Текст книги "Falling to Pieces"
Автор книги: Leddy Harper
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Falling to Pieces
© Leddy Harper
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Kim Black at TOJ Publishing www.tojpublishing.com
Formatting by E-BookBuilders www.e-bookbuilders.com
Editing by Josie Cruz
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Epilogue
Leddy's Notes
Coming Soon – Sneek Peak
Hey You!
More from Leddy
Contact Leddy
For the Reader
For my sophomore English teacher…
You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
You pushed me to be better than a “regular” student.
You may not remember me, but I’ll never forget you.
Present day
Six hundred days sober. That’s a feat worth celebrating.
So why am I sitting alone in a dark field with my back against a tree? That’s a good question. Maybe I was looking for something I couldn’t define. Maybe—even though I had gotten my life back on track—I was still lost. It didn’t seem to matter how many days I’d been sober, or how hard I fought to rein in my life, there would always be a part of me that remained fucked up. A part of me that I’d never be able to reclaim. But I was learning to accept that. I had to be okay with it. I couldn’t dwell on the past anymore. It had landed me in enough trouble, gotten me too far off the beaten path. I had to persevere and keep my focus on what’s in front of me.
Although, it did become increasingly hard to fix my gaze on the path ahead of me, because a woman followed me every night when I came to this quiet space of land. Well, not followed me, she just happened to always be here. She’d come long after I’d arrive, and then I’d sneak off into the trees before she left. What made me watch her, though, was the sadness that exuded from her. I never got close enough to see her face clearly, but her slumped shoulders and shuffling feet were enough to signify her constant gloom. We never spoke, never even caught each other’s gazes. In fact, I’m quite certain she never even knew I was there. I remained hidden in the shadows while she perched herself on the end of the rickety dock, letting her feet dangle in the dark pool of water beneath her.
She fascinated me, but I couldn’t tell you why. I had no idea. I didn’t even truly know what she looked like, considering I’d never allowed myself to get that close to her. I’d become nothing more than a spectator to what I presumed was her sad, pathetic life, a life that somehow led her to this desolate place. I knew because feelings of loss had led me here, too. At least she sat out in the open. I was too much of a coward to do that.
I sensed a connection to her. A small, distant connection to a stranger, yet it felt as if we were kindred spirits or something. I couldn’t describe what it was that touched my soul so deeply when I studied her. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop watching her, and it didn’t take long before I began looking forward to the nights I could make it down here to see her. I’d learned her schedule early on. I knew it by heart. She only came to the lake in the middle of the field four nights a week—Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. So I made it a point to be here those times, too.
This night unfolded no differently than the others. I followed the same pattern as I always did. I sat against the tree, letting the shade hide me from view, and examined her as she made it through the tall, willowy grass. She wore a short dress that blew in the breeze like clothing on a hanging line. It appeared to be white, but color could be very deceiving this time of night. The moon hung big and bright, not a cloud in the sky to conceal it, and it projected a white glow over the entire field, shining off the lake’s eerily still water. It lit her up perfectly, making her look like a fallen angel. A devastated, soul-shattered angel.
I knew her routine like the back of my hand and could’ve closed my eyes and seen the entire thing, but she captivated me and I enjoyed watching it instead. However, this night, she did something different. Normally, she’d pull off her brown cowboy boots and set them down on the warped dock before sitting on the edge. But this time, she walked all the way to the end and stared off into the distance. She held her head back, threw her arms out, and just stood there.
My focus zeroed in on her. It caught my attention, because for the last six weeks, I’d never seen her do anything like this. She dropped her arms to her sides, bowed her head, and her shoulders slumped. I sat forward on alert, trying to get a better look. I already assumed she was a lost—and more than likely sad—girl, but this only proved to drive that point home.
