by Gia Riley
Lighter
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty- Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Gia Riley
Copyright © 2015 by Gia Riley
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. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission and is in violation of the International copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by
Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Interior Design and Formatting by
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Two Years Ago
“SOPHIE, WAIT! I’M SORRY. I’M just worried about you,” Megan yells from the double doors leading from the locker room into the hallway.
She saw the bruises on my body.
I knew better than to change in front of everyone after gym class, yet I did it anyway because I was running late to meet my boyfriend. Blaine doesn’t like it when I keep him waiting. Tossing my book bag over my shoulder, I round the corner and smack right into him—and he doesn’t look happy.
“What did you say to her?” He questions with a deadly stare.
“Nothing. I didn’t say a word.” I didn’t but I still avert my eyes, choosing to stare at the tile on the floor instead of him. Without warning, he grabs my arm and pulls me into the bathroom. It’s empty.
“Please, Blaine.” I’m begging him to stop. He hears me, but he doesn’t listen.
“I told you what I would do, didn’t I?”
I swallow, my hands shaking. “Yes.”
He pins my arms against the wall, hovering over me. “And yet you still couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut.”
I try to yank my arms from his grasp, but his grip is too tight. His fingertips dig painfully into my arms, his nails breaking through the skin. “I swear I didn’t tell her anything.”
He inches closer to my face, the warmth of his breath hits my cheek. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Sophie. What happened the last time you lied to me?”
“I’m not lying. Please, Blaine. I wouldn’t.”
“What happened, Sophie?”
He’s going to make me say it—as if I’d ever need a reminder. It’s impossible to forget. “You had to teach me a lesson.”
“But you never learn. No matter how hard I try to protect you.”
“I’m sorry,” I plead. Regardless of the fact that I’m innocent, he morphs my apology into an admission of guilt.
“Damn right you are,” he spits through gritted teeth. His calmness now completely gone and replaced with anger. “Don’t you ever lie to me again, you hear me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He grabs my chin, roughly scraping his calloused thumb over my lips. His dilated pupils pierce straight through me sending chills down my spine. “Tell me you love me.” My words get lodged in my throat and I make the mistake of pausing a second too long. “Say it!” he warns as his fist pounds against the wall next to my head.
“I love you, Blaine.” And maybe there was a time I actually did. He wasn’t always like this, but neither was I. If I could go back in time, I’d tell him no. I’d push him away from me and keep my distance. But I’m just like my mother—unable to get away and desperate enough to stay. “Please let go of me. You’re hurting me.”
Finally he releases me, replacing his harsh words with sweet promises—his rough touches with gentle caresses. With a flip of a switch, he’s back to the Blaine I fell for, masking any signs of the evil he’s become.
“You make me so crazy, Sophie.” He runs his fingers through my long blond hair, leaving a trail of light kisses on my neck. “I only get mad because I love you so much.”
“I know.” Painfully well. My scattered bruises a daily reminder of his temper.
His hand falls from my hair as he latches onto my hip, pulling me flush against his body. “Baby, I need you. You’re everything to me.”
Everything I don’t want to be. Not anymore.
Beneath the surface, I’m scarred and broken; a much darker version of the girl I once was. There was a time I believed I was worthy of true love. But now, living in a hell littered with reminders of broken promises, I know what we have is anything but love.
It’s in this moment that I know I’m not strong enough to fight another day unless I get away from him. But I don’t know how. I need a plan—something to get me away from this town and its memories.
Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer that my luck will change—that someone will save me from the hell my life has become.
“YOU’LL WANT TO CONNECT WITH the therapist on campus as soon as you’re settled. I’ve spoken with her and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”
I reach for the card in her hands, accepting it yet wishing I didn’t have to worry about a therapist at all. Most girls my age are settling into their third year of college without the hassle of mind games and nightmares. It’s not the case for me, but I wasn’t dealt a perfect hand in life either. “Thank you. I will.”
“You can do this, Sophie. You’re strong. Remember that. Let this change be positive—don’t get caught up in old behaviors.”
I hope she’s right. Part of me believes I can overcome anything while the other is positive I’ll fail if given the slightest chance. “I’ll do my best.” A new town, new school, new friends, but at least I’ll have my roommate and the team. The comradery is the only thing that’s ever grounded me and made me feel welcome—like I belonged.
Home life has always been toxic and filled with turmoil. I’ve never had two parents who gave a shit about me. Nix that, my mom cares when she doesn’t have to worry about my dad screaming at her or screwing her over. When it’s just her and me, we have a real relationship. But the second he comes home, that’s thrown out the window. At least the divorce is almost final—driving the last nail in the proverbial coffin.
