Sweet Treats and Deadbeats

CHAPTER 1: Life as the Onion

Madison

“Push, Madison!” Tina screamed in her annoying as hell southern accent. I knew how to have a goddamn baby. I’d had two other ones before this.

I gave her my best ‘f**k you b***h’ look and continued to push. Either this kid was going to be born at full size or I was f*****g rusty. I didn’t remember having this much trouble pushing out my sweet girl Sophie.

My baby girl was only four years old, but I could already tell that she was a whole hell of a lot smarter than me. Just the other day, she’d told me boys were icky and that she loved school. That was enough to warm any mother’s heart.

I wish I had been that smart; hell, I wish I was that smart now. Maybe then I wouldn’t be a newly single wife having a baby on the same day my husband ran out on me.

‘Husband’ was really a loose word for what that motherfucker was, though. All he ever did was poach off of me, get us evicted several times, and cheat on my ass. Yet, like a complete dumbass, I stayed with him. I fooled myself into believing that I loved the asshole.

His name was Tom. The name should have been my first sign that complete fuckery was about to ensue. I mean, Tom, like in the old Tom the Cat cartoons. My husband was just as sneaky as that damn cat. He also had nine goddamn lives, and they were all used to f**k up mine.

I couldn’t even remember how many times we’d been chased out of town by some lowlife gangster or gambler that he owed money to. He had cost me several a decent job, and because of him, my job history was spotty.

I was going to leave him when I found out that I was pregnant with Sophie. Ther was no way in hell I was bringing my baby girl into our s**t. By some stroke of luck, Tom managed to talk me into staying with hm.

He spouted those bullshit lines that promise changes and an end to bull s**t. As all men do, he kept his promise for a few weeks. After that, he was back to his same old fuckery. Sophie was only a few months old, and I didn’t want to work outside of the home, so I stayed.

We were in Minneapolis then. My husband, and again that term is used loosely, decided that he was going to become a card shark. The only problem was that he sucked at gambling. He managed to blow away both his and my small savings in a matter of months.

When a local well-know Gangster threatened to hurt me and Sophie, Tom got us out of there. Nine years of marriage and that was the only time that he ever put me first. I could have cared less if the thug hurt Tom at that point, but I would be damned if he touched a hair on my baby girl’s head.

We ended up moving back here, to Phoenix, where we started. It was hot as hell and there were scorpions in the summer, but we had a house, and the neighborhood was kid- friendly and safe.

Tom had even somehow managed to get a job at All State as an insurance salesman. For the first time, I had money to go grocery shopping and treat my baby girl to nice things. I was never one for fancy shoes or clothes, but I figured that Sophie should have the best. I thought everything was finally looking up for my little family. Boy was I wrong.

Things started going downhill when Sophie was two. I got pregnant. Tom was not happy. He accused me of cheating until he found out it was going to be a boy. Then, he puffed out his chest and strutted around the city handing out cigars. It always hurt me that he pretty much ignored his daughter, but I was in no position to leave him.

Well, long story short, I lost the baby. He was stillborn. I cried for months and fell into a deep depression. The only thing that kept me going was my baby girl. She was my light in those dark days.

Tom blamed me, saying that I didn’t take care of myself and blah, blah, blah. As if I didn’t feel guilty enough. The doctors assured us both that I had done nothing wrong. The baby had been deprived of oxygen too long. It couldn’t have been helped. To this very day, I still blame myself.

Tom and I began to fight all the time. He turned to alcohol to ease his pain. We fought verbally and sometimes physically. Tom was always careful not to hit me. Instead, he’d grab my arms or shove me against a wall. We both knew that one hit from his meaty fists would leave me with permanent damage.

My ‘husband’ was six foot-seven and pretty much all muscle. I, on the other hand, was only five-three and all curves. He’d had the nerve to call me a fat ass more than once. I would get in his face, and the s**t would hit the fan.

I knew that our arguments were not good for Sophie. I would always put her in her room and turn up her lullaby’s before we started, but more than once, she’d snuck downstairs to make sure we were okay. I felt like a horrible mother.

“You have to push, Ms. Smith,” the doctor between my legs commanded me.

Up until then, I had almost forgotten about the seven pound person making its way through my small vaginal opening. Thanks a f*****g lot, doc, I thought bitterly. I pushed for everyone’s sake and was rewarded with lots of ‘very goods’ by all involved. I felt like a prize cow.

Tina kissed my forehead, causing me to regret my earlier yelling. We’d met when I started waitressing at a local truck stop greasy spoon. Tom had cut off all money, except for the necessities, so I went to work so I could provide more for my baby girl.

At first I thought Tinawas going to be a b***h. Her aunt was the owner of the diner and I just knew that she was going to hate me. Boy was I surprised on that first day when she took a rude customer off of my hands. We’d been besties every since.

She was my total opposite. She was tall, strawberry blonde, and thin. I was short, curvy, and had dark hair and eyes. Many a male customer had tried to talk T into some after work s*x, but she declined. She was a picky girl.

