My Sweet Regina



  My Sweet Regina

  (A Whisper to a Scream story)

  Lauren Hammond

  My Sweet Regina

  Copyright © Lauren Hammond 2013

  No portions of it may be used, reproduced, copied, or recorded without written permission from the author or publisher.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, or incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. They are not to be misconstrued as real. Any resemblances to any person either living or dead, or events or locales are completely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  I have to start off by saying that A Whisper To A Scream, the first book in this series was seriously a labor (I need to put emphasis on labor) of love. I can’t tell you how many times I wrote and rewrote it. It started out written only from Ellory’s point of view, then after about the tenth draft I knew the story would be incomplete without the reader being able to live in Adam’s head for a while.

  Next I have to say thank you to all of the fans who embraced this series. Thank you for supporting my books in general. I hope you enjoy this.

  Chapter One

  I hate feeling like I’m fenced in because when you’re fenced in there’s no escape.

  Mud walls.

  Rocks.

  A few sticks.

  My tomb is a pit of hurt, agony, and betrayal.

  It is cold.

  And foreign.

  It is a home without coziness and a welcome mat.

  My final resting place.

  Except…

  I’m not dead yet.

  I try to breathe, but the gash in my windpipe prevents me from doing so. I think about trying to scream, but even if I did or if I could, I know no one would hear me.

  Gathering as much strength as I can muster up, I blink and roll my head to the side. It rests in between the top of my bicep and my shoulder blade and I blink again as I watch the crimson colored life flow out of me.

  I am dying.

  I am dying.

  Love will be the death of me.

  It came on in small doses.

  Slowly.

  With a knife, some force, and a few strangled breaths.

  The sound of metal clinking against rocks throbs in my ears and I wince when Adam grunts and a shovel-full of cold, wet dirt lands on my stomach. My body convulses as the colds bleed through my clothes and seeps into my pores.

  I keep thinking to myself; so this is how it ends?

  This is how it ends?

  I thought when a person dies they’re supposed to go out with a bang.

  But no…

  Not me.

  I’m lying here alone.

  In the middle of nowhere.

  In a shallow, circular grave.

  I’m bleeding.

  I’m dying.

  And my heart has been blown up into tiny, tattered pieces of confetti.

  I swear I can feel Adam’s shadow blanket me with warmth as he hovers over me. I swear I can feel his moist lips against my neck and hear his deep, raspy voice whisper, “I love you.”

  It’s a lie.

  How dare he?

  He’s a fabrication.

  A walking, talking contradiction.

  I know this now.

  I wish I would have figured him out sooner.

  I blame myself for not being able to see through the façade called his everyday life. I guess I’m paying for it now.

  More than anything, I wish I could tell him, “Adam, my love, you were supposed to be my knight-in-shining-armor—not—my murderer.”

  Chapter Two

  Time…

  Sometimes people think they I have so much of it.

  They think they have so much of it so they waste it.

  A minute here.

  A minute there.

  I’m one of those people. At least, I used to be. I used to think; well, there’s always tomorrow so don’t live for yesterday.

  Now…

  I regret ever saying that.

  I regret even thinking it.

  Because now…

  I don’t have any more tomorrows.

  All I have is yesterday.

  Because yesterday I was among the living.

  Today, I walk among the dead.

  Standing at the edge of my shallow grave, I stare down at my body in its twisted, mangled form. When I can’t look at it anymore, I spin in a circle as numerous questions flit through the walls of my mind.

  Why am I still here?

  Why am I still here?

  Shouldn’t there be a light?

  Shouldn’t I be walking, skipping, or sprinting toward some heavenly beam?

  No….

  I’m an angel who can’t soar her way into heaven because her wings have been clipped.

  Tilting my head back, I stare up into the sky. It is deep, dark, and black, an abyss of nothing that seems never ending. My eyes bounce from the moon to the stars. I observe the moon and how its glow is dulled down by a layer of clouds and how the stars don’t seem to be shining as bright as they normally do. I watch a sea of mist as it moves across the heavens and hides all the best parts of it.

  It looks gloomy.

  And depressing.

  And secretive.

  And wrong.

  I guess it fits the situation.

  There have been times where I wondered if the stars could talk just what kind of stories they would tell me. There have also been times where I wanted to ask them questions like; why do you hide away sometimes? In my opinion, the most beautiful things always shine, shimmer, and glisten on even the darkest of nights.

  My thoughts are interrupted when I hear Adam grunt beside me. My head snaps to the side and I narrow my eyes, glaring at him. He twists his upper body to the side as he chucks another mound of dirt onto my rotting corpse. Asshole. For a second I wonder if he can hear or see me so I say, “Asshole,” again with grit and a booming tone to my voice.

  But he doesn’t hear me.

  Of course.

  If he couldn’t even hear me when I was living.

  There were moments during my relationship with him where I thought something about him was off. He’d stare into blank space, lost in a daze more times than I could count and I would literally have to shove him to get his attention. Or even times when I’d look him in the eyes and see no soul what-so-ever behind them. I’d ask him, “Adam, what’s wrong, love?” At that second, it’s like a switch would snap somewhere inside of him and he was back to his normal, charming self.

  But I should have known better.

  I should have been smarter.

  Wiser.

  I should have taken off my love-goggles so that I wouldn’t have been so blind.

  But I didn’t.

  And I was so very, very blind.

  Because I was weak, naïve, and foolish.

  In the end, I think I’m angrier at myself than him because I allowed him to fool me. Isn’t that how it always is, though? Not only is love a killer, but it is the ultimate illusionist as well.

  I plop down on the edge of my open grave on a mound of dirt and for once, I don’t care if the jeans I’m wearing get dirty. It’s not like it matters anyway.

  Keeping my eyes on Adam, I watch as his chest rises up and down. His breathes are raspy and heavy. Beads of sweat dot his forehead and he raises his arm, wiping away the perspiration with the sleeve of his navy blue sweater. “Yes love,” I say. “I imagine digging my grave and filling it in is very strenuous.” I give him a nasty look and grit my teeth. Then I scoop up a palm-full of dirt. “Here,” I chuck the dirt at my body, “let me help you.” My voice is a mixture of pain and rage.

  He used to tell me I love you every day.


  And there were moments where I swear that he used to mean it. Or at least where he made me think that he meant it.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  My mind is a tilt-a-whirl and the words keep spinning around and around and around. I feel nauseated and part of me wishes that I was dreaming, that I would wake up, and that someone would let me off this terrifying ride.

  But I’m not dreaming.

  This isn’t some old, rickety carnival ride.

  Adam throws another shovel-full of dirt onto my body and that reminds me that this is a nightmare, except….

  There’s no waking up.

  No relief.

  No coming back.

  Reality smacks me like a brick to the face.

  I really am dead, gone, and almost buried.

  I’m a secret, hidden in a field, miles and miles away from civilization.

  And what frightens me the most is that I don’t know when, or if someone will ever find out about me.