Inside The Maelstrom
Part One
Grace McGinty
Contents
Also by Grace McGinty
Trigger Warning
Prologue
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Notes From The Author
About the Author
For the ones who are lost inside the maelstrom.
Also by Grace McGinty
Hell’s Redemption Series
The Redeemable/The Unrepentant/The Fallen
The Azar Nazemi Trilogy
Smoke and Smolder/Burn and Blaze/Rage and Ruin
Dark River Days Series
Newly Undead In Dark River/Happily Undead In Dark River/Pleasantly Undead in Dark River
Black Mountain Mates
Hunting Isla
Eden Academy Series
The Lost and the Hunted (Prequel)/Heart of the Hounded (Prequel)
Rebels and Runaways (Book 1)/Sweethearts and Savages (Book 2)
Shadow Bred Series
Manix (Book 1)/Frenzy (Book 2)/ Feral (Book 3)
Stand Alone Novels and Novellas
Bright Lights From A Hurricane/The Last Note/Castle of Carnal Desires/ Inside The Maelstrom(PT1)
Copyright © 2021 by Madeline Young writing as Grace McGinty
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover and Interior Art by DAZED Designs.
Editing by Aubergine Editing.
Trigger Warning
The very core of this book centres around mental illness. References include suicide, eating disorders and bipolar.
However, at its roots, this is a book about hope, and while no one is ever “cured”, they do find contentment, however that looks for them.
“If at every instant we may perish, so at every instant we may be saved.”
Jules Verne, A Journey to the Centre of the Earth
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.”
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
Prologue
Aviva
I turned up the music, ignoring the harsh way my breaths were falling from my lips. I ignored the clank of empty bottles from the passenger footwell. Ignored the check engine light on my dash that had been on for the last twelve months. Ignored the flashing of my phone, with my mother’s face glaring at me from the screen.
Instead, I drove down the quiet back streets of my middle class neighborhood. I chewed my lip incessantly, but enjoyed the way it stung and the slight metallic taste of blood. I’d told my parents that I was going to my friend Alison’s house, but we hadn’t been friends in two years. They didn’t know that—how could they?
I was an adult. I went to college. The need to police my friends had ended after my brief goth stage during middle school. So they didn’t know Alison had gotten a boyfriend in freshman year. She had a life now, and we’d drifted apart. Or maybe I’d just stopped talking to her. I couldn’t really remember. Everything blurred together now.
I watched the people stroll down the sidewalk, their dogs on long leads, frowning as they glared at their phones. Were they happy? Was that what happy looked like? Did they wake up in the morning and want to shower, want to go to school or work, want to talk to other people and eat breakfast and make plans?
I dragged my eyes back to the road. The Petersons lived right at the end of this block. I knew it was their house because I’d dated their son in senior year. Lost my virginity to him in a truly uninspiring way. Later on, he got accepted into Harvard. He was a good guy. Beige. Safe.
The Petersons as a whole were unremarkable. The only exceptional thing about them was the magnolia tree in their front yard. It was huge, bigger than it should have been in this climate. It must have been thirty feet high. It was in full bloom right now, and it was something bright and magnificent in a world where it didn’t have any fucking right to be so extraordinary.
It was in the front of a freaking box house, architecturally designed to be devoid of personality. I could relate to the house, but that fucking tree taunted me. It sometimes caused accidents, because it was just so beautiful, and that was wrong.
Suddenly, my chest felt tight, and my blood turned hot. Scalding, even. It chased away the deep chill that had permeated my bones for years. No, a chill would insinuate that I felt something underneath this cloak of numbness.
I had felt nothing for so long. But now, I felt rage—and it was glorious.
I pressed my foot further to the floor, my shitty, mid-priced car revving with a high, tinny sound. I unclipped my belt, letting it whip back up to where it belonged, safe and secure.
I pointed my car at that magnolia tree, and I grinned. It felt wrong on my face, but it didn’t matter as I reached down to turn the music up as loud as it would go, then slammed my foot onto the gas pedal until it hit the floorboards.
I mounted the curb, my car flying high as it hit the outer branches of the magnolia tree before slamming into the trunk.
My head collided with the steering wheel, bouncing off to hit the side window, as the front of my car crumpled in slow motion.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was a downpour of perfectly waxy magnolia blooms.
Good. Now we were both ugly and dead.
The neck brace ruined the lines of my responsible white blouse, and my head wound ached. The judge’s eyes saw too much. My mother sobbed softly into her linen handkerchief behind me.
