by Amber Garza
“He seemed like a nice, trustworthy guy,” Frank said of Kurt.
But Kurt had skeletons in his closet that the Fairchilds knew nothing about. Before moving to California, Kurt had lived in Texas with his wife and daughter.
I glanced up, remembering the slight twang to Kurt’s voice. I think it was part of what made him so endearing. Now it made sense. Steeling myself for the remainder, I bent my head and continued on.
Kurt’s wife Maya suffered from alcoholism and drug addiction when they met, but had been clean and sober for several years before getting pregnant with their daughter. But after their little girl was born, she suffered from postpartum depression.
Kurt and Maya’s friends remember Kurt complaining about how depressed Maya seemed. He worried that maybe she’d taken up drinking and drugs again. One day while Kurt was at work, Maya allegedly snapped, killing her baby girl as well as herself. Friends of the couple say that Kurt took it really hard, seeming to suffer a mental breakdown himself. Shortly afterward he moved, and friends never heard from him again.
Unbeknownst to Frank and Caroline Fairchild, Kurt had taken an interest in Aspen. She reminded him of the baby daughter he’d lost. His baby was fair haired and pale skinned like Aspen was. He had started making plans to take her, even went as far as to set up a room for her in his home.
Lifting my head, I stopped reading and closed the magazine swiftly. I couldn’t read anymore. Not now. That was enough for today. Besides, I knew how the rest of the story went. I remembered it all now. Everything that happened in that house from the abuse and neglect to that last night when I got my revenge. It was all in my head now. All of it had surfaced. I’d deciphered which memories were true and which ones were made up.
And for the first time in ten years, I felt like I was on the road to healing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Be careful,” Mom called from the front porch, her skirt billowing around her pale legs.
“I will.” I waved from where I sat in the driver’s seat of her car. “I’ll call you when I get to Carter’s.”
“Sounds good.” She smiled, waggling her manicured nails at me.
Reaching down, I put the car in reverse and backed down the gravel driveway. Cool air spilled from the vents, and soft music played in the background. When I glanced in the rearview mirror I saw the canvas sitting in the backseat. The painting I’d made for Carter. When I pulled out onto the street, I felt practically giddy with excitement. This would be my first drive alone since getting my license yesterday. It felt grown up.
It felt like freedom.
A lot had happened in the last three months since the night of my big revelation. The night that was supposed to be my prom. I had forced myself to read the whole National View article. Then I burned it. Watched the plumes of smoke rise in the sky, like I used to dream of doing. Afterward I stared at the ashes on the ground, knowing that was all that was left of that time in my life.
Beauty for ashes.
And when the ashes blew away with the wind, I imagined the memories went with it, flying in the wind, skittering across the sky and evaporating into thin air. Gone was the sadness, the guilt, the shame. Vanished as if it never existed.
Also I’d been painting a lot. I used Carter’s photographs as inspiration, trying to find even a semblance of the radiance present in his pictures. And I’d started taking college courses at Red Blossom’s community college. It was all baby steps, but I was proud of myself.
Not as proud as Carter was, though.
I pulled up to his house and cut the engine. Before I could even step out of the car he was running to meet me. I poked my head out the open window, the scent of flowers smacking me in the face. I’d been helping to landscape Carter’s front yard, and I may have gone a little crazy. His front yard sort of resembled a nursery. That’s what happened when someone gave me a never-ending floral budget. My parents had learned that lesson years ago. Now it appeared that it was Carter’s turn. However, unlike my parents, Carter didn’t seem bothered. He appeared to be perfectly content with me turning his home into a florist shop.
“Look at my gorgeous girl behind the wheel.” He leaned his elbows into the car, kissing me swiftly on the lips. “Now that’s a picture I have to take.”
“Should I stay here while you grab your camera?” I joked.
“Later.” He opened the driver’s side door and snatched up my hand. “Right now I have other plans for us.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” He drew me close and covered my mouth with his.
I should have known.
After kissing me, his gaze slid over my shoulder and his lips curled upward. “Did you paint that?” He moved toward the car.
“Um…yeah.” I scratched the back of my neck. It was fall now, so there was a nice breeze, the weather was cooling.
“You’re finally letting me see some of your artwork?” Carter opened the back door and dipped his hand inside.
I had been pretty secretive about my art. For the past few months I’d been taking classes, honing my craft. I didn’t want to show anyone until I felt I had something worthy of sharing. This was that moment. Even my art teacher thought so. Still, my palms clammed up, my heart kicking up speed as Carter picked up the painting.
He extracted it from the backseat, his gaze glued to it. I bit my lip, held my breath. His expression gave nothing away, and uneasiness swept over me.
“This is amazing, Aspen,” he finally said.
“Really?” I tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. A tractor turned on in the distance.
“Really. I mean, my photograph can’t even compare.”
“Oh, stop.” I waved away his compliment. “Now I know you’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.” With his free hand, he touched my face. “This is gorgeous. You are incredibly talented.”
“Thanks.” I lowered my gaze, staring hard at my bare toes peeking out of my sandals.
“Wow, beautiful and talented. How did I get so lucky?” Carter said, grinning.
