Monday, August 7, 2017

The Diary of Gypsy Red

Unedited and subject to change (C) 2014 Glenna Maynard all rights reserved. 
The Diary of Gypsy Red 
Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 10




My name is Kara Marie, better known to most as Gypsy Red. They say a dead woman can’t talk, but I beg to differ. A woman’s heart holds an ocean of secrets. I suppose I can share some of mine. This is my story—this is the diary of Gypsy Red… Do you dare to take a peek inside, to read the secrets that I keep?



1

Dear Diary,
I give these thoughts and memories to you. I give them to you to take my nightmares away. These are my secrets. My demons. My words I need to bleed out of me, before I go to my grave. I keep dreaming of dying. Death has stalked me since I was just a girl. Let’s start at the beginning. Well, as far back as I can recollect.
 “Daddy, do all little girls have a daddy as good as you?” I look up into the eyes that match my own in color. Smooth as whiskey, I had heard my momma call them once. They look so tired. No longer holding the vibrancy of his youth.
 He touched my cheek. His palms were soft but his fingers were rough. “Sweet pea. In a perfect world, all girls would have a dad like me, but we live in an imperfect world. We live around chaos, darkness, and despair.”  He kisses my cheek and pries my fingers from his large blood-stained hand.
“I don’t want you to go, daddy. You are the bestest daddy in the whole wide world, and if you go…who will chase the bad guys away?”
He sweeps his thumbs over my cheeks wiping away my tears replacing them with streaks of blood. The blood of my mother. Or was it mine or his. I can’t remember why there was so much blood.
Where am I?
Where is he going?
Why is he leaving me here?
“Go to sleep, Kara. When you awake, none of this will no longer matter. Daddy loves you, sweet pea…”
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound of the beating of my heart on the monitor was the only sound. A single tear slipped down my cheek. A nurse came in and injected something to my IV. Once the medicine hit my veins, a slow burn crept up my arm.
“This will help with the pain. You need rest.” She came closer to my bed and tucking me in tight as a mother would do.
Shame I never have known what that is like. To have a good mother.
My own mother hated me. She tried to kill me when I was five. She said I was bad luck and that the only way to save me from myself was through death. My daddy—he disagreed, she paid the price. The night my mother tried to kill me father murdered her before my five year old eyes. My daddy was my hero. He was my blood stained knight.
And my daddy is gone, my hero, the only one who I could count on to save me, to protect me. He died a few years later in a car wreck. I should have died, but somehow, I made it with only a broken arm, a concussion, and some bruising to my face and chest from the impact of the air bag.
I drifted back into a torturous sleep where my memories haunted me…where they have always tormented me.
“It’s sick, the way you fuss over her. It isn’t normal. You’re her father. I’m your wife. I should be number one in your eyes.” I heard my mother’s shrill voice as I tossed and turned…
I woke to my neighbor; she seemed like such a nice person. Her husband was an associate of my father. However, my eyes quickly fluttered shut once more.
The memories come in pieces. Sometimes, I wonder if they really happened or of I dreamed them. 
“Kara, meet Winston, his family just moved in next door.” I looked up from where I was coloring in my Scooby Doo coloring book on the front porch. There was a young boy standing at the edge of the porch grinning at me. He had brown hair and when he opened his mouth there was a huge gap between his teeth; it made me laugh.
“Do you wanna’ color with me?” I offered. I didn’t have many friends, kids in the neighborhood all thought I was weird and we moved a lot, so I didn’t try too hard to make friends. My daddy called us gypsies—he said I was his Gypsy Red cause of my red hair and all. 
“Sure.” He climbed up on the porch sitting cross-legged across from me. My dad patted my head telling me to be nice, before going inside with our new neighbors.
 I held out my box of crayons.  He took the black and the red and drawing blood coming out of the kitten’s mouth in my other book. Blood freaked me out. Ever since my mom… I tensed up and a single tear trickled down my face.
The boy took his thumb and brushed my tear away.  “Don’t cry, Kara, you and I are going to be best friends,” Winston said like I was special.
My daddy always said I was special.
Winston Rush became my best friend, my only friend…he wouldn’t have it any other way and I was too scared of him not to be his. He was always doing stuff that he dared me to tell anyone about.
The memories are still fresh…the wounds still bleed. All of these thoughts, they swirl inside my head, making me beg to be dead. 

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