Convoluted

By Kasey Millstead

Kasey Millstead will break your heart, and then put it back together again.

Convoluted by Kasey Millstead is the heartwarming story about two people who fall in love in the most complicated circumstances.

Football. 
Women.
Freedom.

No longer controlled by the invisible complexities that plagued his childhood, Oscar Henley was living his dream.  He was on top – of his game, of women, of life.  
Those on top always fall the hardest.
When his football career ends, Oscar returns to his hometown to figure out where his life is headed.  
He expects to find a new job.  What he doesn’t expect to find is Rosie.

Dread.
Trepidation.
Despair.

Life wasn’t always like this.  Rosie Smith grew up in a small town with good friends and a great family.  Somewhere along the way she lost herself, as well as everyone else.  
Too bad murdering someone is illegal.
Stuck in a hell she sees no escape from, every day is a struggle, and every night she prays for a way out.

Love.
Happiness.
A future.

By finding themselves, Oscar and Rosie find each other.  Their combination is powerful, consuming and heart racing. 

Because even in its simplest form, love is convoluted. 
 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kasey Millstead
• Release date: Feb 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524290009

Book preview

CONVOLUTED

Football.

Women.

Freedom.

No longer controlled by the invisible complexities that plagued his childhood, Oscar Henley was living his dream.  He was on top – of his game, of women, of life. 

Those on top always fall the hardest.

When his football career ends, Oscar returns to his hometown to figure out where his life is headed. 

He expects to find a new job.  What he doesn’t expect to find is Rosie.

––––––––

Dread.

Trepidation.

Despair.

Life wasn’t always like this.  Rosie Smith grew up in a small town with good friends and a great family.  Somewhere along the way she lost herself, as well as everyone else. 

Too bad murdering someone is illegal.

Stuck in a hell she sees no escape from, every day is a struggle, and every night she prays for a way out.

Love.

Happiness.

A future.

By finding themselves, Oscar and Rosie find each other.  Their combination is powerful, consuming and heart racing.

Because even in its simplest form, love is convoluted.

CHAPTER ONE – ROSIE

Come on.  Hurry up! Dammit!  Pounding the steering wheel with my fist, I feel the hot tears of despair prick the back of my eyes.

I’ve only got five minutes to get home.  This should be easily done, but now I’m stuck in road works and I know I’m going to be late.

And when I’m late, there’s always trouble.

I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on Michael.  We were at a bonfire in the middle of O’Grady’s farm.  Our school graduation.  Everyone was there – kids from my class, the class above us, the class below, dropouts.  Everyone.  I was sipping a beer and laughing with my girlfriends when he caught my eye across the flames.  I knew he was older than me because I had seen him around, hanging with the guys from the class above mine.  But he didn’t go to school, at least he didn’t at Pine Creek High.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, creamy skin, tall, nice smile.  He was cute, and I was seventeen.  Young and stupid.

He asked me to be his girlfriend before the night ended.  I should have said no.  I should have run a mile.  Instead, I said yes. 

I’ve been drowning ever since.

The car in front edges forward, so I do the same, praying we can get through soon.

Come on, I grit out impatiently.  My heart skitters in my chest with nervous palpitations.  I glance to my left and my right, looking for a way out.  Briefly I wonder if I can reverse back and turn around, drive back into town and get home another way, but I know this is the only way home.  Plus there are cars behind banked up as far as I can see in my rear view mirror.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Of course I could tell Michael about the road works.  Explain the delay.  But he doesn’t like excuses.  A meteor could be blocking my path, and if I were late coming home, it would still be my fault.  I should have predicted the delay, found another route, or stocked up on supplies the week before so leaving the house wasn’t necessary.

I can’t win an argument with Michael.  I learnt that lesson long ago, and I’ve long given up even trying. 

Two minutes.

I know for sure I won’t make it home in time now, and my shoulders slump in defeat.

I’m eleven minutes late.

Walking in the front door, a plastic bag of groceries in each hand, I make my way into the kitchen to unload.  Michael is in his chair, his face a stoic, indifferent mask, watching a game of football on the television.  I’m surprised when he doesn’t go at me the instant I walk in.  It puts me off kilter. I was ready for whatever he would dish out, but his ignorance has me second-guessing.

As quickly and as quietly as possible, so not to disturb his television time, I pack away the milk and bread before wiping down the spotless bench.

My back is to him as I wipe over the sink, so I don’t hear him approach.

You were late, he states, frightening me.  I drop the sponge as my hands tremble.

