Page 1 of Rousing Renee

PROLOGUE

Renee

I leaned back against the wall of my bedroom, looking in the mirror across from me. Dark circles colored the area around my eyes, the stress I felt easy to read by the lines etched across my forehead, and my purplish dehydrated and cracked lips trembled as I stared at my reflection. I no longer recognized myself. Youth was absent from my appearance, making me look older than I really was. A whopping thirty-four years old and I felt even older. The light that once burned brightly from my pupils and irises now was muted to the point where I wondered if I’d imagined better days. Ones where I’d cheered while people roared from the crowds as we re-energized them during sport games.

I’d been popular then and people had loved being in my presence. I’d been good at putting on a show that all was well in my life when it looked completely different behind closed doors. My mother and father…

My heart rate sped up so quickly my vision blurred, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

“Don’t go out there on that field and embarrass me. Know your steps and cheers, Jo.”

The sound of my mother’s disapproving voice wasn’t something I’d ever forget. Though my first name was Renee, she’d preferred the shortened version of my middle name. She made Jodell feel like something to hate. Because of her, I didn’t ever write my middle name or initials on anything. I was simply Renee McMillian.

“Roll your hips instead of shaking left to right. Make the crowd pay attention to you. I didn’t give you that body for you to waste all that damn potential. Roll your hips. Fan toward your breasts. Then give them bedroom eyes. You’ve been cheering since you were eight, so why is all this so damn hard? Act like one of them ‘lil boys are watching. Is it your coach? I can get her ass replaced in a second. Y’all don’t cheer like you mean it. It’s got to be her.”

Failure. Failure. Failure.

Every time she’d spoken, that’s all I’d heard. She’d never tried positive reinforcement. Even if I did perform the way she thought I should, it was met with comments about me finally doing it the way it should have been done in the first place. Except, when I’d cheered the way she preferred, I’d felt like a whore. I’d been in high school, and she’d wanted me to seduce the crowd like a showgirl. I’d even gotten in trouble from the coach because she didn’t want “fast girls” on her team. Damned if I did. Damned if I didn’t.

My father had been much too busy chasing ass to know what kind of pressure my mother subjected me to. So, I’d smiled because nobody else needed to see what was going on.

Then they’d died, leaving me to fend for myself in this cruel world without their morbid expressions of love. One would think it would free me from the confines of a prison that only existed in my mind, but that’s not how it works. I’d felt more alone, and it sent me spiraling in bad ways.

Like now…

Unable to cope with the fact that I kept losing jobs, boyfriends, Dominants, friends, and even places to live because I couldn’t find a happy place to settle my brain and bring me out of my depression. My anxiety plagues me and on my best days, I want to lie in bed all day. I’d promised Sampson, one of my best friends, that I wouldn’t cut any more. I hadn’t, but I wanted to more and more as time carried on. No relief from the darkness has brought me to this very place where the knife in front of me is begging me to do more than cut.

I want to end it all.

“Jo, when I’m gone, you’ll beg for me to be right here by your side. You’ll regret taking me for granted.”

No, that wasn’t how I felt at all. Alone… scared that if I were to ever get pregnant, I’d be the kind of mother she was, though I wanted children badly. Afraid every man will be like my father, riddled with sexually transmitted diseases that will kill us both. Terrified to trust anybody if they got too close. They’d see the chinks in my armor and the facade I wore as I fell apart inside. It was too much, and I just wanted the pain to end. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today. Right now.

I looked down at the knife and saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I needed to do this to make everything better.

“If you ever get this low again, pick up the phone and call me. Don’t text. Call. And you keep doing that until I answer. You’re not being a bother and I won’t get upset. Call me before you try to take away the pain for good. I’ve been there and I’ll understand. Promise me, Renee.”

A different voice from before, I heard Sampson’s voice like an angelic tune played much too loudly, blasted into my face on surround sound.

“Call.”

The words played over and over in my head, on repeat. I looked at my purse on the floor where I’d dropped it. It was so much further away than the knife.

What harm would it be if I opened the veins on my arms to relieve the pressure before I called him? The ambulance would get here before I bled out. Maybe. Thrill came alive inside me, and for the first time in a very long time, hope surfaced. Maybe not. Russian roulette. Hope flared to life as I thought about the clock running out before the paramedics arrived. Almost doesn’t count.

“Promise me.”

I growled, irritated by his persistent voice inside my head. Tears pooled at the brims of my eyes as I thought about how low I’ve sunk.

There has to be a better way.

The tears I was holding back ran down my face, snapping me back to reality. I reached over, completely and totally exhausted. I grabbed the hard object and closed my eyes, hoping this was the right decision. I pressed it into my hand, gripping it tightly. It hurt more than the other object ever could.

“Call Sampson,” I said clearly.

The screen lit up, and I heard the phone ringing as it tried to connect. I didn’t have the strength or willpower to continue calling him if he didn’t answer, too plagued by the weight of the darkness.

Please answer.

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