DROWNING
Copyright © 2018 Margaret McHeyzer
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9946460-7-1 (ebook)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9946460-8-8 (paperback)
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover Design: Book Cover by Design
Editor: Debi Orton
Interior Formatting by Tami Norman, Integrity Formatting
www.facebook.com/authormargaretmcheyzer
email: [email protected]
I’m a cutter.
I cut because I find solace in it.
I cut because it helps calm my frantic mind.
I cut because the voice inside my head tells me to.
I cut because this is the only way I know how to handle life.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Phone Numbers
A word from the Author
Preview: Ugly
Preview: Mistrust
Preview: Dying Wish
Preview: The Gift
Acknowledgements
Also by Margaret McHeyzer
I don’t recall the first time I cut myself, nor do I remember the reason why I decided to do it. I just remember the feeling.
When the blade sliced through my skin, something was released. It wasn’t only the blood trickling out of my thigh, or the pain the blade was inflicting.
Something inside me changed.
The voice became quiet for a few seconds and everything seemed calm. I had no stress, no worries, no one in my head telling me how useless I was. For the few seconds after the blade ran through my skin, I was free.
And ever since that first time, whenever life gets to be too much, I cut myself. I always feel better, calmer once I’ve cut.
Over the years, I’ve learned how to hide it.
When my Dad asks me how I am, I respond in the most natural way I can. “I’m great,” I usually reply and add a smile to my words to give them more authenticity.
But, on the inside, I’m anything but great. Most of the times, I can reason with Azael (my demon), tell him he’s not real, and he’s trying to drag me down. He told me his name the first time he came to me and made promises he always breaks.
But sometimes, my demon wins, and the only way to get him to leave me alone is to cut.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at myself in the mirror of my bathroom. On the outside, I look like everyone else. My dirty blonde hair has shades of red in it, and my brown eyes sparkle. But all I see is dullness. Azael always tells me how average I am, and how I’ll never amount to anything because I’m only ordinary.
I don’t want to be anything special. I just want to blend into the walls and hope no one notices me.
Wiping my hand across the steamed-up mirror, I stare at the blank face reflecting back at me. The blade is calling, Azael’s voice is chanting to take it out of the bottom drawer and slice through my skin.
Do it he screams. Do it now!
My heart races as my eyes slowly travel to the drawer.
Do it!
Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to silence the beast inside my head.
Do it!
Squatting down, I open the drawer and take out my small, black medical pouch. Slowly, I unzip it and reach in to feel for the blade. The moment my fingers touch it a bolt of electricity surges through my body.
Do it!
Anticipation sparks my awareness. My skin becomes hypersensitive and greedy. It demands the coolness of the blade.
Do it!
I lift the blade between my fingers, and my heart dances happily inside my chest.
Lifting my left leg to balance on the bathtub, I stretch the skin taut near the crease of my thigh.
Do it! The demon screams in my ear.
I haven’t cut here for a while, and the old slice has healed nicely.
I bring the blade close to my skin and shake with impatience. My mouth is dry as I move my hand closer to the skin. But I can’t be careless; I don’t want to hit an artery and bleed out.
I need to take my time. Make it perfect. Draw in on the excitement and the rush.
The blade makes contact with my skin, and the demon inside my head laughs with joy.
Elation fills me.
I let out a long breath of relief.
The demon has been silenced.
He’s won… again.
Do you need a ride to school? And DO NOT wear that ugly t-shirt you wore last week, it’s so 80s.
Reading the message from Jared, I smile when I see his reference to my clothing.
Nah, Dad’s on the late shift this week. He’ll take me.
I reply and throw my phone on the bed so I can get ready for school.
Slipping the t-shirt over my head, I chuckle to myself because I can imagine what Jared’s going to say the moment he sees it.
Jared’s my best friend in the entire world. He moved to our small town when I was in elementary school. He and I hit it off straight away. It was like we found our soulmates in each other. We’ve been best friends ever since.
Jared is also gay. Do I care? Nope, not one little bit, because let’s face it—why would I?
Our town is a small suburb with a population of under a thousand. Jared and I keep to ourselves, even though we have friends, but it’s always been ‘Jared and Ivy.’ At first, some of the town folk thought he and I would end up together, but when they realized Jared was gay, everyone stopped asking if we were going to get married when we ‘grew up.’
Ewww. I can imagine nothing worse than Jared and I being a couple. Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much, but I’m not in love with him. He’s more like the brother I never had. And I’m more like the sister he’s never had.
“Ivy, are you ready?” Dad calls.
“Just a minute,” I respond as I grab my jeans off the back of the chair and start sliding them up my legs.
Looking at the freshest cut on the crease of my leg, I’m really happy at how quickly it’s healing.