Turning to face him, I keep my chin down and my tone contrite.  Anything to placate him.

I’m sorry, Michael.  There was road works.

Road works, he sneers.

Yes, just down on Melly Bend, I say.

So I suppose that’s all right then, is it? he asks, and I’m not sure how to respond.  Whatever answer I give will be wrong, but silence is the worst reply of all.

Whatever, he shrugs when I take too long to answer him.

My eyes bulge in shock.  Whatever?  He has never dismissed anything, ever.  Whatever?  I’m in shock.  I gape, unable to form any words as he turns around and walks out of the room.  Turning, I continue wiping down the bench, the sink, the counter cupboards... everything and anything in my already spotless kitchen.  My mind spins, replaying the conversation, the indifferent look in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the relaxed shrug of his shoulders.  I’m perplexed.  Totally confused.

Is this another one of his games I’m bound to lose?

I don’t see Michael until his dinner plate hits the table.  Food must be served exactly at six p.m. each night.  Not a minute before and not a minute after.  I wait until he is seated before I carefully sit down in my own seat, and then I begin eating, watching him from the corner of my eye.  Always watching.

Save for the tick of the clock every second, and the gentle clang of metal nudging on porcelain, the room is silent as we eat.  Always silent.

There is no back and forth chatter, no banter about our day, no conversation about plans for the weekend.

He finishes eating before, as usual, and I quickly scarf down a few more string beans before I stand and collect his plate and place it into the sink for washing.

The sound of metal chair legs scraping across the hardwood floor has me immediately tensing.  My shoulders bunch tightly and I wait for him to attack me from behind.

But the attack never comes.

He leaves the kitchen, and shortly after I hear the television click to life.  Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn on the taps and begin filling the sink.

As I wash the remains of dinner from our plates, I am lost in my thoughts.  I live in my head most of the time, daydreaming of a better life, a life I’ll never live.  An existence I once thought was possible... until I met Michael.

Like most little girls I dreamed of growing up.  I always wanted to be older.  Older kids had more freedom, they didn’t have to go to school every day, because they had jobs.  They could go out whenever they wanted, to wherever they wanted, not having to ask their parents’ permission.  I couldn’t wait until I was a grown up.  First I would get a job as a veterinarian’s assistant.  I would save my money and buy a house.  I didn’t dream of owning a three story mansion or a home with sixteen bedrooms and ten bathrooms.  I just wanted a quaint cottage with a large porch and a beautiful garden I could wander in.

Then I would meet the man of my dreams.  He would sweep me off my feet and worship me just as deeply as I adored him.  We would build a beautiful relationship and get married in front of our closest family and friends before jetting off to a tropical island for our honeymoon.  When we returned, we would have a family.  I didn’t want a houseful of kids, just one or two.

My husband would be the most wonderful daddy, and I the most adoring mummy.  We would raise our children in a home full of love and happiness, just like I was raised in.

On weekends, the kids would play in the gardens while my husband cooked a barbeque dinner in between playing chase with them, and I would prepare the salads.  We’d sit down and eat between our lively chatter, laughing and joking, sharing those moments that are special only to us because we were there in that moment, surrounded by the people we loved most in the world.

I sigh unconsciously, partly with reverence and partly with regret, as I gaze out the window into my reality.

Rather than a quaint cottage, I live in a rundown shack on the outskirts of town.  Outside is as dreary and bleak as the interior.  No garden beds and flowers, no rock paths or green grass, just dirt right to the front door, because we don’t have a veranda, or even a patio.

The hinges on the front door have needed replacing for the last three years, but Michael’s too lazy to do it.  I tried one day myself, and ended up with a bruised cheek for my efforts.  You think you’re the man of the house, Rosie?  You want to try and take my jobs?  Make me look like less of a man?  Well fuck you, bitch.  You cook and clean up after me, those are your jobs.  Fucking women thinking they can do a man’s job, fucking laughable.

That was two and half years ago, and he still hasn’t fixed it.

My dreams of becoming a veterinarian’s assistant were long since buried by him.  When we first started dating, he encouraged my aspirations.  Said I could be anything I wanted to be, and I’d be amazing at it, because my heart was so pure.  With the promise of a beautiful life I had imagined and the handsome prince I had dreamed of, I moved in with him just three months into our relationship.  My parents weren’t exactly thrilled, but I had just turned eighteen, and they couldn’t exactly stop me.  I didn’t mind that our place was a shack.  I thought once I started working, and with Michael already working, we would soon be able to create a beautiful home.  Pretty knick-knacks and nice furniture.  A splash of paint, and some potted colour. 

