AllFreeNovel
Share Us
PROLOGUE
BLAKELY
June 1
The floor is cold; it's too cold, like lying on a frozen pond in the middle of winter. I see them walking and talking around me, but I can't hear them. I can't hear anything, just my own heart beating, at least I think that is what it is because, at this point, I'm not sure if I am still alive. My mother is in front of me, my phone shattered to pieces in the bathroom stall. I must've dropped it, but I can't remember. I fell to the ground, holding my face cupped in my hands. It's like I can't move or really even breathe.
Why am I here?I don't want to be here, especially not now. I needed a wake-up call, but I'm not sure if this is what I bargained for. The silence is deafening, and my tears are burning my face. It's so cold - it's June and 99 degrees outside, but I'm freezing. It feels like it's been hours. I’m scooped up by hands that are like fire against my skin. I look up at this man I've known most of my life, and it's like I saw right past him. He gives me a weak smile and rests my lifeless body on the couch in the church's common area. Everyone is in another room, probably talking about what just happened, and I'm left here alone.
I don't want to talk. I'm not sure my lips will move to say anything at all. I can't believe he is gone. I feel shattered, even more so than my phone, which is still lying on the bathroom floor. I must be in shock. I'm trembling and frozen in place. Still unable to form words, in fear of choking on them. I can't do this. The weight of this Cinderella dress feels like a cinder block on my chest, andI can't breathe.This should be the happiest day of my life, and suddenly it's the worst. I feel his presence standing near me, his lips are moving, but I can't hear anything beyond my heart thumping. I don't want to hear. I slip the ring off my cold finger and place it in his hand, and with every ounce of energy I have in my weak body, I gather up the train of my dress andrun.
CHAPTER 1
BLAKELY
October 25
"Blakely!" My mother shouts from the lower level of our tiny house. She is probably still in her pajamas, sipping on coffee.
"Be right down!" I yell and roll over to see what time it is. 9:15fucking great, I'm late for work again. You would think after five months, I would finally have my shit together.
"Morning." She says, glaring over her cup, waiting for a response.
"Morning." I mutter and exit the kitchen as quickly as I entered it. Hoping she doesn't ask me for the hundredth time if I'm "Ok."
I sprint to my car to get away from the house as quick as I can. I honestly can not take another minute of someone's judgmental eye rolls. It's been four months since the day that changed my life forever, and truthfully, I'm still not okay. I'm not sure if I'll ever be okay. My Dad was my rock. He understood me. When I went to school with every intention of studying art, he had my back when everyone else told me it was a dead end. He was a massive part of me, and now that he's gone, I feel like part of myself died too.
The drive to work feels longer than the usual seventeen minutes, probably because I am already late. I hit the drive-thru for my morning coffee because I am already terrible to be around. Let's be honest, I need the coffee to make myself tolerable. I pull into the bank I've been working at for almost six months. I am in the middle of my degree, and I was lucky enough to swing this job three days a week and still take classes at the small community college downtown for the other two days. School started back in September, but I didn't enroll. It's too soon. I can't sit in a classroom full of people and pretend to care. Hell, I can barely fake a smile at work anymore to make it through the day.
I run through the lot and bust through the doors, hoping no one will notice I was late again.
"Hello, Ms. Walker!" Emily sing-songs from behind her desk. She is the front desk receptionist and started a few months before I did. She's a sweet girl, but I'm not sure if she's "friend" material.
"Hi, Emily." I sigh, obviously winded from parking in the back of the lot and running in.
"Mr. Taylor wants to see you in his office." She chirps out cheerfully, the words sounding like nails on a chalkboard to me. I can not lose this job. I need to save up these next couple of months to move out of my mom's house. I have been staying there since the first week of July, and she is all but smothering me.
"Tell him I'll be right up," I almost whisper, trying not to completely panic.
The walk up the stairs and down the hall to Mr. Taylor's office seems like the longest walk I've ever taken. I know what will happen. The uneasy feeling in my gut is making me want to turn for the bathroom instead. I gently knock, hoping he's not in there.
"Come in!" He yells from behind the door. So much for wishful thinking.
I tip-toe through the door shamefully. I am so thankful he decided to take a chance on me, and I blew it. I've been late most days this month, and let's not even discuss productivity. I am not myself. He smiles at me, "Blakely, how have you been doing?"
How am I doing? What kind of question is that?
"I'm fine," I mumble, faking a smile. Maybe if I can smile, he will just leave it alone. Fuck, this is embarrassing. Am I that pathetic that my own boss is calling me into his office just to check on me?
He looks down for a minute at some papers on his desk, then looks up at me. I can tell he isn't sure what to say. Most people in my life have been walking on eggshells the past couple of months, afraid to say the wrong thing or upset me.
"I think you should take some time off." He looks at me, waiting for a response, but I don't really know what to say.
"Really, Mr. Taylor, I am fine. I promise I will try to get it together, I am starting to feel better." I lie, but I need this money.
"Blakely, I am offering you a leave of absence for two weeks, paid. I need you to clear your head, a lot has happened, and I think you should spend the next two weeks reflecting and gaining a new perspective." Damn, is he my boss or my therapist? I am already taking the semester off from school, so what are two weeks?
"Sure," I tell him, trying to sound thankful.
