by Mia Hoddell
“I resent that.”
“Sorry, Dustin, it’s true. If you were a true magician you’d have been able to escape your cell back there without needing anyone.”
“I’m not Houdini. I do street magic and sleight of hand.”
“Sure,” I murmured dubiously.
When Dustin said he ‘did’ street magic, what he really meant to say was he tried. I had yet to see him perform a trick and get it right, which was saying something considering I’d known him for ten years.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Raine?”
Ignoring him, I slowed the car and pulled up in front of the flat we shared. Cutting the engine, I found my key and unlocked the doors to the car. Once I had it in my hand and poised to use, I jumped from the car and power walked to the keypad by the front door. I input the code, the glass door buzzed, and I ran into it, pushing hard to move the heavy weighted panel. Not even bothering to hold it for Dustin, I sprinted to the stairwell and up to the third floor.
I reached our door and unlocked it in a hurry. I kicked it shut behind me and collapsed over the back of the sofa to allow my heart to calm. Then remembering I hadn’t locked the car I dragged myself back up and over to the window. Aiming the key fob through the glass at the car, I pressed down on the button and saw the orange lights flash in the darkness.
I breathed out a deep sigh of relief when the front door opened behind me, startling me even though I had anticipated it. My mind whirled, trying to formulate an excuse for my erratic behaviour.
Rather than call me on it, Dustin dipped his hand into the plastic bag he held and pulled out his playing cards. Sliding them from the box, he dropped the packet and bag onto the floor. He gave the cards a quick shuffle and then held them out in a fan to me.
“Pick a card.”
“Really? Now?”
Dustin waved the cards at me like he was trying to cool me with a palm leaf as I moved to sit on the sofa. He followed me and dropped down beside me, brandishing the cards again.
“Pick one.”
I drew a card from the deck, peeked at the seven of diamonds, and then held it to my chest so he couldn’t see. With a sigh I glanced up at him, not expecting this to go to plan. “Now what?”
Dustin pushed the cards back into one pile and cut the deck in two. Pointing to the top of the pile in his left hand he said, “Place the card there.”
When my card was back in the pile, Dustin gave them a quick shuffle and flipped the deck over. He began dropping cards onto the sofa, rapidly discarding them until he paused. Drawing one card from the pack he flipped it around so I could see it.
“Is this your card?”
I bit down on my bottom lip and shook my head.
“Damn.” He turned over the next card. “How about this one?”
I shook my head again, my smile becoming harder to fight back. I’d already seen my card in the discarded pile.
“This one?” He held up the ace of clubs and a giggle slipped out.
I rummaged in the discarded jumble and pulled out my card. I flicked it at him, full on laughing when it hit his nose.
“That’s my card, oh great and powerful wizard.”
“I knew that. I was testing you.”
“Uh huh. It had nothing to do with the fact you’re rubbish at magic and refuse to admit it?”
“Nope, because I succeeded.”
I arched an eyebrow in question. “How? You didn’t guess my card.”
“Who said I was trying to guess your card?”
“You weren’t? What were you trying to do then?”
“Make you relax and take your mind off things.”
I should have known what he was doing as soon as he walked into the room and didn’t call me on my crazy behaviour. Dustin may not have been good at magic, but he knew how to read me.
When I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, he started waving jazz hands and cried, “Tada! And for my next trick I will make you laugh.”
The jazz hands in front of his puffy face were too much. I chuckled, shaking my head at the same time.
“See? I’m amazing.”
Sobering slightly, I gazed at him in earnest. “Thank you.”
“I think I’m the one who should be saying that. After all, I was the one in a cell.”
“Speaking of which, how much trouble are you in?”
He swatted the air nonchalantly. “I got off with a warning. Aston wanted me arrested for indecent exposure, which was ridiculous. Thankfully the girlfriend ignored him and they let me go.”
“Wait, what?” I cried. “It was Aston’s girlfriend you flashed? How could you be so stupid?”