“Aviva. It’s the opinion of the doctors who admitted you that you require treatment in an inpatient setting. That you pose a significant danger, not only to yourself, but to the wider community.” He looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “Looking at the police reports, I have to agree. Your blood alcohol level was twice what it should have been. If anyone else had been involved, if you’d hit a pedestrian, you’d be going to jail right now. But it is your apathy regarding the seriousness of this situation that concerns me.”
I’d never wanted to hurt anyone else.
The judge gave me a look that was part jaded, part desperately sad. I knew the look. “The Petersons are generously not seeking any remuneration or pressing any charges for the property damage you caused. But I don’t believe you’ll be so lucky next time. And Aviva, there will be a next time. Until you get the help you need, there will always be a next time. I am committing you to a mental health facility for ninety days. At your parents’ request, I am happy for you to undertake this
involuntary treatment at a private facility.”
The judge took a deep breath, her eyes filled to the brim with compassion. I couldn't comprehend how she still felt compassion after sitting in this courtroom day after day, seeing the worst of humanity up close. I zoned back in and realized she was still speaking.
“I know this feels all-encompassing. That you feel like you’re drowning every time you take a breath. But believe me, you just have to wake up every morning and put one foot in front of the other. Then one day, you’ll look back at this moment right now and realize it was exactly what you needed. I’m throwing you a life preserver, Aviva, and I need you to grab it with both hands.”
The rest was a blur as the case wrapped up, and my parents stood beside me, my father’s hand on my shoulder and my mother gripping my fingers tightly, like she could feel me slipping away already. It wasn’t their fault, but I knew they wouldn’t believe me if I told them that; they’d still blame themselves. That's just what parents did.
But something was broken inside me, and it wasn’t anything they could have fixed with more family dinners and quality time.
People buzzed around me like flies in the wide halls of the Court building, and a nice-looking police officer with a soft face was murmuring promises to my parents about how I would be fine. That was audacious of him, if not an outright lie. But I was glad he could give them something that I couldn’t right now—assurances that I was going to be okay.
I was put in the back of a police car, and I let my eyes drift to my parents as they cried on the sidewalk. I watched them get smaller and smaller, and saw the moment my mom collapsed into my father’s arms when she thought I was out of sight.
Guilt washed over me. I was a failure, really. I couldn’t even die right. It was all cry for help bullshit—at least, that's what they told me. They were wrong, but I’d fucked it up.
The policeman thankfully didn’t try to talk to me, didn’t give me any of the reassuring words he’d laid on my parents. He just drove quietly out of the city as I stared blankly out the window. The houses became more sparse, the trees thicker, hours passing until we rolled through a set of heavy wrought iron gates.
The sign on the gate said ‘Heath Buckley Center.’ It had manicured gardens, with artificially planted palms along the edges that carefully obscured the fences. The illusion of freedom. The policeman drove down the long, graveled driveaway, and I was kind of glad that this was an unmarked police car. And the cop was in plain clothes. Made it feel less like the first time I was being delivered to a mental health ward.
The cop climbed out, opening the rear door for me. He gave me another one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and tilted his head for me to get out. I was probably the most docile person he’d had in the back of the police car, doing exactly as I was told, pulling my backpack out after me. Everything here was supplied apparently, but my parents had packed me a few things they thought I’d need.
I didn’t really need anything, especially not the stuffed toy cat I’d had on my bed since I was five, or three battered paperbacks. But it made them feel better, and I was enough of an emotional black hole that I could let them have this comfort.
The cop held open the front door for me, and I stepped into the foyer. A plain woman bustled over, smiling politely at me and beaming at the cop. I looked over my shoulder at him, and I guess he was handsome in a plain, moon face kind of way. So was she. They’d have plain, round-face, average-looking kids.
The cop grinned back at her. “Hey, Peaches. Got another Invol for you. This is Aviva. She’s a good kid.”
I tilted my head at the smiling woman. She had orange-blonde hair that kind of resembled the fruit. “Peaches? Is that a nickname?”
The woman shook her head, gently taking my bag from me. “Nope, just my parents being crazy stoners from Georgia.” She pointed to a sunshine yellow door. “Come on, we’ll get the initial paperwork done, and then I’ll take you to your room. Dave, there's cupcakes in the break room if you want to have a coffee before you leave?”
