Twylite, p.1
Twylite, page 1
Twylite
Rhonda M. Lawson
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Epilogue
Author Bio
Copyright Page
Dedication
To the women and men who suffer silently for fear of
showing weakness. We are strong today because of your
strength. Never let anyone forbid you from shining your
light on the world!
Please know that the author is writing from the perspective of front-line service in the war against sexual violence. I had the distinct privilege of working with Rhonda when she served as a sexual assault victim advocate for the soldiers of the 2d Infantry Division in Korea. She handled some of our most challenging and heart breaking situations with great compassion, tremendous competence and unflagging courage. Her narrative is compelling because she has been there.
—Dan Silvia, Sexual Assault Response Coordinator:
Camp Casey, Korea
Acknowledgments
Writing Twylite has been a true labor of love. I worked as a sexual assault victim’s advocate for a year, and it was one of the most challenging things I had ever done. From offering strength even when you feel weak, to the struggle to not give advice even when you know in your heart that it is needed, but not wanted, to the silent groans when someone sees you approaching, VAs can often be underappreciated and misunderstood.
It was my goal with this book to bring to light an issue that not many people talk about. When we hear about rapes in the news, many of us shake our heads, mumbling how much a shame it is. Yet, how often do we think of the young woman, or in some cases young man, who must live with the aftereffects of the crime? What’s more, what do the people who are charged with helping them through the process go through?
Writing this book brought back the memories of the young ladies I tried to help when I was a victim’s advocate. As I crafted Twylite’s story, I thought about those ladies and the challenges they faced. They each had different experiences, but the inner turmoil they went through was similar. And, although Twylite isn’t based on any of those ladies, I hope they know that I heard them, and understood their pain.
To help me tell this story, I brought back two of my most popular characters. Many of you may remember Isis from my second novel, A Dead Rose. Having gone through her own troubles with men, she was the perfect person to really see through Twylite’s pain and help her find herself. Alexis, whom you got to know through Cheatin’ in the Next Room, Putting It Back Together, and Some Wounds Never Heal, had also had her negative experiences with relationships, and provided the perfect glue to bring both Isis and Twylite full circle.
There was no way I could have written this book by myself. A special thanks goes to my Sigma brother, De Moe, a police officer from Chicago, who read some of my chapters and was never shy about letting me know when I was off base. A thank-you also goes to my friend and former battle-buddy Rick Lewis, a police officer in Georgia, who sent me his much-needed input as well. I would also like to thank Dan Silvia, my advisor when I was a victim’s advocate in Korea. As I wrote this book, I could hear his voice in my ear as he helped me to work through my cases.
I would be remiss if I didn’t send special thanks to my literary family. Lisa Dumas Harris, thanks for dragging me off to Starbucks to get a kick start on finishing this book! William Frederick Cooper, you pop up every now and then in my life, but you always have a positive word to say. Thank you for that. Fred Williams and Toschia, thanks for your encouragement and friendship. I wish I could be there with you to make Divine Literary Publishing the success that I know it will be. My editor, Carla Dean, thanks for helping to bring my written words more depth. My agent, Portia Cannon, thank you for keeping me grounded when I was ready to fly through the roof. It takes a special blessing to have the level head that you possess, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me.
Other thanks go to my Facebook group, “Friends of Author Rhonda M. Lawson.” Thank you for all of the provoking conversation, and for your help in writing my book. You may not have known you were helping, but you definitely were! To New Movement Bookclub in Richmond Hill, GA, you ladies and gentlemen are awesome! You can analyze a book six ways from Sunday, and I love it! Brian W. Smith, my friend, fellow Kennedy Cougar, and brother of the written word, all I can say is thanks. You know what for. To the authors I have yet to meet but have loved your work, thanks for setting the example for what real writing is all about. It’s not a side hustle, it’s not a hobby. This is our lives! There are so many other people I can name, but I know I can’t, so I’m going to thank you all and wish God’s blessing on all of you!
Lastly, I can’t end this without thanking my biggest fans—my family. My wonderful parents, my loving sister, promoter aunt, my cousins, and uncles, you all have played an integral part in my career. Thank you for keeping me motivated! To my sisters of the Order of the Eastern Star, I am so glad to be connected with you and I may not say it enough, but I love you dearly. To my Sorors of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc., thanks for keeping the fire burning! And, most importantly, to my readers. Without you, there is no reason for me to write. Thank you for telling me when you loved my work, and gently critiquing me when you didn’t! You are the reason I strive to get better with every book, and I hope I didn’t let you down this time!
So, until the next story, which is coming soon, I wish you peace, blessings, and literary happiness. Stay in touch through Facebook “Friends of Author Rhonda M. Lawson,” Twitter @MsLawson, my Web site, www.rmlawson.com, or just shoot me an e-mail at rhondam-lawson@hotmail.com. I love hearing from you!
