by Erin Noelle
Metamorphosis
By Erin Noelle
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, copied in any form or by any means. Electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author/ publisher, except by a reviewer that may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each participant.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, is entirely coincidental.
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
First Edition ©2013 Erin Noelle
Second Edition ©2020 Erin Noelle
Cover Design by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction
Cover Photography by Lindee Robinson
Editing by Kayla Robichaux
Formatting by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction
“The Greek name for a butterfly is Psyche, and the same word means the soul. There is no illustration of the immortality of the soul so striking and beautiful as the butterfly, bursting on brilliant wings from the tomb in which it has lain, after a dull, groveling, caterpillar existence, to flutter in the blaze of day and feed on the most fragrant and delicate productions of the spring. Psyche, then, is the human soul, which is purified by sufferings and misfortunes, and is thus prepared for the enjoyment of true and pure happiness.”
(From Bulfinch's Mythology: The Age of Fable, chapter XI)
Table of Contents
Front Matter
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
Epilogue
Bonus Scene ~ Ash POV
Bonus Scene ~ Mason POV
About the Author
Other Books By Erin Noelle
One
“I can’t believe we’re finally here. I’m completely and utterly exhausted but couldn’t be happier,” Evie, my longtime best friend and now college roommate, said as she threw herself across her freshly made bed.
“I know. It’s surreal, isn’t it? I’m almost afraid to go to sleep tonight in fear I’ll wake up tomorrow morning back at my parents’ house,” I replied, sitting down cross-legged in the chair across the room.
“God, that would be a nightmare.”
“Tell me about it. You aren’t the one who had to live with them the last eighteen years,” I muttered.
“True, but I have had to live across the street for the last ten and listen to you bitch and moan every day about the prison wardens they are,” she retorted.
Evie was right; without her, I may have gone crazy at some point while dealing with my overbearing, controlling parents. That or run away and joined the circus. Seriously, that would’ve been an upgrade to the life I had while living with them.
Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a bit. It’s not like they ever beat me or neglected me… or really even yelled at me. I never wanted for any material thing or their attention. It was quite the opposite actually. My parents were so far up my ass they literally didn’t allow me to have a life of my own.
But the day had come when they finally had to let me go. I’d been looking forward to that day for at least three years, ever since I realized kids my age were actually doing fun things while I was studying. Or at music lessons. Or doing something else they deemed necessary for me to become a successful human being. I was finally free from their outrageous and outlandish rules. I knew I’d never escape their unrealistic and idealistic expectations of me, but now, as long as I made good grades and didn’t get in legal or financial trouble, I would never have to live under their roof again.
“Hello! Earth to Scarlett! Are you still with me here?” Evie yelled across the modest-sized room, shaking me out of my daydream. “Scarlett, seriously, what the hell is your problem? You are sitting over there looking like you’re being forced to watch someone shit in your Louboutins.”
“I don’t own Louboutins, Evie.”
“Humor me,” she said as a serious look crossed her face. “You are supposed to be happy, joyful… hell, you should be jumping up and down, ecstatic you are actually going to be able to have a life.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about how controlling my parents really are and wondering how I’ve managed to survive until now,” I confessed.
“Controlling?! That’s like saying Lindsey Lohan has a minor drug problem or Charles Manson might have been a psychopath. Elizabeth and David are nuts, and I’m still not sure how you managed not to go postal on them until yesterday. And I’m still surprised they ever let you be friends with me.”
“It’s only because they could see your house from our front window,” I said, somewhat embarrassed, because we both knew it was the truth. “And I think they’re still in shock over my standing up to them.” I thought back to the day prior, when I told them I was an adult and was making a clean break.
“It was time, Scarlett. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Evie shook her head as we both remembered the dramatic events of the previous evening, when my parents attempted to implement a 10:00 p.m. curfew on weeknights for me while I was hundreds of miles away at college. “They are delusional. Even my parents finally said something about how out of touch with reality they are.”
I sighed loudly and slumped over in the chair a bit, feeling sorry for myself. Evie was so lucky to have “normal” parents who allowed her to go to public school, to participate in whatever extracurricular activities she wanted, and to actually date—gasp! Instead, in the parental lottery, I had been awarded a duo who insisted I had no social life, no choice in my hobbies, and most definitely no social interaction with the male population. They had even gone to the expense of sending me to the most affluent, academically challenging, all-girl Catholic school in the San Antonio area. Lucky me.
“Scarlett, come on! Snap out of it! Aren’t you just geeking about tomorrow?”