Before I could fully acknowledge what she was doing, her clothed body fell forward, diving into the lake. I jumped to my feet, not having a clue as to what to do. I knew the water had to be cold at night. I’d fished in it plenty of times to know. And I also knew how deep it was at the end of that tiny, unstable dock. Just past the grass that led into the water, a shelf lurked beneath the surface, and beyond that, nothing but deep water—at least fifteen feet. You’d have to be an idiot to jump in at nighttime wearing all your clothes and having no one to help you out of it. I knew enough to assume that she wasn’t just going for a swim.
My feet instinctively carried me through the damp grass, toward the wooden path to the dock. Time froze, every step slower than the last, and all nature’s sounds dissipated, leaving only a high-pitched buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t get to her fast enough. My steps grew heavy. It was as if I became entrenched in quicksand. Time ticked by as my mind frantically fought its way out of a tunnel with no light at the end. I had to save this girl. I had to get her out of the water.
I kept my eyes on the surface of the lake, waiting and watching for her head to reappear, but it never did, which only increased my panicked state. And then I finally found myself at the edge of the wooden dock, my eyes desperately trying to find her. My breaths came in pants, unable to draw in a deep enough lungful of air. I knew if I dove in after her, I wouldn’t be able to stay under long before coming back up, needing to catch my breath again. But I didn’t care. I jumped in, frantically feeling around in the dark, cold water for her.
I jerked and kicked my legs, yet they hit nothing but endless water beneath me.
I saw nothing except darkness.
I surfaced to fill my lungs and then went under again. I did that once more before my hand finally touched something. An arm, a leg, I didn’t know what it was, but I grabbed it with all my strength and pulled it into my body as I kicked my way to the surface.
The water broke around us, and the night air filtered over our faces, but I couldn’t feel any of it. I had been in such a panic, such survival mode, that my body never registered the water’s temperature when I’d first jumped in. My mind had been solely focused on finding this girl and getting her to safety. I couldn’t think of anything else. But once we reached the dock, I allowed myself a few seconds to look at her, hoping I’d see life in her.
Dark hair clung to her skin, hiding her face from me. But I could see enough to know that her eyes were closed. Her head lulled to the side, and I couldn’t think of anything else other than getting her to safety. With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed her onto the dock and then climbed over her still body. I smacked her cheek a few times and then started CPR until I heard her cough. Then she coughed harder, spewing out a mouthful of water.
That’s when I could finally breathe.
Her eyes popped open, taking me in before pushing me away. Panic flooded her face as her eyes grew large, and she started scooting back on the wooden planks of the dock. Her hands wiped the hair from her face at the same time she moved from beneath my shadow, and that’s the moment the moonlight lit up her features, highlighting the pair of wolf eyes that had haunted my sleep for years.
Night air froze in my lungs. A hard mass thumped against my chest as if someone hit me with a sledgehammer. I knew her. I knew her well. I’d tried to save her six years ago, but I never could. I couldn’t save her, and I’d ended up losing myself at the same time.
She was the student that had ended me.
The student that nearly ended my career.
My life.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, realization dawning on her face.
Six years ago
Aubrey
First day back from Christmas break was never fun. At least not for me. Everyone came in wearing new clothes or sporting shiny new jewelry. They clung to each other as if we’d been gone for two years instead of two weeks. Just another reminder of how alone I was in the world. While other kids opened new Nike tennis shoes wrapped in shiny gold paper, I stared out my living room window at the empty street in front of my house, imagining what went on inside the homes of my neighbors.
It’s not that I’m not a Christian, or that I don’t celebrate Christmas. That’s not why I sat alone in a bare living room watching the television on December twenty-fifth. I did that because my mother was a selfish woman who couldn’t care less about me, her only child. Buying me new things or celebrating anything with me had never been on her agenda. She only ever cared about having the perfect image in front of those that mattered—to her, anyway. And since they weren’t around on Christmas day, she had no need to fake it.
So as I passed all these kids in the hallway, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at their enthusiasm. Maybe it was because I envied them. I wished I had their lives, walked in their brand-new shoes, experienced the joys of receiving gifts bought by loving parents and caring friends. Whatever the reason, I kept my head down and walked around their gathering bodies in the hall as I headed to my first class of the day, American History.