Prologue
The darkness made the trees look like threatening giants standing guard over her, ensuring she wouldn’t or couldn’t run. Twylite’s head bopped mindlessly to Trey Songz’s “Bottoms Up” as she scanned her surroundings while thinking of a way to escape this mess she’d gotten herself into.
She couldn’t for the life of her find the logic in getting into Peanut’s car. Her first mind had told her to keep walking when she saw his forest green BMW pull next to her. She was just trying to get home. Her English paper was due Monday, and she was supposed to be going to choir rehearsal tonight for the first time in weeks.
Common sense had told her that nothing good could come of this meeting. After all, she’d broken up with him more than two weeks ago. It wasn’t an amicable breakup, and it ended with a barrage of curses being thrown at her, topped with a promise that she would be nothing but a book-smart ghetto bitch without him. She shot back that his old ass needed to find a woman his own age and leave her alone. She would be just fine without him.
Now here he was, popping out of the blue without so much as a text in the last two weeks. Here he was smiling in her face like nothing had ever happened, beckoning Twylite to get into his car.
And she did it.
Despite the voice in the back of her mind screaming, no, she did it.
She had to admit that he did look good. His looks and car had always made Twylite the envy of her all-girls school. Tonight, his hair looked as if it had been freshly faded. That, along with the diamond rock in his ear, made his dark skin look smooth and sexy. He wore a light sweater and a pair of baggy jeans, a sensible outfit for the cooling weather. It was August, but it was still fairly warm. Even now, it wasn’t cold, but the breeze had caused the sun to give way to what her mother liked to call “jacket weather.”
“How you been?” he asked as he drove down Chef Menteur Highway toward the bridge. He glanced at her quickly, and smiled as he turned his attention back to the road.
“I’m good,” she mumbled, staring out of the window.
He pushed a little harder. “Did I tell you how good you look in dat uniform?”
She looked down at the pleated blue, white, and gold checked skirt, the main staple in her Saint Francis Academy uniform, and mumbled, “Thanks.”
She wondered if the education she received at the historic New Orleans high school was worth the reputation every girl who went there received. Everyone thought the SFA girls were just a bunch of wild girls incapable of being tamed by the nuns who taught them. Twylite was no angel, but she knew she’d never done anything to earn such a badge, so she refused to wear it. While other girls enjoyed hanging out in their uniforms, she always went straight home and changed, which was what she should have been doing now instead of mentally struggling through this situation.
What did Peanut want? She knew he hadn’t picked her up just for a little small talk. He wasn’t even saying anything, which made Twylite even more nervous. He kept giving her these sideways glances. Something was definitely on his mind, but she couldn’t figure out what.
Red flags waved violently as Peanut pulled into a wooded area. Stupid! She’d been so consumed with her own thoughts that she hadn’t paid any attention to where he’d taken her. Now here she was, stuck in the woods trying not to look scared out of her mind.
She looked over at Peanut, who had shifted his position so he leaned against the driver’s door while staring at her. One of his feet rested on the gear shift, which sat between them. Why did he keep looking at her like that? His eyes displayed a curious mixture of anger and tenderness. He sat quietly.
Watching her.
Could he smell her fear?
“Why you bring me here?” Twylite asked, shifting her own position so she could look him in the eyes. She refused to let her nerves betray her. She would never again let him have power over her.
He didn’t reply, just stared at her.
His silence fueled her anger. “Did you hear me, boy?” she demanded. “I don’t have time for this, now. I got a paper to write. I got stuff I gotta do.”
“Girl, calm your ass down,” Peanut said, seemingly unfazed by her display. “You’ll be home soon enough. Lemme just talk to you for a minute.”
“Then talk.”
He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “This is what I be talkin’ ’bout. Dat damned mouth of yours is gonna get your li’l ass in trouble one day.”
Twylite’s face softened. Her irritation only made matters worse. “Peanut, please, can you take me home?”
“You ready to be my woman again?”
She should have known that was what this ride was all about. “Peanut, ain’t nothin’ changed in the last two weeks. I meant what I said.”
“Stop tryin’a be hard, Twy,” he said with a dry laugh. He leaned forward and ran his fingernails softly across her breasts. The motion used to send tingles through her spine, but now all it did was make her shudder with revulsion. “You made your point. I was wrong, now let’s get on with our business.”
She brushed his hand away and glared at him. “You never did take me seriously, did you? I said I ain’t changin’ my mind.”
“Who you talkin’ to like dat?” he asked, wincing at her boldness. He leaned forward again. This time, he grabbed her left breast. “I told you about dat mouth before.”
Twylite tried to lean away from him but the passenger door blocked her escape. A quick glance out of the window told her that no one would come to her rescue, and her wooden guards were still on duty. She looked back at Peanut, and begged him to let her go. His clutch tightened, drawing tears to the corners of her eyes. She tried with everything she could not to let them fall.
