Prologue

 

 

 

Dante

 

“Momma wake up!” I chant as I lightly nudge momma’s arm. “Momma, please wake up!” I plead. She hasn’t moved an inch all day and its supper time. Her body was cold, so I threw the old afghan over her after I made my cereal for breakfast. This isn’t like her. She’s usually bouncing off the walls from the score she got from her friend.

 

I rush out of the apartment and to Mrs. Marybeth’s door, knocking frantically until she answers.

 

“What’s wrong, Dante?” She asks.

 

“My momma won’t wake up and I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Alright, child. Let me put on my slippers and I’ll help you wake her up.” She shuffles to her slippers beside her recliner and shoves her feet in. I know she’s old and I don’t want to rush her, but one of my steps takes three of hers. We enter my apartment finally where momma is out cold on the kitchen floor. Mrs. Marybeth bumps momma’s foot with hers with no response. She moves closer to her face and puts two fingers on her neck mumbling ‘oh lord’ over and over. “Dante, go back to my place and get my phone. It’s on the table beside my recliner.”

 

I run as fast as my legs will take me until I have the phone in my hand and I’m handing it off to Mrs. Marybeth. I listen as she talks but it’s too muffled for me to understand. I stare at the lifeless body of my once beautiful mother with her thick blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes. She used to be the best until she met Doug. He turned her into a monster and then left me with her.

 

Sirens break me out of my anger towards Doug and back to Mrs. Marybeth as she slides the phone into the pocket of her robe. “Dante, I’m sorry, but your momma’s gone. She’s now with the angels in the sky.”

 

“No she’s not.” I fight off her arms as she tries to contain me. “She’s just sleeping. She’ll wake up in a little bit.” I scream as Mrs. Marybeth shakes her head vigorously in the negative.

 

I startle awake from the nightmare that is on constant repeat every night that I fall into a restless sleep. The day my momma died was the day that I was brought to the one place that I was meant to be.

 

I spent a week at a group home and for an eight year old boy who just lost his momma, it was terrifying. There weren’t just monsters under my bed. They were all over the fucking place. I could see them in some of the attendants’ eyes.

 

The day I was able to breath easily again was the day my social worker took me to a little brick rancher on the edge of town. I met Debra and Frankie Blakely. I knew instantly that this was where I belonged. The kicker was the blonde-haired fury that snatched my hand without a word and dragged me into the house. She sat me at the dining room table and then she sat across from me.

 

“What’s your name?” She prodded.

 

“Dante.” I mumbled.

 

She bobbed her head. “My name is Cybil, but my friends call me CeeCee.” I nodded. “Are you hungry, Dante? My daddy tells me I can make a mean peanut butter and jelly.”

 

“I could eat.” I was starving since my stomach was churning all morning with the anticipation of where and who I was going to be living with.

 

That was the moment I knew that CeeCee and I were going to be best friends and that nothing would ever come between us. That was until CeeCee hit puberty and all her flat surfaces began to round out. I had to take a step back because she was my best friend and I couldn’t stand to go a day without her if she decided she couldn’t handle my raging hormones.

 

I was always in attendance in her life, but I wasn’t close enough to touch her or breathe in her scent.

 

Now we’re both in our thirties and I can’t get close enough. I stood back too long while she tested the waters with men and then I pushed too hard when I wanted her to cave to my every whim.

 

She proved to me every time we touched that I was just a figment. When dawn broke, the carriage would turn back into a pumpkin. Each and every time, I was back to square one trying to win her affection—trying to get her to see me for more than just her good-time fellow.

 

I can’t blame her. I was the one who pushed back when she edged forward. I was the one who kept my distance instead of pulling her closer. But I don’t give a shit about the past and my mistakes. What matters now is making her mine no matter how long it takes or through what obstacles she puts me through.