Unhinged
by
Chani Lynn Feener
PUBLISHED BY:
Chani Lynn Feener
Unhinged
Copyright 2015 by Chani Lynn Feener
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8:
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10:
Chapter 11:
Chapter 12:
Chapter 13:
Chapter 14:
Chapter 15:
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17:
Chapter 18:
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Within a Dream excerpt:
Chapter 1:
All she felt at first was the sun warming the bare skin of her shoulder as it pooled in from the open window. Then came the ache in her chest, that hollowness that left her feeling raw. Soon that was followed by relief, intense and heady, like the whiskey they’d snuck from her dad’s liquor cabinet three winters ago.
She remained in bed, suspended in her own thoughts, fearful that if she roused herself fully it would be to realize it was all a dream. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she did want it all to be a dream.
The mornings had become filled with fear for her, the murky details of the past six months hazy at best, and clear as crystal at worst. She clung to her dreams like lifelines, places in which the two of them were still the same. Together. Happy.
Alive.
She wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and wallow, slip back into that state of unreality and forget the real world had ever even existed. As long as she had him, she could be content. Nothing else mattered.
But she could never be sure this early if what she thought was real actually was, or if it was just an elaborate part of her dreams branching off into the waking realm. What she thought she knew was impossible, and yet...
As if sensing her unease a familiar hand chose that moment to run down her arm. The smooth pads of deft fingers slid up against her tanned skin, shifting into her silky hair, brushing strands of it off to the side and out of her face. He’d grown up on a farm, and she felt the calluses on his palm against her flesh like he was still real.
But he wasn’t. Not really.
“You keep me waiting, daisy. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.” His voice, smooth and lilting washed over her, reminding her of a warm spring rain shower, chasing the last remaining whispers of winter away.
The nickname made her clench her teeth against the flare of pain.
She blinked, green eyes adjusting to the light in the room, and then cautiously turned her head. When she caught sight of him she released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She sat up, resting her back against the mahogany headboard and brought her knees up to her chest.
“You’re really here,” she whispered, the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It fled not a second later and she squeezed her eyes shut against the harsh reality once more. “You’re really dead.”
Because in order for him to be sitting here now meant only one thing. None of it had been a dream. And that was both good, and bad.
“You say that to me almost every morning, you know?” he asked her softly. He didn’t touch her again, but simply pressed his hands on his knees. He had his left leg up on the bed and his right lowered down, foot against the floor. His blue jeans were well worn, as were his worked in boots. The gray t-shirt had more color than the rest. It had been new...before.
She dropped her head in her hands and felt the tears stream freely again. The bed shifted and she knew without looking he was moving closer. When he gripped her thighs gently, she glanced back up through parted fingers.
“Would you like me to go?”
“No!” Just the thought of him abandoning her made her chest go tight all over again, and a thick dark panic settled. She felt it clutch her and suddenly the room was too small. Hell, the world was too small. She was hyperventilating, and he was bringing her head down to his chest, rocking her like he’d done so many times in the past when she’d been upset.
She clung to him, trying desperately to ignore the one thing wrong with this picture, the one thing that absolutely refused to be ignored.
There was no heartbeat underneath her ear.
It shouldn’t be surprising; she’d made this discovery on numerous occasions. And yet, it shocked her to the core, forced her back into a reality she didn’t want to be a part of. Because even though he was here, and she could see him, speak with him, he wasn’t really there at all. He wasn’t really tangible.
Micah St. James was dead.
“You have to get ready for school,” he told her, still in that soft tone like everything was alright. “There’s that quiz in biology today, remember? You can’t miss it. It counts as half of this term’s grade.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she countered, her voice muffled against the material of his shirt. “Mr. McAdams always says that about the first quiz of the semester.”
It was only day three of her senior year, and already she just wanted it to be over. Her summer had been bleak at best. No one had wanted to overstep themselves, and those who did ask her to hang got rejections without a second thought. She was fine with life going on without her; it didn’t care about going on without Micah, now did it?
But when the first day of school had come around her mother had insisted she snap out of it. There was only so much mourning a person could do she’d claimed.
“Maybe I should go,” his arms tightened around her when she froze with the new rush of fear, “just for now,” he added. “You need to get ready, and me being here isn’t helping any. But I’ll be back.”
“What if you’re not?” she couldn’t help but ask. Every time he left it was like a dagger through her heart. The not knowing killed her. Immobilized her. She never knew if that was going to be the last time she saw him. Already they were going off of borrowed time.