I found my desk in the back row, right beside many other empty seats because I was the first one there. Yet another reminder of what a loner I was—I didn’t even have a friend to talk to before the bell rang. But I pushed back those negative thoughts as I got ready for class, pulling my notebook and pencil from my backpack. I must’ve been so lost in my own head, because the sound of a throat clearing next to me made me jump.
I turned toward the interruption and found the sexiest man alive staring back at me. What surprised me the most was that he sat in our teacher’s seat…at our teacher’s desk. Then I allowed my eyes to wander from his perfect face and found that he wore a dress shirt and tie. Kids my age didn’t wear clothes like that. Only teachers did.
Oh shit.
The side of my seat sat flush with the front of the teacher’s desk, so if we both leaned in a little bit more, we could very well be nose to nose with only the top of the teacher’s desk separating our bodies. I never had a problem with it when Mrs. Ziegler sat there.
Now it seemed to pose a potential uncomfortable dilemma.
“You’re the sub?” I asked with what I intended to be a strong voice, but it came out breathy and pathetic. Enough so that my cheeks burned, and I knew that he noticed the blush. I wasn’t a subtle blusher.
“No. New teacher. As you know, your old teacher had her baby, and she made the decision not to come back. My name is Ah—Mr. Taylor. And you are?” His smile blinded me and caused all logical thoughts to vacate my brain. All I could focus on was his voice, and how deep it was, how it felt as it fell over me, consuming me.
My mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Not a damn thing. He asked me a question, yet at that moment, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. He was that gorgeous. Then he laughed and it brought me back to life.
“Aubrey Jacobs. But I go by Bree. You can call me Bree. Everyone does.” My face burned hotter, and I knew my cheeks probably matched the red shirt I wore. Everyone does? That would imply I had friends. Which wasn’t a bad thing to let him believe, even if it was an outright lie.
A soft laugh escaped his perfect lips as he glanced down at a piece of paper in front of him, making a mark on it. I assumed it was the attendance sheet, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from his mouth to verify. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Bree.”
Ah, the way he said my name. The way it rolled off his tongue, it sounded beautiful—deep and very masculine. I wanted to hear him say it all the time. And I made up my mind right then and there that I would study my ass off, just so I could raise my hand when he’d ask questions in class, and then he’d have to say my name.
“Don’t you know your own name?” My question surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise him. I thought it sounded flirty in my head, but out loud, it was just weird.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you said ‘ah’ before you said your name. Like you had to think about it.” I wanted to slap myself. Students didn’t make small talk with their teachers. They took notes, listened, and learned. They weren’t friends.
His lips turned up into another heart-stopping smile, revealing a sliver of perfect teeth, and I had to force myself to keep breathing. His bright, clear-blue eyes twinkled in the lights from above as he cocked his head to the side. This guy seriously couldn’t have been that much older than me. Probably fresh out of college. He was young, fit from what I could see of him, and oh so sexy.
“My first name is Axel. I’m not in the habit of introducing myself as Mr. Taylor yet. It’ll take some getting used to, I guess.”
“Axel…?” I posed it like a question, as if trying to place the name somewhere, but in reality, I just wanted to say it. I wanted to see what it felt like to roll it off my tongue.
“Yeah, my mom was a huge Guns N’ Roses fan. She had a thing for Axl Rose. Could be worse. She also had a thing for Aerosmith, and then I would’ve been Tyler Taylor, because she thought Steven was a boring name. If you look at it that way, I’m rather fortunate she chose Axel.”
I laughed and nodded my head, agreeing with him. Yet I had no idea who he was talking about. Guns and Who? But the last thing I wanted to do was show my age, so I played along and kept my mouth shut.
“You like Guns N’ Roses?” he asked, catching me off guard.
I scratched my chin and looked up at the ceiling, trying to come up with something to say. If I said yes, then he’d more than likely ask me about my favorite song—something else that I would never be able to fake. Saying no would be the safest bet, but then it’d leave him open to ask me why not, or what kind of music I listened to. And at the moment, the only singer I could think of was Britney Spears. And I was not about to claim her as my favorite.