One month, my life was going even worse than usual. Tina had seen me crying out back behind the diner and asked me what was wrong. I'd told her about how Tom had taken my bank card and used it, which meant I didn’t have enough money for Sophie’s daycare.

T had called him every foul name in the book. She then gave me the lecture about how I could do soooo much better. She offered to pay for the daycare herself, but I declined. I was a trainwreck, but I didn’t take handouts.

Tina had ended up asking her Aunt to let me bring Sophie to work. They even set up a small room for my baby girl in the back. I loved having her close to me. Being a mother, was the only worthwhile thing I’d ever with my life.

When I found out I was pregnant again, I was shocked. Tom and I rarely had s*x anymore and even then, I’d been careful, but apparently not careful enough. He took the news with an air of indifference. I didn’t see him again until two weeks later.

This pregnancy had been difficult. Me and the baby were both healthy, but Tom constantly made fun of me and put me down. Plus, I was tired all the damn time and still had to take care of my baby girl.

I consoled my pain by believing that even though my ‘husband’ was absent and surly, at least he paid the mortgage and other bills. At least I thought he did. It turned out ‘hubby’ was using loans, some in my name, and credit cards to supply our way of life. He’d quit the insurance company two months after we came to Arizona.

I never had a clue until a repo man came to pick up my car at work. If it hadn’t been for Tina lending me one of her older cars, Sophie and me wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere. Not that Tom gave a f**k.

I knew I should have been stronger in life. I should never have gotten on the back of Tom’s bike. I should have never let him talk me into getting married at eighteen. And I sure as s**t should have never used my meager college savings to send him to auto mechanics school, which he dropped out of in three weeks.

So, yeah, I’d made a lot of huge mistakes in life, but it wasn’t over yet. I still had good health, a few friends, and my babies. It may not have been the life I dreamed for myself, but it was mine.

I gave one final hard push and was rewarded with the sounds crying. My precious baby was alive and well. Tina held my hand tight as I weeped tears of pure joy.

My OBGYN turned to me and smiled. I could have sworn that her eyes were a little misty.

“Ms. Smith, you are now the mother of a bouncing baby boy. He is perfectly healthy and weighs in at 8 pounds and five ounces.” Eight f*****g pounds! No wonder I'd looked like a house the last few months. Sophie had only been a little over five pounds at birth.

The doctor placed my bundle in my arms and I was in love yet again. He had my brown eyes and his dad’s sandy brown hair. “Hello, baby Noah, I’m your Mama. I promise to keep you safe forever. You have a big sister that is dying to meet you.”

I beckoned T to come closer. She had a look of complete awe on her face. I looked down at my son. “This is your Aunt T. You better do what she says because she’s second in command.”

Tina wiped some stray tears from her eyes. “Hello, Noah sweetheart. Don’t listen to your mommy. You already have me wrapped around your tiny little fingers.”

I smiled softly a she cooed and nuzzled my baby boy. His dad should have been the one doing that, but he was off in Vegas gambling all our money away. I hated his f*****g guts. He could hurt me all he wanted to, but these were his kids. I hadn’t made them alone.

When they came to take my baby boy away, I asked T to call Tom and let him know that he had a son. Surprisingly, he answered. He was all proud papa, like he’d done s**t, and promised to come home and make it up to me. I was so exhausted that I just agreed with whatever he said.

Tina was a saint for keeping her mouth shut after the phone call. One word from her on how pathetic I was, and I was liable to cry for days. We chatted for a while until I started to feel sleepy. I asked Tina to put the TV on. There was breaking news.

A blonde, neatly coifed reporter was standing in front of a police station in what looked like California.

“Channel Five has just gotten word that famed bestselling author and Hollywood screenwriter, Declan Walsh, has been arrested and charged with involuntary manslaughter stemming from an overnight traffic incident that killed a family of four. His wife, model and actress, Sarah Walsh, is also among the dead. We will continue to keep you updated as the details come in.”

The camera switched to a picture of a man with dark reddish hair and a beautiful blonde who were taking their wedding vows. I, like most Americans, had heard of Declan and Sarah Walsh. They were regulars in the entertainment news. Their fights were as legendary as their work.

Tina shook her had and looked over at me. “See, Madison, someone is having a far shittier life than you.

“I’m going to head out so you can get some rest. I’ll bring Sophie by in the morning so she can meet her baby brother. Call me or Aunt Evelyn if you need anything,” she said, flipping the light off and kissing me on the cheek.

I closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I was in a deep sleep.

Declan

“You’ve had enough, Sarah,” I said, taking the bag of cocaine from my wife.

She slapped my hand away and went for it again. I let her because I was so f*****g tired of all our bullshit. If she wanted to kill herself then she could be my guest. She’d probably get a kick out of being one of the Hollywood elite to die young. She had once told me suicide was the new ‘IT’ thing to do.

She rubbed my c**k and made a sour face. “You’re no fun anymore, Declan. You just want to get high alone lately. We used to have so much fun.”

I grabbed the coke from her, put some on her compact, and snorted up two lines. She clapped her hands and kissed me on the cheek. Yeah, we were f****d up. This would actually be construed as a tame night for us.