“I will be. Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?” He seemed to catch his mistake and cleared his throat before pulling away and moving to stand on the side of the bed.
“No,” she said because she didn’t want to think about that either. “You haven’t. But—”
“Spencer!” her mother’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs, jolting the both of them. “Are you up?! It’s time for school, sweetie! You don’t want to be late!”
“Yeah, mom!” she called. When she glan
ced back, he was gone.
She barely had the strength to crawl out of bed.
* * *
“Oh my god! Have you seen Brodie today? Dude’s looking fine,” Sydney’s high pitched voice darted on the air, sending a few looks their way.
“Syd,” Quinn warned in a hushed whisper, “keep it down.”
Spencer barely heard them. Micah’s comment earlier about trust was still lingering in her mind. Like poison. She’d come so close to forgetting that detail of the night her world—and his life—had been torn apart.
Up until three months ago if he’d asked her that same question, her response would have been a definitive, no-thought-process-necessary, no. But now…She’d answered the way he wanted her to, the way she wished she still could. Because even if he was somehow still here, if they still had a chance to discuss the happenings of that night, they didn’t.
“All I’m saying,” the overly perky Sydney continued, “is summer treated that boy kindly. Did you notice the highlights in his hair? All natural. Seriously, he’s gone up at least two points on the hotness scale. Don’t you think?”
She’d always been a little boy crazy; Stylish Syd with her straight blonde hair and icy blue eyes. At five-foot-eight she could easily be a model. More importantly though, her personality was infectious. No one cared that she was head cheerleader, or that her daddy owned half the town of Willowbrooke.
Syd was popular because she was fun. Sometimes a little too fun, it was true, but still.
“He’s not really my type,” Quinn admitted with a slight shrug. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her right shoulder and glanced around the hallway.
The first bell still hadn’t rung, so students milled about, some off to their homerooms, others were huddled in groups laughing it up with their friends. Being that it was only the third day back there was still lots of catching up going on. It made it seem like people had been parted for three years instead of the three months summer break had lasted.
Spencer got to have a reunion with Micah every day; acknowledging that helped to put a little more spring in her step. It sucked, knowing that he wasn’t really there in his entirety, that all she got of him now was a sometimes corporeal spirit. But at least she had him. Others—like his mom—weren’t so lucky.
That first day she’d woken up to Micah’s face hovering over hers she’d screamed. The breath had whooshed from her lungs, and she’d instantly covered the dry tears on her cheeks with fresh ones. She’d thought it was a dream for the longest time, too afraid to leave the room and risk waking up. But it’d been real. He’d been there.
She should be grateful for that, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never ease the ache in her chest. Could never make it fully go away.
They wouldn’t be able to go to prom, or attend Harvard University next fall. They wouldn’t graduate college side by side—or even high school for that matter—get married in a small outdoor beach wedding, have three kids, and grow old together.
Their whole lives, her whole life, had been planned out, but now…
“Well forget you!” Sydney huffed, playfully giving Quinn a little shove. “You don’t count anyway. What do you think, Spence?”
“Huh?” she blinked over at her friends, realizing that at some point they’d stopped in front of Quinn’s locker.
Syd rolled her eyes. “Brodie. Totally hot, right?”
“Sydney!” Quinn gave her a pointed stare, emphasizing her meaning by jutting her chin towards Spencer. The move had its desired effect, as Syd’s eyes widened with realization.
“Oh god. I’m so sorry! Tactless, is my middle name today!” The wounded look on her face was enough to get her out of anything, and she knew it. It was an expression carefully honed over the years in order to convince her father to bend to her every whim. The girl was nice, but spoiled. “Forgive me?”
Spencer tried a smile, only managing to get half of her mouth to cooperate, and not very well either. Yet another reminder of Micah was all she needed right now. But of course her friend would forget. Why not? Everyone else basically had. Three months was a long time. Apparently, the grieving process for most was over.
If only they knew that she wasn’t grieving for the loss of him—he was still with her, after all—but more the loss of what could have been for them. That was a little harder to move on from.
It had been Sydney to say it, that first time. The cliché, “he’s in a better place now” statement that was expected after the death of a loved one. And it would have been comforting too, if Spencer hadn’t already known it was a lie.
Micah wasn’t in a better place. He wasn’t even technically in another place. Even though he no longer occupied his body, he was still very much a part of this reality. She could still hear him, see him…at times touch him. Sometimes a full five minutes would go by where he could hold her in his arms and they could pretend like nothing was different.