“You act like you forgot everything I did for you,” Peanut snarled. He let go of her breast and shoved his hand under her white button-down blouse. He moved closer to her, kneeling on the console between them. When he bumped his head from sitting too high, he held her down and moved onto the seat with her. In one move, he reached down and moved her seat back so he lay on top of her.
“Peanut, what are you doing?” Twylite screamed, using what little leverage she had to beat on his chest. She knew he wouldn’t move, but she had to try. Part of her mind wanted to believe that he wouldn’t take her sex by force. He was only trying to scare her. He cared too much for her to hurt her, didn’t he?
His left hand joined his right under Twylite’s shirt and gave her a painful massage. His full weight was now on top of her. There was no way she could move, let alone run. “I made you what you are. It wasn’t for me, you would be just another plain-ass bitch in the ghetto. A cute-ass uniform with nappy-ass hair. You wouldn’t know your pussy from a hole in a wall if it wasn’t for me, and now your stuck-up ass thinks you can leave without so much as a thank-you?”
Now, he was beginning to scare her.
“Kiss me,” he told her, his hands violently rubbing her breasts.
She turned her head, afraid to see the fire in his eyes. This was a mess she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of. And judging from the grip he had on her, she wouldn’t be able to fight, either.
“Peanut, please let me go,” she whimpered, tears beginning their descent across her cheek.
“Please?” he sneered. “Where dat shit come from? You had all that mouth earlier and now you wanna say ‘please’?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head still turned. She never thought she would think it, but she really wanted her daddy right now. He would kill Peanut for the way he was treating her.
“The fuck you sorry for? You meant dat shit. Now if you don’t kiss me I’ma give your ass something to cry about!”
She tried to wriggle free once she felt his crotch rub up against hers. She couldn’t believe that very action used to turn her on. Now it only felt like denim scratching against her privates, protected only by a cotton barrier.
She turned her face toward him in the vain hope that a kiss would make him soften his grip on her. He didn’t even wait for her to pucker; he just dived in, kissing her like he was sucking on a T-bone. Her face felt wet with his saliva.
“Stop, Peanut,” she cried. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me go.”
“I told you what I want.” He stuck his tongue in her ear, prompting her to jerk away. He looked surprised. “The fuck you pullin’ away for? Your ass used to beg me to do dat. You really do think you’re too good for me now, huh?”
Twylite longed to wipe off her wet face and rid her ear canal of the pool she felt inside of it, but she still couldn’t move. All she could do was slightly shrug her shoulders and sigh. “I don’t think that. I just need to concentrate on school. I’m going to college next year.”
“What dat gotta do wit’ me?”
“Peanut!”
He let one of her breasts go and reached down under her skirt, softly rubbing the crotch of her panties. “You savin’ this young pussy for one of those college boys?”
“No, Peanut, it’s not like that,” Twylite pled.
“Then what is it?” he demanded, his finger wiggling around the cotton shield.
She opened her mouth, and then closed it just as quickly. This just wasn’t the right time to tell him he was controlling, and that her mother had finally convinced her that he was too old for her. That she was tired of him yelling at her, of him snatching her around. Her daddy had seen him snatch her the last time and swore he would kill Peanut if it ever happened again. He would have shot him then had his gun been in reach.
“You can’t say shit now, huh?” Peanut mocked, his index and middle fingers jamming themselves inside of her. “All dat mouth earlier, and now you can’t say shit.”
Anger began to rise inside of Twylite’s stomach with each thrust. She didn’t know if she was angrier at Peanut for what he was doing, or at herself for showing him fear and yielding her power. She couldn’t believe she had even loved him. How could she love someone who could treat her this way? Was she just blinded by his money, car, and status?
“Get off of me!” she yelled, the anger boiling over. Rage had overtaken her. She wasn’t about to let this thug of a man manhandle her anymore. It had finally hit her that he was only acting like this because she’d let him for so long. Well, not this time. She snatched her free arm from under Peanut’s body and did her best to smack some sense into his head. “Bastard, I said let me go.”
The initial shock from Twylite’s slap momentarily froze Peanut in his tracks. But the shock quickly wore off and gave way to rage. He snatched his hand from between her legs, his nails scraping some of her sensitive skin. Before she could move, he grabbed her by the throat.
“Bitch, you lost your mind?” he growled, squeezing her breast with one hand and her throat with the other. His smile grew as a tear streamed down Twylite’s cheek and touched his fingers. “Don’t fuckin’ cry now. You wanna be woman enough to hit a man, you best be woman enough to take this ass whuppin’.”
“You gonna hit me?” Twylite croaked, refusing to back down. She tried using her free hand to pry his fingers open, but she only succeeded in scratching them. Still, she refused to show any more fear. She couldn’t let him win this time. “Just ’cause I don’t want your ass?”
