s funeral is in full swing, I thankfully won’t have to go through this again because Grandma Patton had instructed the people to burn Dad to jumpstart his entrance into Hell. Those were the exact words I heard her tell the person who called her about what to do with Dad’s body. Dad’s hell on Earth created a backlash that fell heavily on me, and I’m still alive to deal with his monstrosity and inability to control his temper.

Nobody will ever be able to prevent the nightmares I’ve been suffering from at watching the death of both parents. I’m unsure what sparrow this lady thinks God watches, but He did a horrible job paying attention to me. To make matters worse… today is my ninth birthday. Nine years and a hollowness in my chest where the organ of feeling no longer exists.

The dryness in my throat causes me to stop talking and open my eyes. The room is blurry from the tears continuously falling as Letitia extends a box of tissues toward me. My chest pinches as I take the box from her. My limbs feel limp, and my brain becomes foggy, causing fatigue.

“How about we stop here? I can see the weight of sharing this information, and I don’t want to push you to keep going. I also recommend our next appointment for this time next week. Does that work with you?”

Hell nah, that doesn’t work. I feel like my damn emotions have been through an incinerator right now, and you want me to come back to do the shit all over again.

Biting my inner cheek, I fight against the urge to be held as I roughly remove the water from my eyes and cheeks. I’ve said so many things during this meeting that I’m unable to adequately formulate a verbal response to Letitia’s question. Standing, I head toward the exit, turn the knob, and attempt to leave before Mom’s face flashes before my eyes, forcing me to turn toward Letitia.

“I’ll be here.”