How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (35 page)

Colt

—the
only one who will ever love you, Colter, the only one who can give you what you
need. You were a rabid dog everyone else wanted put down. Everyone but me. I
wanted you. I trained you. I made the black noise go away. I—

—think
that’s how you got me, Colt.

Not
that into tattoos, my ass. She liked it. Should’ve seen the way her eyes turned
on when she saw it.

Do
you remember what you said? When I—

When
the pain came, she left. If she was real, if she loved you, why didn’t she
stay?

Because
she knew you were a weak fucking coward who was going to trade in loving her
just to stop the pain. Who the fuck would stay if they knew—

—knew
everything about you, Colter. Every awful, disgusting, locked-away thing. I am
the only one who could ever love you enough to forgive you. The only one who
never abandoned you. I protected you from the black noise. I—

—cried
out to Him and He answered me. The final battle is coming. Blessed be the Lord
my rock who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle. He chose us,
boys. I cried out to Him and He—

Please,
God, make the black noise go away. Make this all go away. I can’t take it.

“Keep
your shit together, Sunshine. You ain’t done yet.”

Finishing
a good book sucks. It’s over. Now what?

You
can get the prequel to The Redneck Apocalypse series,
Shannon in the Lion’s Den
.
It’s the “How I Met Your Mother (and How Your Mother Met Her Vampire Lover)” of
the Whitney family.

If
you want to be the first to know when I release the sequel to
How to Kill
Yourself in a Small Town
, you can sign up for my mailing list here:
http://eepurl.com/OHMkf

And
if you liked (or hated) this book, you can help keep me in business (or put me
out of it) by leaving a review on
Amazon
or
Goodreads
.
A sentence or two from you can make all the difference!

Thanks
for reading!

I
wrote this story, so everything bad about it is my fault, but all the good in
this book came from several awesome people and NPs who deserve sincere thanks.

God,
obviously. I owe Him, His Son, and the Holy Spirit everything.

Certain
professors and nonconformicons at Pratt Institute whose names I won’t mention
in case they’re embarrassed to be affiliated with a work of this…uh…caliber. I
would have written whether I’d taken your classes or not, but I’m a better
writer and a better person because I did.

The
Op boys and girl—Ronny Khuri, Will Greene, and Kensey Stedman—for their support,
editing, and brilliance through every step of the publishing process. It just
makes sense that the best writing group ever would be made up of the best
writers ever.

My
family, for teaching me to appreciate my redneck-by-choice, white-trash-by-the-grace-of-God
roots, then sending me out into a world where not everyone does.

And
my Joshua, who is the reason I love guitar players. He’s a superman,
super-father, and dream lover. He read every draft and half-draft of Halo from
the first to the last and convinced me over and over again not to give up—all
while keeping food on our table, electricity in our outlets, and rebuilding a
house. Joshua is my sugardaddy right now, but someday he’ll be my trophy
husband. That’s a promise.

I am
invincible. I am a mutant. I have 3 hearts and was born with no eyes. I had
eyes implanted later. I didn’t have hands, either, just stumps. When my eyes
were implanted they asked if I would like hands as well and I said, “Yes, I’ll
take those,” and pointed with my stump. But sometimes I’m a frog. A blue tree
frog that sings before it rains and I change colors. I sit on your shoulder and
sing in your ear as I turn purple.

But
I’m also a tattoo-addict, coffee-junkie, drummer, and aspiring skateboarder. I
love you. Let’s be friends.

Hang
out with me on
Goodreads

Drop
me a line:
[email protected]

Take a
look behind the curtain:
WhiteTrashCappuccino.blogspot.com