We took turns going back and forth, finishing off the coke. It was pure and that was s**t that was hard to come by these days. Sarah licked up the last remnants as I went to get our coats. We were in a private room of Lushaholics, Los Angeles’ newest night club. It was the place to be seen and get high.

I was pretty f****d up and seeing double by this point. I’d finished off a whole bottle of gin by myself and Sarah was just as bad. I’d watched her smoke a rock earlier. She usually didn’t do c***k. But she had been in a rush, and it was all that was available.

To most people, we were known as Hollywood royalty. We looked good, graced magazines, got our movies made, and had an endless supply of money. We also fought like two caged animals, so the paparazzi were fond of following us around.

I went back to our private room, tipped the guy who came to clean up our mess, and put Sarah in the car. She was singing a song from her new musical that opened up on Broadway next month. I had chosen to stay in Los Angeles while she would be in New York. We needed the time apart.

When we got in the car, Sarah took out a bottle of painkillers. She downed half the bottle.

“Slow the f**k down, Sarah!” I screamed.

She giggled and handed me a pill. I shook my hand. “Suit yourself,” she said, opening a bottle of water.

I was pretty worried about Sarah’s heavy drug use as of late; but being a f*****g addict myself I was in no position to go all holier than thou on her.

When we got to a traffic light, Sarah grabbed my hand and put it on her belly. “Can you feel it, Declan. I’m pregnant.”

I swerved the f*****g Ferrari so fast that I almost killed us. “What the f**k are you talking about, Sarah!” This s**t could not be happening.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a picture. It was a f*****g sonogram. “You’re going to be a daddy,” she said much too loudly.

This s**t was serious. We both f****d other people, but I was pretty sure Sarah would know who the father of her child was. I stared at the picture. I was in no condition to be a father. Who was going to give the kids the old ‘say no to drugs’ speech? Definitely not me and Sarah.

I was pissed off that she knew that she was pregnant and had sat and snorted almost a whole f*****g bag of coke. Did she want to kill our kid?! I may not have been thrilled with the prospect of being a father, but I took care of my responsibilities.

I glanced over at her. She did look fuller. “Sarah, your ass is going to rehab first thing in the morning. Forget New York. You can do Broadway later.”

She threw her water bottle at my head. Did I mention I was still driving? Yeah, that’s pretty much our relationship.

I was too f****d up to make it home, so I pulled over to a nearby park in a gated community. One of my producer friends lived nearby so the on-duty guard knew us. He smiled as he let us into the neighborhood.

Since we were in the suburbs, I figured we’d be safe. Hell, f*****g cops were still out patrolling this late, just one more perk of being filthy-ass rich.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a joint. I had taken so many f*****g drugs that smoking weed was the equivalent of a cigarette for me. Sarah immediately reached her hand out, asking for a hit. I shook my head no and continued to smoke.

Eventually, she got tired of pouting and put on her music. We were both high as f**k. I watched as her tiny dress slipped down, exposing her n****e. My c**k didn’t even flinch. Sarah was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, but to me she was just my bitchy wife. I made sure I smoked all of my joint, so Sarah wouldn’t take it, then I passed out.

When I woke up, my nightmare began. An ambulance worker pulled me from the vehicle. I looked down at myself, noticing there was blood everywhere. It was then that I took in the scene. A that moment, I actually wished for blindless.

My car was smashed against a minivan which was smashed against a tree. Immediately I knew that there were kids involved. I could see the Winnie the Pooh window thing from where I stood.

I was numb as the EMT checked me over and declared me fine except for some nasty bruises and cracked ribs. Something wasn’t right. How in the hell had we gotten into an accident?

I asked where Sarah was and the EMT went to get someone. He came back with two police officers. They were looking at me like two cats with a defenseless juicy mouth. I winced and stood up to my full height.

Douchebag number 1 glared at me. “Mr. Walsh, I am Officer Reed and this,” he nodded to the other guy, “is Officer Moore. Do you remember what happened?”

I shook my head. “I, uh, had too much to drink. My wife, Sarah, and I passed out in our car in the park. What the f**k is going on here? Where is Sarah?!”

The officers exchanged a look that let me know they thought I was bulshitting them. “Mr. Walsh, we are going to have to ask you to come down to the station with us,” Douchebag number two said, grabbing my arm.

I shrugged him off. “I’m not going any goddamn place until you motherfucking pigs tell me where my wife is?!” Several people on the scene turned to stare.

Douchebag one pulled out his handcuffs. “Declan Walsh, you are under arrest for DUI, DWI, and involuntary manslaughter…” That’s all I heard. Manslaughter meant someone was dead.

I turned away from the cops and vomited all over my expensive leather shoes. “Who…who died?” I whispered.

Douchebag one rocked back on his heels and scowled at me. “It’s your wife. Sarah, she’s dead... You also killed an innocent family of four. I hope that goddamn high was worth it, because you will be paying for this for a long time to come.”

I didn’t put up a fight as the Officers handcuffed me; because really, what the f**k did I have to live for anymore? For the first time since I was a boy I felt like weeping. Hard and for a long f*****g time. My wife and unborn child were dead, and I'd killed them.