Description: 17+
Pain isn’t new to me.
I’ve been to hell only to find it never really leaves when you get back. It haunts me through nightmares, unrequited love, lies, broken hearts, and now death.
A monster almost took my life.
My best friend carries half my soul a world away.
My boyfriend broke my heart but refuses to let me go.
And my father is dead.
I don’t believe in fate and I don’t believe in happily-ever-afters, but for some reason, I still hope.
Live, even with a tainted spirit.
Long for my other half to come back to me.
Risk another broken heart, just to feel loved again.
And refuse to let another horror break me.
In the face of my most recent tragedy, I have to decide whether forgiveness is something I can give. But even if that’s an option, can I be forgiven?
Seth is back.
When he walked back into my life, it almost felt like the pieces of my broken heart could be fixed. I thought we could go back to being best friends, but then I started to feel what I had been blocking out for years. I tried. Boy, did I try! But once I started to let him in, I wanted nothing more than to cross that line from friendship into something more…
Just when I think I can move on and let myself be happy, an ugly reminder from my past comes storming in and threatens to destroy the sliver of hope that's been growing since Seth came back.
Do I even deserve to be loved?
“I’m not asking to fix your heart. I’m not asking to mend you. I love each and every shattered piece of you. I’m asking that you let me love you. Let me love each piece of your broken heart, and I swear to you I will make up for every heartache you have ever experienced.”
I came back for Josie.
I knew I'd have to fight for her, but with the loss of her dad and the truth about what happened with her and Blake, I quickly realized that making her mine was going to be a lot harder than I first thought. The problem is, I can’t pretend like she’s just my best friend. I can’t pretend I don’t want more.
I'm willing to do anything to get her to admit she has the same passionate feelings for me, because I know once she opens up and stops lying to herself, I can show her what it really means to be loved. It's a battle of wills, but my love for her is stronger than her will to stop me.
So I fight for her. I fight because I know she deserves it.
EXCERPT
I’m in a sea of black. The beautiful May day gives no impression that there is any sadness or grief in the air. It’s one of those days that you want to spend outside, smelling the new blooming flowers, getting some sun, and walking in the grass barefoot, but none of those things hold any interest for me.
Everything is a blur around me, a haze that mirrors my own depression. I know people are talking to me, but I don’t hear them. They express sadness in their words, but most of them never sympathized with us before today. They talk as if they know us, but where were they before? They live their lives talking shit behind people’s backs, but don’t see the hypocrisy in their fake condolences.
I’ve learned to ignore the whispers and stares, a lesson received repeatedly as I grew up in what some would call an “unconventional” household. Apparently punching everyone who bullies you isn’t the socially acceptable way to handle things, so I try to just ignore them. I don’t want or need to let any of their negativity in, so I remain quiet. There’s been enough sadness in our lives, and there’s no need for nasty words from nosey neighbors to pile onto that pain.
A person in a black suit finishes shoveling dirt into the cold, deep grave. I focus on the earth closing around the person I loved so immensely and to whom I felt so close. The ground consumes the casket and takes my loved one away into a lonely pit; permanently putting an end to the best person I will ever know.
I look at my dad sitting next to me. He is distraught, but well medicated for the occasion, only showing emotion when he remembers he just lost the love of his life. He seems to have aged ten years in the past week. He was once the strongest and most commanding person I knew, but today, he looks like a child. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything except for the essentials. He exists, but he’s not living. He looks up at me and I feel like maybe he wants to reach out and say something to comfort me, but I know his internal pain limits him from showing affection. I put my hand on his shoulder to show I’m here, hoping he understands what I mean.
People are finally leaving. Leaving us behind to grieve together in peace. That’s a lie. There is no peace for us, and there won’t be for a long time. With the preparations for the funeral complete, I have all the time in the world to sit and think about the gravity of what I just lost. That’s not peace. That’s torture.
“Dad,” I say, “I think that maybe we should head back to the house.” He sits there, giving no indication that he heard me suggest our departure.
“Dad,” I try again, after a minute. “Let’s say goodbye, and go home.” I can’t stand to be here any longer.
He stands slowly and walks over to the heap of dirt covering a life that was once vibrant and lively. He collapses onto the mound, and at first I’m startled by the sudden fall. Once I hear the heart wrenching sobs that escape his mouth, I understand he is saying his goodbye. I hear him murmuring about his undying love, and decide to give him some privacy.
I look toward the entrance of the cemetery, shaking myself out of the haze that I was in. I don’t even recall walking this far to get to the grave site, but I don’t want to remember, so I don’t try to conjure up the memory.
A figure leans against one of the nearby trees and I start to sweep my eyes past until recognition hits me in the chest heavily. I don’t think he wanted to be seen, but he was caught and he knows it. My throat starts to constrict and pain obstructs my chest.
He hasn’t changed much since the last time I saw him, except that he has no smile on his face today. He’s still breathtakingly handsome… but he’s also still the asshole I left behind at the café a year ago.
Why is he here? How dare he show his face here on a day like today?
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About the author:
Victoria Klahr (pronounced “Claire”) lives in Elizabeth City, North Carolina with her husband and daughter, Stephen and Alexis. She loves her chug (Pug/Chihuahua), Bandit, and daughter to pieces. She is a huge and proud book nerd who looks at her bookshelf in admiration daily.
When she’s not daydreaming about book boyfriends and fantasizing about being a badass heroine like Rose Hathaway, she’s busy doing schoolwork for her Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and writing the stories that speak to her in her head.
She loves peanut butter with Oreos, good friends, amazing gossip, driving in the middle of merge lanes, comedies, crude humor, pretending like she can dance, pretending like she can kick major ass, and a really, really good laugh.
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