I may not have had much of a home the past twenty years, but I’ve always had gymnastics. The sport has been my salvation since I was old enough to understand the chaos going on around me was neither healthy nor normal. While most ten year old’s homes are full of playful memories, mine was stocked with cases of beer and an overflowing recycling bin full of liquor bottles. Each night they clanked together as a new one was added to the top. The homes lining the streets of suburbia may hav
e appeared average to the common passerby, but what lurked behind our front door was enough to haunt my dreams for years. Appearances can be very deceiving.
When week nights at home became unbearable, my mom enrolled me in my first Intro to Tumbling class. Although nervous, the surge of power I felt while flying through the air trumped listening to my dad punch holes in the wall or gripe about his hangover. My mom may have taken years of verbal abuse before kicking my dad’s ass to the curb, but I’m thankful she was able to provide an outlet for my own frustrations and aggravations. Often feeling out of control at home, pushing my body to the limit in the gym has been the one constant I’ve been in control of. Although I’ve always overdone my training, each bead of sweat, each sore muscle was because of me—not them. Nobody can break me down when I’m in my element. Especially not when I’m in control.
The thought of what I might have become without gymnastics scares the shit out of me. In and out of therapy for years, it took a school guidance counselor to notice the hazy look in my eyes and depleted self-confidence. Simply put, my give a damn was broken.
Ever since I gave up on my family’s happily ever after, I’ve been determined to rise to the top. From a very young age, I knew my talent would be my one and only ticket to escape the small town I’ve grown up in. Living in a place with little opportunity, it’s up to me to create a future different than the status quo.
So while I continue to remain invisible in my everyday life with only a handful of people breaking through my protective outer shell, I choose only to come alive in the gym. The chalky floors, exhausting routines, and the nagging aches and pains, are daily reminders of how invested I’ve become in the idea of more. Though many in Ashland, Tennessee have settled for a life of monotonous boredom, often selling themselves short, I’m determined to rise above the statistics. This girl is going places.
Having said that, I almost ate my words a month ago when the pressure of the upcoming All State meet was eating away at my confidence. One night as the hours ticked by on my bedside clock, I asked myself if this dream of gymnastics was worth it. I needed to figure out what I’d have to latch onto once my career was over. Would I crash and burn without a distraction, or would I rise to accept a new challenge?
Contemplating giving it up altogether to enjoy my college experience as a normal junior would, I couldn’t walk away. The thought alone had me panicking. Sure I’d had enough of being told what to do and when to do it at twenty years old, but I need the boundaries. I thrive off the discipline my coaches drill into my skull each and every day. Without it, I’m left to my own devices and nothing is scarier than feeling alone. But that’s not the only reason I decided to stick with it. Without gymnastics, there’s no way I can pay for college unless I want to be up to my ears in debt for the rest of my life. I’d be stupid to throw away a free ride, so I tossed the idea of wild abandon out the window while holding tight to my meal ticket.
Thanks to my impressive showing at the All State meet, I got noticed by a division one team. I applied to many my freshman year, but was rejected. But even though it’s taken longer than planned, I’ve finally outgrown my cozy and safe oasis here at the local community college. While the idea of bigger and better opportunities flood my mind, if my new team isn’t a good fit, I risk losing scholarship money and my shot at a college degree.
Seeking refuge in my therapist’s wisdom, she laid it out in front of me plain and simple. Do I want to stay where I’m secure, or do I want to take a chance to allow myself to be vulnerable? The choice is mine. It sounded simple enough, but after a week’s worth of sleepless nights, I threw caution to the wind and accepted the offer to attend the school of my dreams. They finally wanted me.
Once my decision was made, I packed my entire life into the car I’d been given as a graduation present from my father two short years ago. Of course he didn’t show up for the ceremony, but he sent the car along with a note in his secretary’s hand-writing. The same secretary I found him screwing in his office the day I picked up the keys to my new ride. Making no apologies, he tossed the keys in my hands and I saw myself out. So much for him doing the right thing for once in his life.
Looking back on it, I should have thrown the keys in his disgusting face, but I accepted the gift knowing that if I refused, I’d be forced back onto the public transportation system thanks to my lack of funds. My gymnastics schedule leaves no time for a part-time job, let alone one that would give me enough extra cash to afford a car payment on a brand new car.
My mom provides for us the best she can with her job at the retirement home, never accepting the money my father tried to pacify her with in the divorce settlement. I’m not exactly sure why, but maybe she cares more about her own pride than her bank statement. In fact, she’s always thrown all of her extra cash into my gymnastics career, reminding me how important it was not to let her down. Whether a threat or a promise, her words create an intense pressure to be the best. But with pressure comes opportunity. Nobody has ever achieved greatness by taking a back seat.