“You have no idea who they are, do you?” he asked while laughing teasingly.
My eyes met his and I felt defeated. The gig was up. I couldn’t fake it anymore. I shrugged and watched his grin grow even wider. “No. Not at all. What gave it away?”
“You did. Seems you have a tell, Miss Bree. Good to know.”
“A tell? What do you mean? And why is it good to know?”
“You didn’t know the answer, so your eyes moved around without focusing on anything. Like you were trying to find the answers somewhere in the air. And it’s good to know because I’m your teacher—I need to know when my students don’t know something. It’s my job to teach you, to make sure you have the answers before you leave my class.”
Before I could respond with anything more than a nod, other kids began to filter in, their voices growing louder and louder as they made their way to their empty seats.
“Looks like class is starting.” He winked and then stood up.
My jaw dropped.
Axel Taylor was tall, and even through his dress shirt and nice jeans, I could tell how well built he was. He had a trim waist, broad shoulders, and arms that filled out his sleeves nicely. The denim hugged his thighs the way they should on a real man—not like the boys walking around the halls of this school. Watching him move across the front of the class, I realized I’d probably fail American History. There would be no way I’d be able to concentrate on what he taught, not when he ran his hands through his thick, dark-blond hair and smiled that way.
“Oh my God, he is so hot. I wonder if he’s single,” the girl who sat in front of me whispered a little too loudly to the girl next to her. Rebecca and Jill. They were both cheerleaders and, hands down, the two prettiest girls in school. Overhearing their conversation caused my stomach to drop and a gloomy mood of worthlessness to settle in.
Not that any of us stood a chance with Mr. Taylor—he was a teacher and we were under-aged kids—but against those two, I certainly wouldn’t even be an option. And thinking about that made me realize that even without the competition of Rebecca and Jill, I still wouldn’t be good enough to catch his attention. Guys like Axel Taylor didn’t go for girls like me. If I were being honest, guys in general didn’t go for girls like me. I was quiet and kept to myself. I got along with the kids at school, I wasn’t bullied or anything, but I never really fit in anywhere.
Kind of hard to fit in when you lived a life like mine.
“Since when has a guy’s relationship status ever stopped you?” Jill teased.
Rebecca smiled and twirled her hair confidently around her finger. I watched as the silky strand wrapped round and round, and wondered if everything was so effortless to her all the time, or if she ever had to worry about anything.
Mr. Taylor droned on and on for nearly an hour, yet I didn’t hear one word he uttered. It would’ve been nice had the reason been because I was too busy staring at his ass or watching his mouth move as he spoke, but that wasn’t the case. Insecurities had built up too high in my mind, and I couldn’t find the strength to get past them. No one needed to point out my shortcomings, because I knew them all too well myself. I’d never be the pretty girl in class. At least I wasn’t the ugly one, but being the invisible, plain Jane wasn’t too far off. I was smart, but not in the geeky kind of way. It was pretty much the only thing I had going for me.
Maybe my mother was right when she said I’d never amount to anything.
The bell rang and everyone jumped out of their seats. I hated the melancholy that encased me as I stuffed my notebook back into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I despised those all-too-familiar feelings of worthlessness that overwhelmed me with every step I took. Once they dug their way in, I couldn’t get them out. Insecurity ate away at me—the termite of my emotions—with no regard to the damage it left behind.
“Everything okay, Bree?” His deep voice became softer as he stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest between the two desks at the front of my row, blocking me from getting out. He didn’t seem pissed, more like concerned. Although, no one ever looked at me that way, so I could’ve been wrong.
I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his, wondering why he bothered to halt my exit. No one had ever cared enough to ask me if I was all right before, and I didn’t know how to take it. “I’m fine, Mr. Taylor. Thanks.” I just wanted to leave and move on to my next class, away from this man that had somehow made me feel even worse about myself.