Everyone knew who Aston Hattersey was. As the current Formula One World Champion, he was the guy every girl wanted. Of course, he also happened to be an enormous jackass known for his volatile temper and possessiveness over whichever woman entertained him for that month. Aston liked other guys to know they were beneath him and he wasn’t afraid to show it.
“It was an accident. I was there by myself and she started talking to me—” Dustin stopped talking abruptly when he could see I wasn’t paying attention. My thoughts had drifted elsewhere. “He wasn’t there, Raine. He isn’t back yet.”
It scared me how well Dustin could read my thoughts sometimes. I’d assumed if Aston was back in Milton Keynes then so were all of the British drivers. It was the summer break in the race calendar, which meant four weeks of hiding and carefully scheduled planning to avoid them all.
“Why don’t you go see him, Raine?” Dustin said, picking up on my shift in mood. “It’s obvious you miss him.”
“No way. Tonight’s about you.” I forced a smile to my face. “I’m never going to let you live this down, so I’m definitely not through laughing at you yet.”
For a second he remained quiet, likely deciding whether to accept my obvious diversion. He tried to look resigned. The expression was awkward with his swollen eye and lips, and his words came out with a deep breath.
“I knew you wouldn’t. Where are you going?” he asked quickly when I stood and walked into the tiny kitchen.
I opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. I returned to the sofa and held them out to him. “Here, put this on your face. I’m going to head to bed.”
Dustin took the bag in one hand and grabbed my wrist with the other.
“You good?” He ran his thumb over the back of my wrist and I swallowed hard at the thoughts he’d sent careening back into my mind. Not wanting to worry him or add to the guilt I could already see forming at my delayed response, I nodded.
“Are you sure?”
Truthfully? No, I wasn’t. I had no idea whether the nightmares would plague me that night or whether I’d be allowed to sleep, yet I wasn’t going to tell Dustin that.
“I’m fine, just tired.”
He studied me for a minute, refusing to let go of my wrist. Finally, he must have realised I wasn’t going to give him the answer we both knew I should have spoken and released me.
“‘Night, Raine.”
“Put that bag on your face,” I ordered, heading for my room.
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NOT ENOUGH
ABOUT THE BOOK
Neve Colvin isn’t good enough. As an introvert, her life is a never-ending list of labels and criticism. Pressures to change come from everyone—including the one person she thought would love her unconditionally … her mother. All Neve wants is acceptance, but surrounded by extroverts it’s a wish that’s nearly impossible to fulfil.
For Neve there’s only one solution: anyone disapproving must go. Even if it means only one person will remain.
That person is her lifelong friend Blake Reynolds. He’s seen the fights with her mum, the breakdowns caused by attacks on her personality, and the battles for acceptance. Each time she is left shattered and questioning who she is, he’s the one to collect the pieces of her broken heart. Shielding her from the cruelty is
his only concern. But how can he protect her when Neve is concealing a secret so dark?
Blake thinks he knows everything about her, and with their relationship developing, he assumes Neve trusts him fully. However, there is one memory Neve is too ashamed of to share. Revealing it will test Blake’s loyalty beyond what she could ever ask, and Blake is the only friend she can’t afford to lose. He’s the one person capable of dragging her from the darkness plaguing her, but with pressures to conform increasing, even Blake may not be enough to pull her back this time.
PROLOGUE
From: Neve Colvin
To: Neve Colvin
One word, four letters. It sticks in my throat and refuses to come out. Maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe I’m just scared. But it’s normal to be scared, right? Saying that word isn’t something a person should undertake lightly. Once the word is out, it can’t be reclaimed. Once it’s said it becomes real and actions must follow.
Words can hurt—I should know that well by now. They cut deeper than a knife, and the wounds last longer even if they’re invisible. Some people will show off scars like they’re a trophy, telling you the story behind each and every one no matter how boring or traumatic the event was. The scars are like a brand to them, and I’m thankful that the ones left by your words aren’t visible to the naked eye for everyone to gawp at.