She lived for those five minutes. Breathed for them. She knew her friends meant well trying to convince her to move on. They just didn’t understand that she couldn’t.
“Of course,” she said, feeling a rush of relief when the bell chimed overhead. She made a huge show of rolling her eyes before heading off in the direction of her class. “Later, guys!”
She didn’t wait for them to respond. She’d gotten very good at sensing when she was going to crack over the past few months. She knew her limit, and she was about to hit it.
Spencer had underestimated how terrible it would be to return as the girl whose boyfriend died. She’d been too caught up in spending time with Micah in her room, cutting herself off from the outside world. Even Quinn and Sydney had barely seen her all summer. The first day, she’d been stared at everywhere she walked.
The looks had been a constant reminder of how her life had changed. Of what she’d lost.
Ducking into the bathroom, she rushed to a stall and slammed the lock into place. She sat on the back of the toilet, lifting her legs so her feet rested on the seat and she couldn’t be seen from outside.
The tears were thick, she felt them leaking from the corners of her eyes and she squeezed them stubbornly. She didn’t want to cry anymore. But it was hard not to. Her boyfriend was a ghost and she… she was a shell of the person she used to be.
Spencer had loved her life before Micah’s death, but she’d quickly realized that she loved him more. She wasn’t used to living without him; couldn’t recall a single time he hadn’t been around. Even that one winter when he’d gone on vacation to Canada with his family, she’d been comforted by the fact that he was still out there somewhere, breathing the same air that she was. Looking at the same sky…
Spencer took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her pounding heart. She could do this. It was only school. Not seeing his face as she walked down the halls though, not having any classes with him to look forward to…it was all different.
He’d died and everything had changed. How was she supposed to just get over that? She didn’t understand how everyone else was adapting. Syd and Quinn had been close friends with him too, and yet somehow they’d managed to go on with their lives.
And they didn’t have his ghost to comfort them.
It was just six hours. Six hours to get through and then she could get back home.
Get back to Micah.
* * *
Mr. Kemmer, her Myths and Folklore teacher, had assigned seats the first day of school, and Spencer dutifully slipped into her spot in the far left row, two seats back, and right next to the window. She’d debated whether or not she should request different seating, knowing full well that being this close to the outside world would only aid in her wandering mind, but had decided against it.
What did it matter anyway if she paid attention to the musings on Beowulf or whatever else they were going to be forced to read this year? None of that would do anything for her in the end. Being with Micah didn’t hinder on any of that. Not anymore.
“Alright
settle down, everyone,” Mr. Kemmer said as he finished scrawling something on the chalkboard. Turning to face them, he slapped his hands together, sending a small cloud of white into the air. “Who did the reading?”
Not surprisingly, no one jumped out of their seat to answer, and his light brown eyes scanned the room, seemingly searching for prey. A tiny glimmer flashed over his face when he settled on the boy Spencer’s friends had been talking about all morning. He stepped to the side so the board could be seen and pointed.
“Brodie, wanna take a crack at it?”
“Not especially,” came the bored reply. Brodie slid further down into his seat so that his vibrant blue Nike shoes were practically underneath the desk in front of his.
“Come on people,” Mr. Kemmer said with a slight chuckle. “I know this is first period and all, but I can tell from all the wet hair most of you have already showered and managed to at least wake up enough to regain the ability of speech.”
When that didn’t do it he sighed. “Can someone at least tell me what’s written on the board then?”
“Greek Mythology,” Becca Springer chirped from the first row.
“Good. Maybe you can share with the rest of the class what it was we were all supposed to be reading last night?” he prompted, proof that speaking up never got you anywhere.
“The story of Persephone, sir,” she dutifully answered. Becca was a straight A student. She could probably answer any and all questions he had.
Looking forward to not having to pay attention, Spencer propped her head on her hand and glanced out the window. A light breeze blew by, sending the four large oaks swaying. She could practically hear the creaking of their limbs, despite the fact the windows were shut.
She imagined they probably felt a lot like how she did; the tree having no control over what happened to its branches against the wind. Not being able to run away. Stuck, and forced to take whatever came at it.
If she had her way now, she’d be at home in her room with Micah. He never showed himself anywhere else. But the second she had her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, there he was without fail, waiting for her. She would spend forever shut up in that room if she could.
Unhinged Page 1
