(Formerly titled Forgiven)
Tich Brewster
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real person, places, or events is coincidental.
Pieces of Me Copyright 2018 © Tich Brewster
ISBN 978-1721855636 (softcover)
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 and recording, without permission in writing from the author.
Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet, or by any other means, without permission are illegal and punishable by law.
Cover Art by Melancholy Muse Designs
[depression] [thoughts of suicide] [sexual abuse]
This book is dedicated to Teresa Hughes, my soul sister and best friend, to all my readers, and anyone who has ever suffered depression.
Chapter One
Makayla
Heaven and hell, do they exist? Are they more than just these old tales that have been told for centuries? Can one exist without the other, or are they like a packaged deal? I wish I knew the answers to these questions. The idea of being sentenced to an eternity in hell scares the crap out of me, and quite honestly, it is the only reason I have not killed myself.
Oh, the temptation is there. It is always there, taunting me with sweet relief. I struggle with the decision to end my life every single day, and at times it is almost too hard to resist. The promise of relieving myself from my own personal hell calls to me like a siren’s song. I’m drowning in my own pain and no one else can see it.
The truth is, I don’t want them to see it. I would be mortified if they knew what kind of person I truly was. Besides, if they found out, they would hate me. I cannot stomach the thought of my brother or my mother hating me.
It is so hard to keep the pain hidden.
Pain and shame eat away at me, like maggots eat rotten flesh. But despite how lost and alone I feel, I slap a smile on my face and fake my way through each day. So far, no one has noticed, or if they have, they have not attempted to ask me what is wrong.
I’m not sure what hurts worse, my pain or the fact that no one seems to see that I am slowly falling apart, fading away into nothing.
My twin has not even felt my loneliness and depression. The fact that he cannot sense that I am falling apart at the seams makes me feel so alone and lost in this world. Why can’t he feel my agony? This pain is truly the only thing that keeps me company and I hate it. Hate it with a passion.
I just want this suffering to end.
If I took a handful of pills and allowed the angel of death to take me, would anyone even notice? Would I be missed?
Thaddeus might notice that I am no longer around. Then again, he has been so busy with Heather, his on-again, off-again girlfriend, he most likely wouldn’t even notice that my presence is no longer filling our mostly empty house. It’s sad, really, because I have not had more than ten minutes of his time during the whole summer.
No one sees me anymore. It’s like I am just a ghost. My friends don’t call, Thaddeus is busy with his girlfriend, and Eryc doesn’t talk to me, but I can’t blame him for that. I pretty much disowned him a few years ago so I could get in with the popular crowd. What a mistake that turned out to be.
I just want to die. The pain of living is a burden too great to bear.
Opening the cabinet door, I move my box of Claritin and pick up the bottle of Oxycodone. The prescription Thaddeus never finished taking after his biking accident. I could take the remaining pills and let oblivion welcome me with open arms. I know those little round white pills will kill the pain infecting my soul.
On the bottom shelf, right below the pills, is a tiny box of razors. A thought occurs to me. Taking a handful of pills is not a guarantee. There is always a chance of mom or Thaddeus finding me before my heart stops beating.
Turning the box of razors over and over in my hands, I contemplate removing a blade, digging it deep in my veins and slicing upward. Slicing my veins wide open is a guarantee of ending my suffering.
Deep down I know my mom and brother will be sad. They will grieve for weeks, months, maybe even a year, but they will eventually move on with their lives. There is no moving on for me, I struggle to find the strength just to crawl out of bed.
Death declares to be a friend of mine and promises to be the only solution to ridding myself of these demons. He stretches his hand out to me, daring me to take it and allow him to cleanse my infected soul.
I wake up to a fist banging on my bedroom door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Makayla?”
My eyes blink rapidly as I try to bring moisture back to my dry orbs. Jeez, I feel like I have barely slept.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Get your butt out of bed. We’re gonna be late.” I swear his voice gets louder with each word that comes from his mouth.
Late?
Ha, as if I care. My life has been a living nightmare for the past five weeks. Five weeks of pure hell. So, what if I’m late? Let me be late for school. Who gives a flying flip? Not me, that’s for sure.
Bang. Bang.
“Makayla.” Thaddeus grunts when I don’t say anything. The doorknob jiggles. His heavy breathing comes through that wooden door letting me know he is about two seconds away from losing his cool.
Rolling my eyes, I prop myself up on my elbows. “Alright, I’m up.” If I am to get through today I will need a constant stream of caffeine flowing intravenously through my arm, I don’t think one cup will do. “Can you fill my travel mug and toss a couple of Monsters into my bag?”
“Already done.” The sound of his hand sliding down the door causes me to glance over. “Hurry, I don’t want to be late.” Thaddeus is a 4.0 student and has not missed a day of school, aside from that time in sixth grade when he had his tonsils removed.
Today is the first day of our senior year. I should be ecstatic but I’m not. In fact, I couldn’t care less if I finished out the year and got my diploma. Life sucks, with a capital S.U.C.K.S.