But now, after years of blood, sweat and tears, the real journey begins as I cruise down the interstate getting lost in my favorite country music playlist. I’m leaving behind the anger, pain, and frustration for my shot at more. As the miles slowly add up on the odometer, my head bobbing to the beat, body swaying to the rhythm, I know I can do this.
Almost a straight shot to the south, the five hour drive leaves plenty of time for self-reflection which is both a blessing and a curse. Constantly consumed by my own fears, my nerves usually hold the happiness of my accomplishments hostage. But this time, after reciting a silent prayer, I ask God to show me in whatever way he sees fit that I’ve made the right decision. I don’t know if I’m expecting something to fall from the sky or divine intervention, but when the five hour drive ends and I’m not any closer to clarity, I assume my answer is yet to come. And as scary as that is, I can live with it.
After two wrong turns in town, I arrive on campus with my car stuffed to the gills. My body is screaming to get out and stretch and once out of the car, I take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet southern air. Okay, it smells a little like shit thanks to the surrounding farmland. Picking at the cotton of my tank, the heat is intense with the sun creating a blinding reflection off the windshield. I’m well-adjusted to the summer heat but the humidity already has my tank top sticking to my sweaty skin. If I want to get inside and cool off, I need to start unpacking.
The back seat looks like a game of Jenga. It’s a toss-up which box will make the entire pile collapse once I yank it out. Closing my eyes, I tug on various items, only choosing the ones that easily slip out of their spot without a fight. A few times I have to use my foot to push something back inside the car, but I manage to slam the door shut once my arms are full.
I adjust my boxes, leaving a small space for my eyes to peer through the heavy load I’m carrying. With my room assignment in hand, I’m ready to discover what awaits me on the third floor of Johnson Hall. Unfortunately, the parking lot’s located at the top of a hill. The stairs are clogged with luggage, so I decide to trek down the grassy knoll instead. I begin my decent, careful with my steps so I don’t topple over. One sway in the wrong direction and I’m doomed.
“Lookout!” I hear in the distance.
Considering I can barely see an inch in front of myself, I’m unsure of what I’m supposed to be looking out for. I find out quickly when I tumble to the ground with my bags and boxes scattering on the grass around me. Shocked stupid, a box of clothing rolls to the bottom of the hill spilling hangers with each jostling tumble. Next to me I find the culprit—a crashed skateboard with a small TV lying next to it.
“Holy shit! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say as I regain my footing and start picking up my things one by one. Thankfully this trip didn’t include any of my bras and underwear.
“I really am sorry. I set the TV down for half a second.” He scratches his head and laughs. “I
was gonna let the skateboard do all the work, but it got away from me and before I knew it, you were on the ground.” He reaches out his hand to help me stand up. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ve got it. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?” he questions.
“I’ve taken much harder falls than this one. I’m used to it.”
Concern etches his bronzed features as he blows a piece of sandy blond hair out of his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
I start walking towards the rest of my fallen items. It’s entirely too hot out here to chit chat. “I’m a gymnast.”
“No kidding. Impressive.”
“Thanks. I should get my stuff inside. I’ll see ya around.”
“I’m positive you will.” He winks at me, but there aren’t any butterflies from his flirtation. I do catch myself watching the bare muscles of his back flex as he runs back to his TV. He’s not bad looking. Clumsy, but hot nonetheless.
Seven painstaking trips later, all my belongings are safely inside. My roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so I leave the furniture where it’s at and pick a side of the room along with a desk. I already know Cara and I are going to have a lot of late nights. We’ve spoken on the phone and have texted back and forth several times since receiving each other’s information in the mail. Originally I had intended to have one short talk to discuss who was bringing the big items, but Cara has so much spunk in her, we ended up talking for at least an hour. Surprisingly, the conversation flowed naturally and we’ve talked a couple times since. While our worlds may be vastly different, with her coming from a wealthy family here in Alabama, complete with a country club membership and designer labels I’ll never be able to afford, we discovered we have several things in common—country music and chocolate peanut butter everything. Hopefully she’s as awesome in person as she is on the phone.
Now that everything’s inside, I don’t know where to begin. I glance at each labeled box, deciding to go with the most important items first. Considering I’m lost without my electronics, I try setting up my computer. Part of me hoped my mom would be here to help me today, but she said she couldn’t get the day off. I’m not sure how hard she tried, but I give her the benefit of the doubt as usual.
