THE TIES THAT BURN

By TASHA HOUGH

"The Ties That Burn"

Skylar Hood's life was characterized by dysfunction, disappointment, and tragedy from the start. Realizing that there was no love to be found on the streets,

• Language: English
• Publisher: A & T ENTERPRISE LLC
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087991924

Book preview

PROLOGUE

T

he roar that rippled through the award ceremony auditorium was deafening as I was ushered through the crowd. Though fans, well-wishers, and fellow comrades who chased the same goals I did were all talking, I couldn’t distinguish a single word.

The familiar scent of Alonzo’s cologne found its way to me through the myriad of perfumes filling the air. He leaned his head close to mine, speaking directly into my ear. This way, babe. The car’s parked out front.

Part of me wanted to stay and savor it all while the other part knew it was time to take my leave.

The anticipation, the climax, the receipt of the recognition I’d worked incredibly hard for, and the aftermath of it all was overwhelming. But it was a beautiful overwhelm, one of triumph. Had anyone told me ten years earlier that I would be where I was at that moment, I would have called them flat out crazy. The obstacles that might have kept me from this achievement were innumerable. Sometimes I didn’t even know how I’d pushed past them. But I had in the same way I’d always found it necessary to fight for myself.

As promised, the car idled outside and moments after stepping into the cool night air, Alonzo had turned the car toward the mansion.

Wonderful as the evening had been, I breathed a sigh of relief upon arriving in our bedroom. I set aside my things, dropping down onto the four poster bed. The thousands of sequins adorning my lush, blue gown needled me all over as I removed my silver stilettos.

The sound of Alonzo’s footsteps brought my attention up. He stopped in the doorway, eyeing me with a passion that never failed to send butterflies dancing in my stomach.

Well done tonight, Sky.

I inclined my head in response, giggling. Why, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, my love.

Alonzo crossed the room, settling down beside me. He pulled me close and I didn’t hesitate to melt into the warmth of his body against mine.

From the comfort of Alonzo’s arms, I looked over at the award glistening from its place on the dresser. It was nothing more than marble plated with gold. And yet, it stood for so much more than that. Though the prestige and contentment of my current life surrounded me, I was brought abruptly back to a time when such feelings felt further away than anything in the world--to a time where all I felt was lostness, solidarity, searching.

My eyes slid shut, the memories lingering in my mind even as I rested in the safety of the life I’d built in spite of those who did their best to burn it to the ground...

1

ABANDONMENT

W

hether the memories of her are good or bad, a person’s mother is an integral part of anyone’s life. Even mothers who aren’t around play a role because of the void bred by their absence, intended or otherwise.

When my grandmother left my mother alone, it wasn’t by choice. One night, she simply passed away after a long bout with illness. My mother woke up to find her cold in the bed beside her. I was told that this was the experience that changed her forever and began molding her into the person I called ‘Mom.’

My grandmother hadn’t intended to leave her. Still, my mom had been left to fight for herself all the same and though my mom was in my life for a time, I was too even when she was beside me.

***

The smoke in the nightclub created a thick haze around me as I slurped the soda the bartender had given me. I sat at the corner table, my five-year-old limbs not yet long enough to place my feet on the ground.

I looked up at the stage as my mom’s alluring voice made its way through the microphone and to the ears of the men who watched her, transfixed. They always stared when she began to sing, the same strange daze that was always in my mom’s eyes present in theirs as well. It was from drinking the amber-colored liquid that made Mom tipsy in her high heels.

My mom’s name around the street was ‘Tiny’ due to her petite, slim stature, but every once in a while one of the men would call her Katy, hooting her name from the crowd as if he were summoning a stray dog.

The men swooned over her and I wondered if any one of them wished to take her as his wife. Perhaps if one did, we’d have a proper family: mother, father, daughter.

My dad, Dennis, was never around much. When he did show his face, he would beat on my mom and smelled sour like the stuff in the bottles the bartender poured.

Men can’t be trusted, Mom had told me once, her words slurred together as if her tongue were in the way. Your dad killed someone, did you know that? But now he’s out on the streets again. They let him out so he could go and do it again…

I finished the last of my soda before picking up my dolls, shimmying down from the too-tall chair. The smoke was burning my eyes and I knew that in the back there’d be less of it, so I went that way. It was dark in the hallway lined with doors leading to rooms I went into with my mom so she could put black lines and red powder on her face.

I settled down on the floor to play as my eyes began to adjust to the dimness.

Hey, little one.

I looked up to see a man standing in the shadows. He had a scruffy beard that his off-white teeth showed through when he talked. I’d seen him with mom before. He came home with us sometimes.

Your mom’s looking for you. I glanced down the hall, only just realizing that her mesmerizing voice no longer lilted from the front room. Where is she? I asked, standing. He nodded toward one of the dressing room doors.

Follow me.

We entered one of the dressing rooms but there was no sign of my mom. Where is she? I asked again.

Come closer, the man said.

I looked around for the light, wondering why he hadn’t turned it on. Before I could come closer, he shut the door, plunging us completely into the dark save for the half- hearted illumination of the lightbulbs lining the dressing room mirror.

He sat down in a chair, pulling me onto his lap. My skin crawled when his hands made their way down the front of my dress. I wasn’t sure what he was doing but no one had ever touched me like that and I didn’t like it. I tried to squirm away, but he gripped my arm until it hurt, so I stopped.

Pretty soon his hands ventured underneath my clothes. He was a grown-up, someone my mom invited into our house, so I figured what he was doing couldn’t be wrong… Could it?

I endured his invasion of places I’d always kept covered in complete confusion until he was finished. I thought of yelling at him or for other people. But in my experience, adults were the ones who yelled, not children, so I stayed silent.

When the man let me leave the room to rejoin my mom, I felt strange. I told myself it must have been alright, but something stopped me from telling her what he’d done. I didn’t know how to describe it, so I didn’t.

It wasn’t until my mom was dressing me a year later that I finally attempted