Throwing the covers off, I head to the bathroom. I cringe when I catch sight of my reflection. The bags under my eyes gives testimony to my sleep deprivation, and my hair looks like a monkey spent the evening rummaging through the curly strands. “Eww, I look like a frizzy-haired freak.”
After wetting my hair in the sink, I pull it back into a messy bun. It’s not what I would call pretty but it will do. Then I apply some cream under my eyes, following it with concealer. Blending in the last of my make-up, I sigh at the sight I see in the mirror.
Sheesh, I still look like the walking dead. Story of my life.
Stuffing my cell phone in my back pocket, I rush out of the room. Thaddeus is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and boots tapping an annoying rhythm on the hardwood floor. “We have five minutes until final bell.”
The look of irritation on his face hits me and I am instantly feeling guilty. My twin brother doesn’t need to deal with my shortcomings. All I will ever do is bring him down, piss him off, or mess things up for him somewhere, or with someone else.
He should have left without me. Thaddeus does not need me to screw up his life any more than I already have. I’m a failure. Everything I touch turns to ash.
Chapter Two
Eryc
My auburn-haired beauty begins to fade as a bright light invades my vision. “Makayla?” I call out to her, but she just smiles. Then she disappears in a cloud of smoke, right before my eyes.
The light only grows brighter, annoying the crud out of me. A groan leaves my lips and I open my eyes, the sunlight blinding me instantly. “Ugh, why didn’t
I pull the curtains closed last night?” Then it hits me. Today is the first day of school and I don’t think I set my alarm before going to bed last night. I am so exhausted, I could really use another week of sleeping in before the school year begins. Rolling over, I peer at the clock. “Oh, crap.”
Tossing the covers off, I jump from the bed, stubbing my big toe on the leg of the metal frame. Well, isn’t this a wonderful start to my day? Injuring myself first thing and then being late on the first day of school. What a way to begin my senior year.
Bouncing on my right foot while holding my left, I breathe several slow breaths. When the pain eases, I rush toward the closet, riffling through what little is hanging on the rod. I had been so engrossed in my book last night that I forgot to wash clothes. This only makes me miss my mother more. Had she been here I would not have to worry about washing my clothes or setting my alarm for that matter.
Staring at the clothing hanging in the closet, I blow out a frustrated breath. The only thing clean is several well-worn T-shirts. “Just great.”
Pulling a black shirt from the hanger, I slip it over my head and pray I have a decent pair of jeans that are clean. Opening the bottom drawer on the dresser reveals one pair of faded blue jeans and nothing else. Procrastination definitely came back to bite me in butt. Oh well, this will have to do.
I look back at the clock in my rush to the bathroom, 7:55AM.
“Crap. Crap. Crap.” I have five minutes until the final bell rings, that means I will have to speed brush my teeth and forget about brushing the mop on top of my head.
I break the world record brushing my teeth. I hope they are clean enough, but I do make sure to scrape my tongue well. The last thing I want is to have funky breath. After wiping my mouth, I toss the hand towel in the vicinity of the counter and grab my keys and cell phone off the dresser.
Descending the stairs two at a time, I finger comb my hair. Thankfully, it’s short enough to pull this off. A pang of sadness overcomes me when my feet land on the last step and I take in my surroundings. It’s strange not having my parents around. The house feels empty without them. I love them but I’m also starting to love this newfound freedom. What I do miss is the smell of bacon and eggs accompanied by mom’s singing first thing in the morning.
My parents moved to Dallas, Texas over the summer after dad was offered a pastoral job. It took some effort but I finally convinced them I was quite capable of living on my own. Though I think the fact that Aunt Rene lives nearby was the selling point. I’m glad because it would have sucked to have to change schools in my senior year. Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer graduating as an EC Cardinal with the guys I have known since our elementary days.
The drive to EC High school is short since I only live three blocks away. I find a parking space toward the back of the lot and sigh in relief when I see eight other cars pulling into the parking lot behind me. Hitting the lock button on the key fob, I turn and bump into someone.
Before I can call out an apology, Chad Coleman, the quarterback, waves. “Hey, Delmonte.”
Stuffing my keys in my pocket, I smile at the guy I had just bumped into. “Hey, Coleman.” I spent the summer in Dallas helping my parents move so I haven’t seen my friends since the last week of school.
Chad waves at someone across the parking lot. “Missed you over the summer. Did your parents get settled in okay?”
Chad has been my best friend for as far back as I can remember. He has been there for me through the good, the bad, and the ugly. “Yeah, they did.” A couple of girls run past us in their hurry to beat the bell. “They expect me to visit at least one weekend a month. I don’t look forward to the five-hour drive between here and there.”
Chad crinkles his brows. “Now, that’s a long drive. I definitely don’t envy you there.”
Yeah, me either. “So, what’d I miss while I was gone?”
The carefree look on Chad’s face falls and his mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head slowly, looking almost sad. “Nothing much.” A heavy sigh passes his lips and he kicks at some rocks.
This reaction unsettles me, Chad is not the melancholy type. “What happened while I was gone?” I press.