“Oh, I think I’m the lucky one.”
“Yeah, you are pretty damn lucky.” He chuckled. I gave him a good-natured swat in the arm. “Let’s go inside and find a place for this on my wall.”
“You’re going to hang it on your wall?”
“Of course.” He draped an arm over my shoulder as we walked toward his house. His gaze fell on his flowers. “How do they look?”
“Great. I noticed them when I pulled up.”
“Well, that’s because I have the best landscaper in town. I’d give you her number, but then I’d have to kill you.”
I giggled.
“No, seriously. No one messes with my landscaper.” He opened the front door and stepped inside. As I followed him in, he propped my painting up against the wall. Then he turned to me, nuzzling his nose against my cheek. “She means everything to me.”
I stopped laughing, sensing the shift in our bantering. My back was pressed to the wall, while Carter suspended over me, his arms caging me in.
“I would never let anyone hurt her.” He nipped at my chin with his mouth, his teeth gingerly grazing my skin. “I’m very overprotective.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“You want to know why?”
I nodded, waiting.
His lips trailed across my chin and softly brushed over my lips, so faint it felt like a light breeze on a warm day. “Because I love her. Very much.”
He’d never said the words before. Not like this. Although when we were looking at the pictures in his office that I thought were Eve, I remembered him admitting that he loved her. Later I’d realized that he was referring to the girl in the pictures, and that girl was me. Still I’d been waiting for him to tell me outright. I guess now was that moment.
“I love you too,” I spoke against his mouth, my lips rubbing over his. “I have for awhile now.”
“I have for awhile now too.” His lips barely touched
mine before he pulled back, a smile on his face. “And I don’t know if I can stop.”
“I don’t want you to.”
His lips met mine in a rush of passion. My knees softened, and I held on to the wall as his tongue teased my lips open. His fingers raked up into my hair, his thumbs sliding over the skin on my face. When his lips disconnected from mine, he peppered kisses along my jawline and down my neck. “I may go on loving you forever, Aspen Fairchild.” Warm breath caused goosebumps to rise along my neck and shoulders.
I shivered. “I think I would be okay with that.”
His fingers left my hair, traveling down my shoulders and arms as his lips skated over my collarbone. I threw my head back, an involuntary moan escaping from my throat. Grabbing onto his shirt, I grasped the material in my fists in an effort to steady myself. His hands gripped my waist, his mouth traveling up to mine. This time his kiss wasn’t soft or light. This time it took my breath away. But it was okay. I’d gladly give it to him. He’d breathed life into me when I was mostly dead. He’d revived me. He’d healed me.
He’d given me back what Kurt had stolen.
Gone was the little girl trapped in that room. My memories no longer held me captive. I had become like that kite I always dreamt about, alive and free.
Read on for an excerpt of BREAK FREE, available now!
PROLOGUE
My face was on fire. And I’m not speaking figuratively. No, it was literally on fire. The flame, bright and red like blood singed my flesh, ate away at my porcelain skin. I clawed at it, batted it away, but it grew and spread like a ravage disease. Nothing could abate it. Nothing could stop the pain. The horrible, searing pain.
My cries for help went unanswered.
His eyes watched me, uncaring, as the flicker of the flame danced in his irises. There wasn’t a hint of remorse as he stared at me, frozen in place. Then again, what did I expect when he’s the one who did this to me? Did I expect him to suddenly jump into action, play the part of the hero when all I’d ever known him to be was the villain?
Water finally stopped it. Glorious, cold water that I lapped onto my flesh, and splashed onto my skin until the flames quieted. But still the scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air, turning my stomach. And the intense pain was still there.
Reaching up, I grappled the tender flesh, skimming it with the pads of my fingers. Without even looking in the mirror I knew my face was damaged, scarred beyond repair.
That’s okay. I figured it matched my heart.
In school my teachers had taught me all about safety and not talking to strangers. But they never told me what to do when the danger lived in my very own home.
ONE
It wasn’t the first time he tried to kill me, but it sure as hell would be the last.
There was a time when I wanted Heath more than anything else. A time when one look from him brought me to my knees, made me worship the ground he walked on. All that ended the first time he beat the shit out of me. Now all I saw when he walked into the room was a monster. A monster way worse than the ones I’d imagined hidden under my bed as a child. There were times I swore I saw fangs when he smiled, a flicker of neon color in his eyes, horns protruding from his head, claws growing out of his fingers.
I had to fight the urge to throw up in his mouth every time he kissed me. His hands burned like hot irons when he put them on my skin. I imagined them leaving a trail of burn marks in their wake.
That’s all I was anyway. One giant scar. Marred beyond repair. Ugly. Broken. Damaged. Wasn’t that what he said in his fits of rage? Weren’t those the words he spewed as his fists rained down on me?
If it weren’t for the fact that he supplied the drug I needed to survive, I would’ve left long ago. But I didn’t know how to survive without meth. It had been my coping mechanism for as long as I could remember. I’d read enough self-help books to know that other people used methods like yoga, meditation, green tea and shit like that. There’s no way any of those things would work for me. Clearly those people had a different life than mine. I needed something a whole lot stronger to get me through my hellish days. But now even meth wasn’t working. The beatings were becoming more frequent, and even the best high wasn’t erasing the pain and agony I had inside. It was time to jump ship.