“Geeking? What is that? Geeking. I swear you must look these words up online or something.”
“No, sourpuss, I don’t. I just have an immensely elaborate vocabulary.” She smirked.
“'Immensely elaborate vocabulary,’ and you come up with ‘geeking’ and ‘sourpuss’? Wow, Rice University has no idea what they said yes to when they accepted your application.” I snorted.
“J
ust shut up and let’s talk about tomorrow. Have you decided what you’re going to do with your hair?”
“I’m not really sure—”
“Wait,” she interrupted, jumping off her bed. “Before we continue this conversation, let’s open our celebratory bottle of wine.”
She was headed for the kitchenette before she even finished the sentence, grabbing two of our new glasses I had just put away in the cabinet less than an hour before. Once she opened the bottle of white wine she had stolen from her parents’ house and poured us each a glass, she rejoined me in her bedroom.
“Okay, now we’re ready. So, tomorrow?” she asked, eluding to the day we had planned for my external makeover. Weeks prior, she scheduled for me to spend a day at a local spa for a massage, a mani/pedi, waxing, and a new hairstyle. After that, we were to go shopping so I could start reinventing my wardrobe. Luckily, I saved upward of five thousand dollars throughout high school by babysitting, tutoring, and teaching afterschool music lessons, so I would be able to purchase a good base.
“Look, Evie, I am extremely excited about tomorrow. I really am, promise.” I paused to take a drink of wine. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. “But I’m also very nervous and anxious about all of it. Finally being able to live my own life, to make my own decisions about what I like and don’t like, getting to choose my own clothes, styling my own hair, doing whatever I want, whenever I want… all of it sounds amazing. It sounds so freeing, but I just feel incredibly overwhelmed by all of it. I know most people don’t get to just start over when they’re eighteen, a chance to recreate their image, who they want to be. And I’m so thankful and relieved I’m finally here, away from them. But truth be told, I’m just scared. I don’t want to mess this up,” I confessed.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said as she patted the bed next to where she was lying, indicating for me to join her. I lifted my eyebrows in disapproval at her “sweetie” remark, but she went on as if she didn’t notice. “You are going to do just fine. You just need to give yourself more credit. You are so smart, and so sweet, and you are beautiful inside and out. Plus, you will always have me here to tell you when you are fucking up, so there’s no way you can fail.”
“It’s just a lot to deal with all of a sudden. I’ve thought about this day for so long. I thought I was so prepared, but the truth is, I really don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I want to be. And then when I even think about dating, I just want to throw up,” I admitted as I drained the contents of my glass.
“Let’s move this conversation to the kitchen so we can get a refill,” Evie interjected.
I followed behind her, continuing my whining. “First, I get around boys and it’s like I lose the ability to speak intelligently. My mouth dries up like the Sahara Desert, my brain freezes, and my stomach twists and turns like it’s warming up for the uneven bars at the Olympics.”
“You act like you’ve never been around a boy before, Sam. Come on, you’ve kissed a couple guys. Shit, you’ve even kissed a girl! And you’ve read enough sex scenes in our books that you know what’s supposed to happen. Hell, you probably know more about how it’s supposed to go than most girls our age who just blindly and drunkenly stumble through the act.”
She was right; I had read more than my share of hot and steamy exchanges between fictional characters. Evie and I were obsessive readers, and over ninety percent of the books we read were romance novels. Heartbreaking and gut-wrenching, sweet and sentimental, sexy and sensual… we loved them all. Reading was the one thing Evie and I could experience together for the past couple years, since I wasn’t allowed to do anything outside my house without adult supervision. It was almost like we lived a second life with our book characters, talking about them as if they actually existed and integrating their sayings into our everyday conversation. It was quite ridiculous, to be honest.
“Yes, I’ve kissed a couple guys before, Evie, like two, and both times were at church camp and were one-time occurrences. And you kissing me so I wouldn’t be nervous about my first kiss hardly counts for anything,” I argued. “To think I’m sexually experienced in any way is truly laughable, most twelve and thirteen-year-olds have done more than I have. Reading about something and actually doing it are quite different, especially when you’re talking about sex. Oh, and I thought we were going to lose the nickname when we moved here.”
“I’m never dropping the nickname, so get that thought out of your pretty little head,” she said as she tapped her finger on my forehead. “And I take great offense that kissing me ‘hardly counts for anything.’ Do you know how many people would love to have my tongue in their mouth?” She moved her hand to her chest and crinkled up her face, acting as if she was going to cry. I rolled my eyes in response.