Ivy, Azael demands. It’s been days since I cut, but the monster has been trying to call to me. Zipping up my jeans, I look at myself in the mirror stuck to the back of my door. My dirty blonde hair falls lifelessly around my face. “Ugh,” I grumble as I grab my hair brush off the bedside table and try to give it some volume.
Ivy, the demon calls again. Your hair looks awful, but you know I can help make you feel better.
Closing my eyes for a second, I push his voice away. I bury it deep and refuse to let him win. He has to go away, I won’t allow him to make me feel like this.
Ivy.
I hate the control he has over me. I hate that when I hear his voice, my skin pebbl
es with excitement. I hate how dry my mouth becomes. But the thing I hate most is how I can’t help but listen to him when he beckons for me.
“Ivy, come on. You’re going to be late,” Dad calls again.
Giving myself a final look in the mirror, I make a pact with myself that today, I will refuse to let him have control over me. My heart skips a beat as I find the courage to stand up to him. I can do this.
Grabbing my school bag off the floor beside the door, I swing it over my shoulder and head out to find Dad waiting for me by the front entrance. “Good, you’re ready,” he says as steps outside.
“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?” I lock the door and jump down the three steps leading up to our porch.
“I’m on overtime today, so probably not until late. Here.” He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and hands me twenty dollars. “Grab yourself some lunch. Is that enough for dinner too?”
“Yeah, plenty. Thanks, Dad.” I stash the twenty in my back pocket and make a mental note to see if Jared wants to hang out tonight.
He’s got a boyfriend, a guy from a neighboring town. So, Jared and Zane hang out together every chance they get. But, when Zane’s at tennis practice, Jared is either with me or watching Zane.
“What are you doing this weekend? Are you and Jared up to anything?” Dad asks as he drives me to school. Shrugging my shoulders, I verbalize a groan in response to his question. “What was that? Are you and Jared fighting?”
“Nah, we’re not fighting. But I have no idea what we’re doing either. I think Zane’s got a competition and Jared wants to go watch him. I might tag along. I don’t know.” I shrug again.
“Is there a problem with Zane?”
“Nah, nothing like that. I just don’t know what I’ll feel like doing. Maybe I’ll head out somewhere and take some photos.” I love taking photos with my Nikon camera. Whenever I get the chance, I take my camera out and try to find something interesting. People watching is something I love to do. I sit on one of the benches in town, taking photos, wondering about the people walking around. I love going into the city for the day, and hanging out at places where I know people will be.
Ivy, the demon calls.
Ivy. He wants me to pay attention to him, but I refuse to listen to him.
Grumbling softly, I tell him to go away. Now’s not the time for him to rear his ugly head.
“What do you think?” Dad asks.
“About what?”
“You zoned out again. You okay?”
Stupid demon. My attention was on him and I didn’t hear Dad. “Yeah, I’m okay. Got an essay due for English and I’m worried about it, that’s all.” I quickly cover myself. I’ve learned to live with the demon inside. Sometimes he disappears for an extended period, but he always makes his way back to me, talking to me, drawing on my weakness, dragging me into his world.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m no good at English so I can’t help you. If your mother was alive…” Dad’s tone deepens and his words fade away.
My heart hurts for Dad. Mom’s been gone for twelve years, and Dad’s never even looked at another woman. Mom died a month before my fifth birthday. I don’t remember her, but Dad does everything he can to keep her alive for me. Our house has photos of Mom and of all of us as a family all over the place. It’s almost like a shrine to her.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Anyway, what did you ask me?” I try and distract Dad so his mood doesn’t stay somber the rest of the day.
“Maybe at Christmas we can take a vacation. Maybe Hawaii, someplace where there’s sun and a beach?”
Beach? Shit. That means I’ll have to wear a swimsuit, which means, my scars will be easily seen. But I could wear board shorts so the scars on my legs can’t be seen. What about the ones on my stomach? How am I going to hide them? Panic rises within me. My palms sweat and I become more and more edgy.
Ivy.
“What do you think?” Dad asks, dragging me out of my internal discord.
“Yeah, sounds great. I need to lose some weight though.” I tap my stomach and watch the fat jiggle under my touch.
Dad turns to look at me, his brows drawn in together. “You weigh next to nothing, honey. You don’t need to lose any weight at all.” I know, but it’s a justification for covering up.
Ivy.
Go away!
Thankfully, Dad pulls up at school, which means I don’t need to talk to him about our vacation, and I don’t have to worry about something which is still months away. “I’ll see you later, Dad. Do you want me to get you dinner too?”
“I’ll eat at work. See you tonight.” I lean over and give Dad a kiss. I know, lame.
“Love you,” I say.
Dad responds the way he always does, “With all my heart.”
Smiling, I shut the door and walk into school to find Jared. The moment I turn down the corridor, I see his tall, lanky frame standing in front of my locker.