Heath came into my life at the right moment. As if he’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike; looking for a girl who needed to be saved. I would’ve believed anything he said, as long as he promised to take me far away and never bring me back. I thought I was escaping into freedom, but all I did was switch nightmares.
But I was done. Through with all of it. He could find a new weak girl to prey upon.
While Heath slept off a bender I stole a couple hundred dollars from his wallet, preparing to leave for good. I contemplated stealing a stash of meth, but then thought better of it. If I was going to make a clean break, I needed to really do it. The drugs would just bring me back. It would be hell to quit, but it was my only hope of gaining freedom. And wasn’t that what I’d always wanted?
Freedom. I wondered what that looked like. Was it even possible for someone like me to find it? I was skeptical, but willing to try. I picked up my backpack filled with all the belongings I had in this world. Sad that it could fit in a backpack. Even sadder that it wasn’t full. I could count off all my belongings on my fingers and probably not reach all ten. But I didn’t care. Things didn’t matter to me. Actually, nothing did.
I stepped over a pile of empty beer cans discarded on the ground near the coffee table, which was filled with overflowing ashtrays. There was a half empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter next to it. I shivered. Most meth addicts smoke, but I could never bring myself to do it. The first time I tried, I held the cigarette between my lips and flicked the lighter. When the flame danced from it, I started to draw it to my lips. I could feel the heat radiating from it, and that’s when fear struck. I completely lost it, screaming and clawing at my face as if it were on fire again. Heath slapped me, demanding that I snap out of it. Only I couldn’t. It’s like it was happening all over again. From then on I knew I could never smoke. Even when Heath lit up his cigarettes I stayed as far from him as possible. In his particularly evil moments he’d flick on his lighter and tease me with it, bringing it close to my face or flashing it in my eyes.
I strapped my backpack on my back, and it caught on my long dark hair. I gathered up the strands, tugging them out. My hair was my favorite feature. It’s long and sleek, and I could use it to cover up the hideous scar on the right side of my face, the skin that was burned beyond repair. No amount of skin grafts in the world could make my cheek look normal again. I always wore thick bangs, straight and blunt, hanging right above my eyebrows. Hell, I’d grow them out over my entire face if I could. I liked to keep my face as covered as possible. I’d been told by guys over the years that my light blue eyes were beautiful, a startling comparison to my dark hair. But it’s usually right before they slept with me and never called again. Or right before they shoved their fist in my face. So I didn’t believe them. Besides, I knew the truth. If it’s true that your eyes are the window to the soul, then my eyes must have been sad and dark to anyone who was really looking. Then again, I doubt anyone had ever looked that hard.
And, frankly, that was fine by me. It was safer that way.
When I stepped outside, the cool air circled me. Goosebumps rose on the bare flesh of my arms. I had a jacket in my backpack, but I didn’t bother grabbing it. The cold felt good. It made me feel alive. For a girl who was mostly dead, that’s saying something. Heath always told me that I was dead inside, that I lacked emotion, that I didn’t feel anything. I agreed with him, telling him I was ruined, numb. But the truth was that I did feel things. I felt it every time he called me repulsive and ugly. I felt it deep inside in that place where I stored the painful words spoken over me. The beatings I could take, it was the words that left the biggest mark. My physical wounds healed, but I could never erase the words th
at ran through my mind day and night.
Trash. Worthless. Damaged. Hideous. Stupid.
I wore those scars even more prominently than the ones people could see. I wore them in my heart, the place no one could reach. The place that no one could heal.
Cars passed me on the street as I walked along the sidewalk. The sky was dark, the windows in the apartment buildings lit up. If only I had a car, then I could hit the open road and never look back. But Heath never let me drive. He kept me close, where he could watch me. Too bad he wasn’t watching tonight. Heath would be shocked when he found me gone. He didn’t think I’d ever leave him.
I smiled. A small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, but it was a start.
A car filled with teenage boys drove past. A few of them gawked at me from the back window. I looked down at my scuffed tennis shoes and pulled my hair over my face. But I knew it was too late. They’d seen the scar. I could tell by their horrified expressions. And along with that, I’m sure they noticed the latest shiner, and the bruises along my neck where Heath had choked me. My fingers fluttered over the bruises, remembering how awful it felt to have my air supply cut off. Although there was a part of me that welcomed it. A part of me that waited for death to come. I wondered what it would feel like to slip into nothingness. No more pain, no more sorrow. It could be blissful.
But Heath didn’t want to off me, so he stopped before it got that far. Bastard.
I rounded a corner and headed for the bus stop. Heath could pay for my ticket out of town. Maybe I’d ride it to the end of the line. It didn’t matter where. As long as my past stayed here, I could go anywhere. I could leave it all behind, shed it like an old coat or a pair of worn out shoes. I’d never miss it. I’d never search for it. In fact, I hoped to never think of it again.