There was a desperate hopefulness in her voice, and I let it wash over me. But I felt nothing for their budding romance. Not giddy excitement or embarrassment for Peaches or jealousy. Nothing.
I signed my name on a bunch of paperwork. I was officially an adult and just because I was here involuntarily, it didn’t make me medically incompetant. Go figure. While I signed and initialed six hundred pieces of paper, Peaches went through my backpack, searching for contraband or anything I could finish myself off with, I assumed.
Giving it a tick of approval, she led me from the office with a calm efficiency. Peaches was a little bit like a balm. Her nonchalance was refreshing. She didn’t look at me like I was a waste of potential, or like I was broken, or like I was some tragic statistic. She just shooed me along like she’d seen a million girls just like me. There was something reassuring in that.
She used her ID card to go through a locked set of doors. It opened into a short hallway, and then another set of doors opened into a bright, sunny room filled with recliners and bookcases, a huge TV, and dozens of round tables.
“This is the common room. You’re welcome to come here and relax at any time.”
I looked around at the other inhabitants of the room. They ranged in ages, from a gray-haired old man to a few middle-aged women, to a guy who had to be my age, or maybe a year or two older. He watched me closely, the look in his eyes predatory.
A shiver ran down my spine. I dragged my eyes away, but watched him in my peripheral vision. He was cruelly beautiful, his lips full and twisted into a sensual expression that still somehow managed to be harsh. It was like he was appraising my weaknesses in that fifteen second stroll across the common room, and he’d pinpointed every single one.
When I looked back over my shoulder, his derisive pout had formed into a grin, and if it was possible, that scared me more. When the double doors slid shut behind us, I almost sagged with relief.
My heart was thudding, and I realized it was out of fear. I frowned, unsure if I should be happy I felt something at all, or if I should run away screaming.
Chapter 1
Aviva
Two Months Later
“How could anyone not look at me and be disgusted?”
The slightly nasally voice grated inside my skull, and I looked over at Yvonne, who was fucking beautiful. You could tell her mother was a former Eastern European beauty queen—her cheekbones were so sharp, they all but glinted like blades in the stark fluorescent lighting.
Yvonne would be beautiful too, if she weren’t so thin she looked like the walking, talking skeleton of a runway model. Eating disorders had no rhyme or reason though; they just warped your vision like a hall of mirrors.
There were mutters of protest, but I tuned them out. Group therapy was the worst part of the day, and considering this treatment center was basically a glorified prison, that was saying something. I tucked my legs up until I could rest my chin on my knees. Turning my face to the side, I looked outside at the beautiful sunny day I probably wouldn’t get to appreciate if everyone was feeling as chatty as Yvonne. Once upon a time, the pool that shimmered on the grounds of the facility would have called to me like a siren song, but not today.
It was stupid, really. Why put a pool in a rehab filled with people who wanted to off themselves? It was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy. Except the pool was locked up tighter than Alcatraz, and Corey—who was the nurse/lifeguard who patrolled it when it was open—was built like a fucking wall of muscle, and would drag your ass up from the bottom, then give you mouth-to-mouth.
Corey was a nice guy. He’d give you mouth to other things, if you knew the right words to ask.
I should know. A girl had to get her kicks somehow in here, and my roommate was a bit of a downer, so it wasn’t like I could flick the bean while she was in the room.
My eyes snagged on a golden back and broad shoulders flexing in the sun, making the water drops shimmer
like diamonds on his skin in the Florida sun.
I curled my lip in disgust. Hendrick fucking Kenley. Of course he’d be outside enjoying the fucking day, instead of being stuck in hours of group therapy. I didn’t know who he’d paid off to be exempt, but he only ever had to go to his one-on-one sessions. Even then, I was fairly sure he just napped on the couch and Dr. Arubat signed off on it.
I’d found out he was the youngest in a dynasty of tycoons. The Kenleys literally had their hand in every big business maneuver in the US. We’d done a case study on his grandfather in my Econ class. Rumor had it that his daddy wanted to upgrade from senator to President, and that’s why Hendrick was here getting clean.
Well, I assumed he was here for drug abuse. His file was closed, and not even Corey could tell me why. I’d asked him if he could find out, while he’d been fucking some feelings into me. Never worked, but at least I got some form of release from the whole experience.
No, I was just guessing about the real reason Hendrick was here, and I wasn’t the only one. There were a lot of rumors flying around; I’d heard everything from a cocaine habit to a sex addiction.
Inside the Maelstrom Page 1