We both hopped up on the kitchen counter, and I continued to ramble on about my fears and worries when it came to entering the world of dating.
“I don’t even know what kind of guy would be my type. I don’t know who’s out of my league and who isn’t. I don’t know if I should let a guy approach me or if I should approach him. There are just all these questions… I feel so silly.”
“Okay, let’s get one thing straight. No guy is out of your league!” she said sternly, looking directly into my eyes. “I never want to hear you say something like that again. You seriously have no idea what an amazing catch you are for any guy. I swear, your parents really did a number on your self-esteem. Guys look at you all the time. You just never notice, because you’re too afraid they’ll catch you making eye contact with one and then you’ll… I don’t know, end up pregnant or something.” She continued, “As for what your type is, surely you have some idea what you’re looking for. I mean, we have only read hundreds of books that pretty much cover every category of guy in existence. Think about all our favorite book boyfriends.”
“That’s the thing. I love so many of our book boyfriends—all of them, actually.” I giggled, the wine definitely starting to have some effect on me. “Sometimes I think I’d like the All-American, college frat boy image; maybe even one with a bit of a wild side. But then I think about our beloved tattooed, bad-boy rockers and…” I could feel my face get warm as I began thinking about actually getting to touch any one of my treasured book boyfriends.
“You really do have a kinky freak living inside there, don’t you?” Evie joked, tearing me from my fantasy. “I’m kind of afraid what’s going to happen once you get a real taste of the passion you read about so often. If those books get your panties all wet, what’s going to happen when an actual hottie gets his hands on you?”
“I’m not sure. I may spontaneously combust, or my panties may just disintegrate right off my body.” I laughed. “But don’t act like I’m the only one who fantasizes about our book boyfriends. I clearly remember just last week a certain someone texting me in the wee hours of the morning, because she had just had a wet dream about—who was it that time? I can’t remember. Someone you called ‘Daddy’ in bed or some shit.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she joked. “We really are little book whores, aren’t we? Not just in the number of books we read, but in how many of the guys we are in love with and the things we dream about doing with them.”
“Yeah, how sad is that? If it wasn’t for that vibrator you bought me last year, I would probably have carpal tunnel by this point,” I admitted.
I must be the most sexually frustrated virgin on the planet. My virtue was still intact only because my parents didn’t let me out of their sight long enough to even meet anyone, much less like someone enough to want to have sex with them. I wasn’t interested in just handing it out on a silver platter in a bathroom stall at one of my music or dance recitals, or better yet, at church camp. I was pretty sure the man upstairs wouldn’t approve of the fact that I was using him as an excuse to escape my parents and whore myself out. I felt bad enough it was the only place I ever kissed a guy. I had felt so guilty then I had almost expected to be struck by lightning or something, but I made it through
the rest of the week unscathed.
“You’re telling me! It’s been over three months since I stopped seeing Garrett. All the extra free time has allowed me to read myself into a sexual frenzy as well,” she complained. “We really need to get out and have some fun. I can’t wait to corrupt you… and it all begins tomorrow.” She jumped off the counter and put her glass in the sink.
“I don’t think I’m going to need your help in corruption. I’ve been looking forward to this for way too long. I may need help in controlling my hormones once they’re released from their cage.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Now, back to these different categories of book boyfriends. We need to make sure we consider all potential candidates. We forgot to mention the hot professors looking for reasons to tutor us in private, or the famous musicians who are going to mysteriously pop into our lives and beg us to go on tour with them because we are their muse. Ooh, better yet, maybe we can snag us an ultimate,” I said, trying my best to sound serious.
“An ultimate?” Evie asked, laughing at my categorization.
“Yeah, the ultimates. You know, the devastatingly handsome, possessive billionaire moguls who can’t live without us and are dying to shower us with wealth and satisfy our deep, dark sexual desires,” I explained.
“Okay, I lied. Even though I said there’s no guy out of your league, I’m not sure we are quite ready for ‘the ultimates.’ Cheese and rice, Scarlett, you go from telling me you’re scared to talk to a college boy to telling me you want to find an older man who’s into bondage and whips. I’m not sure if there’s a local billionaire BDSM club we can just waltz into and make our selection,” she joked.
I started laughing uncontrollably at her last comment as I envisioned the two of us walking up to an office building, trying to find our version of an ultimate. She was right; I needed to take baby steps before I found myself blindfolded and restrained to a cross on a wall, trying to remember my safe word, anticipating the crack of a whip across my skin.