“Are you sure? You were talkative and alert before class, but then became really quiet once the first bell rang. And I’m pretty sure you mentally checked out during my lecture.” He dipped his head, as if lowering it to my level.
“I guess I’m not used to waking up so early yet. My brain must still be stuck on vacation mode.” I tried to laugh, hoping it would ease some of this heaviness around us. More than that, hoping it would clear his worried expression from his face. But the forced chuckle sounded pathetic, even to my own ears.
His arms dropped to his sides as he let out an exaggerated sigh. Could an exhale sound disappointed? “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t last long. Try to stay awake tomorrow. I’d hate to bore you to sleep.” And with that, he backed away and let me slide out of the row.
I sensed his eyes on me the entire way, and I couldn’t breathe again until I was out of the room.
At least the rest of the day passed without incident. I kept to myself, managed to pay attention in class, and made it home without any more confrontations. Yet my mood remained somber and nothing seemed to make it any better. Maybe it’s because I knew my mom would be home soon, and that was almost as bad as the familiar feelings of self-doubt Mr. Taylor managed to draw out of me.
I rushed around the house, making sure I had everything cleaned up and in its proper place. Even though no one had been home during the day, there were always things I found to clean. And there were always things she found unclean. I could never win at her head games.
The buzzer on the dryer sounded moments before the garage door closed. I knew I’d have to wait until she went up to her room before folding the laundry, because she hated seeing a pile of clothes—even if they were clean and fresh out of the dryer. But if she waited too long to head up to her room, then I’d have to run the dryer again, because if she hated anything more than a pile of laundry, it was wrinkled clothes.
She walked to the fridge, and I studied her every step, wondering how long it would be before I could breathe again. But once she pulled out her box of wine, I knew it would be a while before I could relax. Quite possibly all night.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked after pouring a glass of the pink-colored liquid, not stopping until it was almost to the brim of the fishbowl-sized glass.
“I have lasagna in the oven. And I’m making garlic bread to go with it.”
“Better be homemade and not that store-bought shit.”
“It’s homemade. With real garlic, just the way you like it.” I’d made sure to pick up fresh ingredients at the store the day before, and knew to use them first at the beginning of the week before they were no longer considered fresh. Especially since, now that school had started, I wouldn’t have time to hit the market after school and still get my chores done before she came home.
She nodded without once making eye contact with me, only tipped her glass back and took a drink of her wine. I knew what that meant—she had a bad day at work. Mom wasn’t much of a drinker. Usually, one glass would relax her and two would get her drunk. Granted, her one glass was about the size of two normal ones. But with one, she would act calmer and tended to leave me alone, although I could never fully appreciate those times because I’d spend it worried she’d help herself to another.
I watched, holding my breath, as she took her wine upstairs and left me alone in the kitchen. Her bedroom door closed shortly after, and I could finally release the air I’d held onto. The timer on the oven said twenty minutes, which gave me just enough time to fold the laundry and put them away before she’d be back down and expect to eat.
Luckily, the clothes were still warm and wrinkle-free, so I sat on the couch in the living room and sorted hers from mine. If she knew I’d washed our clothes together, she’d probably have something negative to say, which is yet another reason why I never let her watch me do the laundry. One load was always easier than two, and less time consuming.
As predicted, Mom stayed in her room until the timer went off, alerting us that the food was done. I stuck the bread slices on a pan and into the cooling oven while cutting into the casserole dish of lasagna and preparing our plates. I’d done this so many times I had it down to a science. Ever since my dad took off five years ago, the house duties had fallen on me. Which hadn’t been easy on an eleven-year-old, but I quickly learned to adapt. I had to take care of the laundry, the dinners, the cleaning, and making sure to stay out of her way.
Before me, that had been Dad’s job. But he couldn’t take it anymore and left. And I wished every single day that he’d come back for me and take me away from this nightmare. But he never did, and he never would. He met a new woman, one who loved him and treated him right. She had her own kids, and even though I’d never met them, I’m sure they were better than me. That’s what my mom tells me all the time, at least. He chose them because I wasn’t good enough. He left her because of me. All that may seem like utter bullshit, but in reality, it was the truth.