“Nothing.” His tone is clipped, signaling that the conversation is over.
I open my mouth to speak but a loud whistle sounds from up ahead. We both glance up. Mr. Wilson, our principle, smooths his tie, glances at his watch, and points to the double doors. “You’re late,” he yells.
The look on the principle’s face is enough to make me cringe. It’s apparent that he isn’t the slightest bit impressed with our tardiness. Chad and I pick up our pace, jogging toward the building.
I pause next to our principle. “Sorry, Mr. Wilson.”
Mr. Wilson nods his head. “Nice to see you again, Eryc, Chad. Don’t make a habit of being late.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
A slap to my shoulder draws my attention back to Chad. “Later, Delmonte.”
“Later.” I start forward but the sound of a motorcycle draws my attention behind me, to the parking lot.
My eyes follow the bike and my heartrate speeds up. It’s Thaddeus Yasmeen’s motorcycle and sitting behind him is Makayla. She has one arm wrapped around her brother’s waist and the other is holding a travel mug.
I had caught a couple of glimpses of her last night when I got home but other than that I hadn’t seen her at all over the summer. My heart skips several beats. She has only gotten more beautiful. Since the day her family moved in next door when we were all in preschool, I have loved that girl. The two of us were close. In middle school, we would stay up past our bedtime and talk via walkie talkies while staring at one another through our bedroom windows.
That all changed when we entered high school and she wanted to be part of the popular crowd. I suppose hanging out with the pastor’s son wasn’t the cool thing to do so she withdrew from our friendship, little by little. Sure, we still talked in passing and she was friendly, we just didn’t hang out anymore.
Thaddeus, on the other hand, has been the single most popular person at EC from the very beginning. During our junior year, Makayla started hanging out with her brother and his friends, disowning me further. After that, I didn’t even get a friendly wave from across the cafeteria. I miss our friendship. God, do I miss it.
Makayla slides off the bike, her auburn hair glinting in the sunlight. Both siblings are wearing biker boots and leather jackets and begin walking toward the building, which happens to be directly toward me.
Though they are twins, they look nothing alike. Where Makayla has a mass of wavy auburn hair and green eyes, Thaddeus has golden-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes.
The tapping of a shoe pulls my eyes from Makayla. Coach Roberts, who happens to be passing by, raises a brow and points to the clock hanging on the wall.
Shoot, I’m already counted absent. Just great.
“So sorry,” I call out as I head toward my classroom.
English IV is on the second floor so I jog down the hall. Once I’m out of Coach Roberts’s sight, I run up the stairs and to room 206. Every eye in the room shoots my way when I walk through the door. A few of the guys nod my way and a couple of the girls smile.
“Welcome to class, Mr. Delmonte.” The graying English teacher hands me a thick text book and several small literature books. “Please, try not to make this a habit.”
“I won’t, Mr. Green.” I scan the room for an empty seat, there are two in the very back of the room. Naturally, I choose the one in the corner.
Just as Mr. Green is about to resume his instructions, the classroom door opens. I glance up to see who else is walking in late.
It’s her and my heart melts at the sight of her.
Chapter Three
Makayla
Mr. Wilson raises one brow as Thaddeus and I approach the building. That look of displeasure mixed with annoyance on his face sends a chill down my spine. Yet again, I am proving to be a disappointment to those around m
e.
Thaddeus jogs ahead of me and turns right at the first intersecting hallway. My first hour class is upstairs in room 206. English IV. I groan because English is the one class I despise more than anything else. You would think since I speak English, I could pass this stupid class with an A, but unfortunately grammar is not my thing.
Mr. Green purses his lips when I open the door. “You’re late, Miss Yasmeen.”
Well, duh.
Since I don’t want to get stuck in detention, I refrain from speaking the first thought that pops into my head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He turns to pick up a massive text book and several smaller ones. Great, literature books. I glance down at the smaller book resting on top. Wuthering Heights. Really? Why can’t we have something a little more modern? I would be more than happy to read a steamy romance.
Placing the books in my hands, he nods to the only empty seat in the classroom. “Take a seat, Miss Yasmeen.”
I hate when teachers call me Miss Yasmeen. What is so wrong with calling me by my first name? Makayla sounds a thousand times better than Miss Yasmeen.
As I walk toward the empty desk, I can feel every eye on me. Why didn’t I fake being sick or something? This is the last place on earth I want to be.
When I glance up, John waggles is eyebrows and smirks at me. Oh, God, he knows. Suzy watches me then leans over to whisper in Tina’s ear. Do they all know?
Bile rises in the back of my throat. I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home and crawl back into my bed. With all these eyes on me, boring into my back, every inch of my skin crawls. I want to run out of here and it takes every ounce of strength I have to act like I’m not bothered by their prying eyes.
My heartrate is at an all-time high right now and its pounding in my ears like a drum. Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly in hopes of slowing my heartbeat and calming my nerves. It doesn’t help. Nothing ever helps.
Pieces of Me Page 1