That was when everything fell to shit.

I was researching colleges and courses to begin the following school year.  I was excited, hopeful, and ready.  I found a course that operated out of Darwin three days a week.  With Darwin being a four-hour round trip away, I was debating about whether to just stay there for the three days a week before coming home.  I’d leave here Sunday afternoon and return Wednesday night.

Michael flew into a rage at my suggestion, so I immediately dismissed it and reassured him I would drive to school and back each day.  My suggestion didn’t placate him as I had hoped.  In fact, it made him even angrier.  So angry that he struck me, not once, not twice, but three times.  It happened so quickly but for the blood, the bruises, and the pounding in my head, I would have wondered if I imagined it.

He apologised and I forgave him.  Then I hid myself away from the outside world until my bruises disappeared, and I made excuses for him.  I berated myself for angering him, I felt shame because I had caused him to act that way.  Things got better for a few days and I decided to broach the subject again.  He berated me, called me names and slapped me.

He apologized and I forgave him.

A woman’s job is to look after her man.  You wash the dishes, fold my clothes, and cook me a feed every night.  How you gonna do that if you’re too busy fucking working?  You’ve got no reason to go out and work, unless you’re fucking someone else on the side.  Is that what you want, Rosie?  You want some other guy’s dick?  Bitch, I’ll fucking kill you before you that happens.

You’re too fucking dumb to be anything other than my servant, bitch.

No employer will ever want you anyway, so save yourself the rejection and concentrate on sweeping the floors.  Look, you missed a spot.  Fuck, you can’t do anything right, can you?

Four years of putdowns, insults, and bruises, it’s no wonder my confidence has taken a hit.  In fact, it’s almost non-existent these days.  Michael doesn’t even apologise anymore, instead, he blames his behaviour on me.  Everything is always my fault.  It doesn’t matter how hard I try to please him, nothing is ever good enough, and everything that goes wrong in his life is a direct result of my actions.

I’m so lost in my thoughts as I drain the water from the sink and wipe up the stray drops of water from the stainless steel, that I don’t hear his approach.

His hand grips my hair and he yanks backward.  I yelp, not from pain because I’ve long since learned to bite my tongue.  My tears only make him angrier.  The sharp cry escapes my mouth from surprise, but I quickly smother it as resignation swims through my veins.  I thought he was going to let today’s incident go.  I thought maybe he was changing.  I thought maybe things would get better because he hadn’t reacted to me being late home.

I was wrong.

What were you thinking about? he snarls, his voice sending a shiver of fear up my spine.

Nothing, I answer quickly.

Bullshit.  His hand tightens in my hair and I squeeze my eyes shut.  You didn’t even know I was standing behind you for the last ten minutes, bitch.  You daydreaming about another man?

No, of course not, Michael, I reply quietly. 

Make sure you remember I’m the only man who’d want someone as ugly as you, he sneers and I picture his lips twisting in that way that makes my stomach drop in terror.

I know that, I whisper.  He has told me that same thing so many times over the past fours years that I do know it.

Jesus, you’re a lazy bitch, he barks in my ear.  Can’t even wipe up the dishes after you’ve washed them.  I don’t bother to tell him I haven’t got that far yet.  Talking back will only anger him further.

His hand leaves my hair and I gradually bring my head straight, still squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the sound of him leaving the room to fill my ears.  It doesn’t come, though.  Instead, a loud ringing rips through my skull as a sharp pain sears through my ears.  I swallow the cry of pain that boils up my throat, and concentrate on breathing through my nose.

Dumb fucking bitch, he spits before his fist connects again, this time with the back of my head.  I jerk forward into the bench, but keep myself still, waiting for his next move to come.

You’re not even worth the effort, he sneers.  As a parting shot, he punches me hard in the ribs.  Pain radiates through my back and around through my lungs.  I gasp for breath as I sink to the floor.  As the front door slams with his departure, I finally let the tears fall.

CHAPTER TWO – OSCAR

Cheers, boys! I shout, raising my glass.

Cheers, the boys shout back.  Froth hits my lips first, followed by the cold, refreshing taste of beer.

Ahh, I sigh.

Good game today, Henley.  That pass out wide to Hendricks was magic.

Thanks, man, I say with a nod, finishing off my beer and signalling the bartender for another.  Just lucky.

"Luck’s got nothing