He smiles when he sees me, and his eyes wander over my t-shirt. The smile he had for me quickly fades and his lips thin out into a stern scowl.
“What are you wearing?” he barks at me.
Opening my locker, I shove my bag in and grab my books for the first lesson of the day. “I’m well, thanks, Jared,” I reply cheekily.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He waves his hand in front of my chest. “What is this? Didn’t I tell you to burn it?”
Rolling my eyes, I hold in my chuckle as I close the locker door and lean against it. “What? This one? I thought you meant the other t-shirt.”
“Ugh. Seriously, girl. That has to be the ugliest t-shirt I’ve ever seen.” I push off from the locker and we head toward the back of the school, where our math class is.
As we’re walking to class, I hear Katie say, “Did you see him? He rides a motorcycle. Man, he’s so hot!”
“Who’s hot?” I ask Katie, who’s come up beside us with Chloe and Isabel.
“The new kid. Didn’t you see him?” she asks.
“Oh my God, talk about super-hot,” Chloe chimes in with a dreamy voice.
Isabel smiles, her head nodding in agreement with Katie and Chloe.
“Let’s hope he’s not into chicks,” Jared whispers to me.
“You have a boyfriend, already. Let one of them have him.” I jerk my head to the side, indicating Katie, Chloe, and Isabel.
“You’re no fun.” Jared shoulders me playfully.
“See ya,” Chloe chirps as she and her group head toward their first class.
“’Bye,” both Jared and I reply in unison.
“I wonder who this new guy is,” I say as I check over my shoulder to see if anyone can hear me.
“Why, you gonna ask him out?”
“Seriously, Jared?” Shaking my head at him, I clutch my books closer to my chest and continue on toward math class.
We get into class just as the bell sounds. We take our seats quickly, and Mr. Stanton enters the room looking just as flustered as he always does. He’s a brilliant teacher, but man, he’s so disorganized. He’s short with no hair and very thick glasses, but a totally fantastic teacher. “Morning, class,” he announces and takes a sip from his travel mug.
The coffee he’s drinking spills down the front of his white shirt, and we all chuckle when he grumbles at his own clumsiness.
“Yes, yes I know. Lucky I have a spare shirt in my drawer.” He walks around to the other side of his desk, opens the bottom drawer and huffs in frustration. “I think I’ve used it already. Doesn’t matter.” He grabs a paper towel off his desk and tries to clean his shirt, but it only makes a bigger mess. His lips form the ‘F’ shape, and we all know what he’s stopping himself from saying. He lifts his head and notices us all staring at him. “Right, we’re starting the day off with a surprise test. Surprise!”
The entire class complains.
“Ugh,” Jared groans.
As we get ready for our test, the door opens and a guy walks in.
And I kno
w immediately who he is. The new kid Katie, Chloe, and Isabel were talking about.
He’s tall, with dark hair, and is incredibly lean. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and black jeans. His t-shirt stretches across his torso, defining the planes of his chest. His arms are solid, and his sleeves outline the muscles beneath the material.
I see what they were saying about him being good looking. He has this crazy intensity about him. The way he stands, so assured and charismatic. Yet there’s something hiding in his dark eyes.
“Yes?” Mr. Stanton says looking at the new guy.
“I’m new here.” He hands Mr. Stanton a slip from the office.
Mr. Stanton takes the slip and reads it. “Mr. Baxter. The seat there is unoccupied.” He points to the one beside me. Great. The new kid is going to sit beside me, and everyone’s going to be staring at him. I hate people looking at me, or even toward me.
He walks over, drags out the chair and sinks down into it. “Hey, how you doing? I’m Jared and this is Ivy,” Jared immediately leans across my desk to introduce himself.
“Hey,” the new kid responds with a nod, and turns forward to look at Mr. Stanton.
‘Wow’ I mouth to Jared. Talk about talkative.
Turning forward, I try to concentrate on the test we’re about to take. However, out of the corner of my eye, the new guy steals my attention. Not on purpose, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. But I can’t help being distracted by his mere presence. There’s something about him, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something draws him to me.
The test begins, and lowering my head, I bring my left hand up to rub against the tension in my temple. The new guy, who’s sitting to my right, is bouncing his leg up and down.
It’s the only thing I can focus on, his jittery leg. I wonder why he’s so nervous. Maybe because he’s new, but that gives him the upper hand. Everyone’s going to want to know who he is, where he came from, and why he’s moved to our little town.
Mr. Stanton says something, but I’m way too inattentive to hear him. Jared hits me on the leg, and makes a face as he looks down at my test, which has no answers. “Shit,” I grumble and focus on this stupid test.
Flying through it, I try to answer as many questions as I can before Mr. Stanton calls, “Time.”
Drowning Page 1