It doesn’t take a psychopath, murderer, or unstable person to hurl words that are meant to maim. Anyone can, and anyone does. They cut to the core, repeatedly stabbing and twisting deeper into the heart. They play with peoples’ minds and no one can see the consequences until it’s too late. A person can take a lot of verbal abuse, but there’s always a limit.
Everyone breaks.
Everyone crumbles.
Like a riverbank that is battered repeatedly by the water, bits of me have been chipped off and worn away. If you could see inside of me you’d notice I’m no longer whole, but rather a scratched and scarred person who’s been pieced back together too many times. I’m ugly on the inside. Fragments are missing, wounds are both fresh and old; I’m bleeding and I can’t stop your latest comments from slicing me open and adding to the unusual piece of artwork.
I’ve weathered a lot of attacks, but I’ve finally reached my limit.
Saying it should be easy. You’ve destroyed everything I’ve been working for, shattered every dream, and broken the person I want to be. You’ve pushed me beyond my limit, yet I can’t do it. I feel weak because of it. It makes me hate myself more. That you have this kind of control over me when you don’t even care isn’t right, but it is what it is.
A part of me wants to say it. I want to convince myself it’s the best solution. After all, you’re never going to change, are you? What’s the point in sticking around to suffer more?
Regardless, sitting here with salty tears dripping from my face I gaze out at the horizon through blurred eyes. I haven’t been able to stop them since I ran out on you. My eyeliner has long since stopped marking me with black trails, I’m now just blotchy … a mess. My sleeves are incapable of drying my face, too wet to be of any use, and I only have one tissue on me. Not that my body cares. The wounds ripping open inside of me all over again refuse to allow the tears to stop, and in a way I don’t want them to. It’s cathartic … the only way I can release what you’ve done to me.
A chilly, evening breeze hits my back and sends a shiver down my spine. It stirs the edges of my zip-up hoodie, causing them to whip at my sides. Tendrils of hair stick to my face from the water trails. The pieces that have escaped that fate swarm around my head like a cluster of snakes. As strands catch my face in the wind, it’s like they’re adding more poison to my already broken mind. I just wish they’d numb it.
You did this. It’s all your fault.
You’re responsible for making me come out here to write this. I’m sitting here, looking down at the river, watching as the current batters the water against the rocks and wondering if it would feel as bad as what you’ve done. The amount of water makes my tears seem small in comparison. In fact, my whole life seems small. Because that’s what you think, isn’t it? It’s what everyone thinks of me: that I’m weird, don’t fit in, don’t act normally. My choices aren’t good enough for anyone. I was meant to have a chance like you said, but you couldn’t even give me that. Instead you broke the one thing I wanted more than anything, making it impossible.
I knew you were mean, but I didn’t think you’d go that far.
It’s not something you have to repeat on a daily basis either. I know I’m not the daughter you wanted. I get that I’m a disappointment and fail you at every turn, but it’s not something I strive for.
All I want is to be accepted for who I am, but you can’t …
One word, four letters. That’s all it is. Four tiny letters and everything will be solved for me.
I’m gazing out at the setting sun again as it descends in the sky, almost touching the horizon. Something about the crimson colour is urging me to fight. It’s penetrating my icy heart and reaching the emotions that I’ve locked away because I was scared to let them loose, stirring them into a rage. Ignoring them was meant to make my decision easier. If I’m numb then it should be simpler. Yet I can’t do it. You’ve broken me in so many ways, but part of me still wants to fight … to prove you wrong. I’ve never been someone who looks for the easy option, and I refuse to start now.
I can’t say it.
I can’t allow you to win.
I have more to live for than that. That’s the difference between us … I’m sure enough of myself to strike out on my own. I may be all of the things you say, but I’m never going to change myself to fit in with your view of how a person should be.
This is the lowest you’ll ever bring me. I promise you I’ll never sink to this point again and I’ll do everything in my power to keep that.
I will not let you ruin my life. Your words will not cut me and I will prove you wrong.
That single word is no longer a thought inside of my mind because I know I’m enough.
I will not jump.
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