Mom got pregnant with me while they were dating. Dad wasn’t ready to settle down, but she guilt-tripped him into it. He tried his best, put in eleven solid years, stayed because he felt bad about walking away from his child, but when he looked at me, I’m sure all he saw was a life sentence.
A jail cell.
That’s what I’d become to him. I was the mousetrap that snapped his tail off—more accurately, his manhood. Because Mom had carried his balls around in her purse the entire time they were together. She was a bitch to him… All. The. Time. Nothing he ever did had been good enough. I’m sure she resented him for resenting her. Endless cycle that swept me up in the middle of it. Then, one day, Dad had had enough and left, ending the cyclone of nightmares—for him. Except, once that happened, I got chewed up, spit out, and left to fend for myself. In my dad’s defense, I’m sure he had no idea Mom would treat me the way she’d always treated him. After all, she’s the one who wanted me in the first place.
Except now she doesn’t anymore.
I’m no longer a pawn in her game.
I’m now her real life Cinderella. Only problem is, in the fairy tale, Cinderella was pretty and caught the eye of a prince. She had mice and a fairy godmother to help and encourage her. To keep her company. I had squat. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
I was utterly alone.
“Think you can pull off a four point oh this year?” Mom asked between bites of food, pulling me out of my depressing, self-absorbed thoughts. That’s all she cared about, my grades. Yet she didn’t seem to understand that being her bitch all the time took away from my studies. She didn’t care about that.
“It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s what you said last year and then fell short at the end. Don’t let that happen again. You can’t have two years with low GPA scores. You need to get into a good college and make something of yourself. I won’t support you forever.”
It was the same talk over and over again. Never ending. Last year, I ended it with a 3.95 GPA. But that wasn’t good enough. I heard all the time how I needed to pull it up this year so I could apply to good colleges. She didn’t care where I went to school. She resented me so much that she just wanted me out of the house, and she saw college as an escape route. And the only reason she wanted me to attend a good school was so she could brag to everyone at the office about how smart her child was. Because, apparently, a 3.95 GPA means I’m stupid. It wasn’t like she planned to pay for my school. I had to worry about scholarships and student loans. I certainly wouldn’t be eligible for grants since my mother made too much, yet wouldn’t pay for anything. They didn’t care about that part. All they paid attention to was her bottom line.
Yeah, my life sucked, and I had nothing to look forward to. Even college came with a headache. I’d leave one hellhole for a mountain of debt. But at least I wouldn’t be under her thumb anymore. That was something to line my cloud with.
“I had nearly straight A’s last semester. And my schedule is fairly simple this semester. I’ll be fine. I’ll get that shining four point oh for you.”
“You know the good schools look at more than just grades. You need more than an A in art or physical fitness to get accepted. You need challenging classes. That perfect GPA won’t mean shit if you got it by taking the easy route. And they look at extracurricular activities, too. I’ve been telling you that since freshman year, yet you never listen to me. You’ll be lucky to get accepted by a regular, run-of-the-mill college. Is that what you want? A degree anyone could get? Where are your standards?” Her lip curled up as she rolled her eyes, showing her disgust for me. At least she didn’t add in her famous line: You’re going to end up just like your father, no education and living off others.
Yet she conveniently leaves out the part where he dropped out of college to help raise me and allow her to finish her degree. Yeah, why would she take any of the blame? And she also doesn’t recognize the fact that if I had extracurricular activities, I wouldn’t be able to clean her house or make her dinners. Those were all the extracurricular activities I could handle. I would know this because when I was a freshman, I participated in afterschool groups. And then I had to catch the city bus home because she wouldn’t pick me up from school, meaning dinner wouldn’t be ready on time—meaning I had to deal with the consequences. Needless to say, I didn’t stay in those groups long, leaving me even less chance of making friends.
It was no wonder how I’d made it to my junior year in high school without one single real friend. Hell, I was lucky if people noticed me in the hall and said hi. I only hoped college would be different.
