Recently Sirens Call Publications released it’s first romance/erotic anthology titles He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. True to form, we’re going to bring you guest posts from most of the authors who contributed stories, letting them share the inspiration behind what they wrote. Next up is the author of Don’t Call me When He Tries To Kill You, Kerry G.S. Lipp.
Kerry teaches English at a community college by evening and writes horrible things by night. He hates the sun. His parents started reading his stories and now he’s out of the will. Kerry’s work will appear in several forthcoming anthologies including The Best of Cruentus Libri Press. His story “Smoke” was adapted for podcast via The Wicked Library episode 213, and pioneered TWL’s inaugural explicit content warning. KGSL blogs weekly at www.HorrorTree.com and will launch his own website www.newworldhorror.com sometime in 2013. Say hi on Twitter @kerrylipp or his Facebook page: New World Horror – Kerry G.S. Lipp.
Thoughts On Don’t Call Me When He Tries To Kill You
I’m on record saying that going at the blank page pissed off or with a broken heart is an excellent idea. I believe that. I don’t go at the page like that often, thank God, but I stand by it. Don’t Call Me When He Tries To Kill You is a product of me going at the page with that volatile combination.
I’m a single guy in my late twenties. I’ve been (mostly) single for a long time and I’m okay with that. Some may even go as far to call me bitter. That’s probably true. A good portion of my story in He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not is based on truth, tough experience and hard lessons.
I’ve been fascinated with relationships and male/female interaction for a vast majority of my twenties.
With this story, I wanted to apply an honest and personal situation to a lot of the gender theory and philosophy that I’ve studied for the last several years. And since this is fiction, I spiced up a few elements to make it all a little more dramatic.
I’m happy to say that all instances of domestic violence in this story are part of that manufactured drama and I hope they always will be.
But I won’t lie to you, I take an honest approach to life and my fiction and most of Derek’s thoughts strongly mirror my own when faced with this or similar situations. And I’ve stared down more than a few. We all have. It’s a jungle out there.
I’ve read multiple articles that pretty much say: in this current world we live in, if you don’t marry your high school sweetheart, you’re basically fucked. I don’t necessarily agree with that, but I think you’re going to eat a hell of a lot of heartbreak to find someone to keep you from dying alone.
This story was an exploration of that journey for both Derek and myself. I wrote this when a lot of the wounds from a failed relationship were still pretty raw, and I hope that comes across. I don’t know how good this story is. I usually write horror/action/comedy. This is really none of those, but it felt good, cathartic, getting all of this out and doing something different. Whether this got published or not, it was something I needed to write and I can’t thank Sirens Call Publications enough for giving me an opportunity to give it an audience.
I tried my best to capture the range of emotions that comes with a budding relationship, hopefully taking the reader on that same rollercoaster of doubt, anxiety, and excitement that spending time with someone new brings. I ended it with a hopeful gut punch that is often a weird disconnect when relationships end. I hope that resonates with the reader.
Saying goodbye to love sucks, it really does, but that farewell should be accompanied with some hope. It’s a big world out there, even if it is a jungle.
One last thing. I recently got dumped, or at least that’s how I’d put it, but we’re still kind of friends. Life’s weird and we’ll see what happens next.
But Derek’s single (I think) and so am I. I might have to see what he’s up to and where he’s been since he backed out of that parking space. Hopefully he’s had a little better luck than me, and even if he hasn’t, I’ll bet he’s got another story to tell.
I know I do.
Thanks for reading and keep it real.
All little girls, and some little boys, know the game He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. Each one who plays hopes to end on the He Loves Me petal. But how many of us really find that perfect mate? That one partner who will love us unconditionally for the rest of our lives? How many of us really live the dream, and how many live through the heartbreak of ending on the He Loves Me Not petal?
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not is an anthology of ten stories told from ten different perspectives on love and romance. Some have happy endings, while others end in tears, on a note of desperation, or even a new beginning. A few of the stories are fantasies come true, some steamy encounters of wanton lust, and others still are tales of woe – but the one thing they all have in common – they answer the age old question; does he love me, or does he not?
North Star – Rhiannon Fox
Glynnis – Julianne Snow
The Headless Ladies – Brenda Moguez
Keeping Distance – Alex Chase
Don’t Call Me When He Tries To Kill You – Kerry G.S. Lipp
Freefall – Kate Monroe
Living in the Shades – Vincent Ashcroft
Ruby – Stephanie Nett
Control – Ara Lynn
Railroaded – O.M. Grey
Amazon: US, UK, Canada, Germany, Italy, France, Spain, Japan, Brazil, India, Mexico
And now it’s time for an excerpt…
“That ok with you princess?” Rick asked, venom coating his words, eyes challenging. His hand shot out and grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together.
Abi hated when he got like this. Everyone has a word or phrase that they use when they are angry and princess was his. She knew she was in trouble and that she’d better answer him. But the words wouldn’t come. The only answers that came were the slow, trickling tears and the silent sobs that softly rocked her body.
She looked up at him, defeated and broken. And like always, he still didn’t stop.
“Answer me,” he demanded and shoved her back onto the bed.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried, her mascara leaking doe eyes looking up at him.
And then he hit her. Hard. Right in the face. He’d hit her before, but never this hard and never where anyone else could see. Instantly, she felt the heat from the blow. Skin didn’t break and she didn’t bleed, but she could already feel the blood flood under her bruising skin. Abi thought her eye might even swell shut. She collapsed on the bed and like a switch, the anger fled from his face and his voice and he lay on the bed next to her apologizing, wrapping his comforting arms around her. Rick’s boiling rage paralleled an orgasm, the heat of climax, followed by post euphoric stasis.
Outside of Rick softly murmuring “I love you,” and “I’m sorry,” into her neck, they didn’t speak. Once she fell asleep in his arms, he slithered up and got a steak from the refrigerator and put it over her eye. He felt sick, but in the moment, he felt like he’d done what needed to be done. How dare she defy him? He didn’t like to hit her. She should know better than to test his dominance. And now she’d learned another lesson. He hoped she remembered this time.
Abi remembered as soon as she woke up. She sprung awake the way you do when you know you’re not in the right place. Her face throbbed and the memory of last night flooded back, that big fist, the solid connection with her eye and then falling asleep in that fucker’s arms.
She went to the bathroom to pee and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It looked a lot worse than it felt. There would be no hiding this. Her mind raced thinking up stories. I fell. I got hit with a door. A stray basketball or a stray elbow in a basketball game. All those clichés. She’d have to pick one. She couldn’t hide forever her black and swollen eye wasn’t going anywhere. Jesus. She shuddered and her face hurt. She could only blink one eye.
After peeing and showering and getting ready, she went out to either get breakfast or find Rick. She found them both. He had the table set, two plates full of her favorite breakfast foods. Chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and eggs with salsa and melted cheese. Rick looked at her, half ashamed, half apologetic.
She smiled at the spread on the table but when her lips curved up, pain flared around her swollen eye and reality crashed down on her. Tears welled up and spilled hot down her cheeks.
Don’t forget to come back tomorrow when Julianne Snow talks about the inspiration behind her tale Glynnis!