by Emily Snow
“Not listening to that you can’t,” he bellows, and she cuts the music abruptly.
“Happy, Dad?”
I can’t help but laugh as I wipe the backs of my hands over my cheeks to get rid of the tears that have started to fall.
“We’re good now,” Wyatt yells back.
Her bedroom door flies open, and she races down the hallway, jumping onto the couch. She ignores Wyatt’s pointed frown and eyes me suspiciously. “Is everything okay?”
I glance at Wyatt and then to her. “It’s going to be.”
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“If your dad is paying.”
We both focus our gazes—her blue eyes and my brown—on Wyatt until he nods his head. “But we order in tonight,” he says, and she suppresses a groan. “And no making Kylie play that fuc—”
“Dad!” she says sharply.
He groans. “Your video game.”
Much later in the evening, after Brenna falls asleep on the floor playing her video game, Wyatt goes to the back room. He returns a few minutes later, holding two guitars, and then he extends one out to me. At first, I start to decline since Brenna’s only a few feet away, but he places the Fender in my lap. Taking my hands in his, he wraps my fingertips around the neck of the custom black guitar.
He sits across the room from me on the loveseat, gripping his guitar, and a tiny smile builds on my lips when he strums the opening of “Send the Pain Below.” It’s one of those songs that I’ll never forget, that will always have a special meaning for me, but it seems so wrong when we’re supposed to be trying again.
Grabbing my pick off the side table, I start playing a new song. He pauses, and it takes him a moment to figure out the chords I’m struggling to strum through. Even though he doesn’t know it well because he’s never been an Incubus fan, he catches on quickly as we pick through the song about love surviving the bad things.
When we reach the last line of the song, I can’t help but sing along softly. “Without love, I won’t survive.”
His eyes never leave mine, and I think about our bad times and our good. I’m hopeful that, this time, things will work, so we can make new memories that won’t hurt so damn much.
Still, I savor every part of our past.
THE END
Look for Damaging Me: Savor Us Volume 2 (Sinjin’s Story) in Summer 2014 Available wherever eBooks are sold
Playlist
1. “Love Hurts” by Incubus
2. “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys
3. “Future Starts Slow” by The Kills
4. “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer
5. “The Red” by Chevelle
6. “All Lips Go Blue” by HIM
7. “Falling” by The Civil Wars
8. “Crazy on You” by Heart
9. “Love the Way You Lie” by Skylar Grey
10. “I Miss the Misery” by Halestorm
11. “Send the Pain Below” by Chevelle
12. “I Get It” by Chevelle
13. “Sweet Nothing” by Calvin Harris, Featuring Florence Welch
14. “Try” by P!nk
15. “By the Way” by Theory of a Deadman
16. “Fade into You” by Mazzy Star
17. “The Promise” by In This Moment
18. “Careless Whisper” by Seether
19. “One More Night” by Maroon 5
20. “Love-Hate-Sex-Pain” by Godsmack
21. “You” by The Pretty Reckless
22. “Never Let This Go” by Paramore
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my readers—to YOU—for being so amazing. Your enthusiasm and support for my books amaze me on a daily basis, and I feel so blessed to have you. Thank you for all the emails, reviews, and Facebook messages. You rock my world!
To Kelli Maine, Michelle Valentine, and Kristen Proby—You ladies constantly brighten my day, putting up with my randomness and making me laugh. I love you girls like a love song, and I can’t WAIT to rock Vegas with you all! :)
Christine Bezdenejnih Estevez, you are one amazing chick! Thank you for keeping me organized and for loving my books. BIG HUGS for everything you do (and it’s a lot)!
To Rebecca, my ass-kicking agent—Thank you for all your wisdom and support. You keep me sane!
To Jovana Shirley with Unforeseen Editing—You are so incredibly talented! Thank you for taking Savor You and marking it up with your red pen of greatness. I’m so grateful for all your insight and suggestions!
Thank you to my early readers: Lisa Kane, Lisa Rutledge, Tracey Kruger, Dawn Martens, Aimee Pachorek, Lourdes Sanchez, America Matthew, Kim Person, Stacy Kestwick and Jennifer Wolfel. I appreciate you ladies so much for taking the time to read over my pages and for giving me insight. Your opinions are invaluable to me.
Thanks to Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs for creating such a beautiful book cover. Your artwork brings Kylie to life!
To Cris Hadarly, Becca Manuel, and Abbie Dauenheimer—Thank you ladies a million times for being so effing creative. I love the trailers and collages, and I smile like an idiot every time I look at them.
To the bloggers in the romance community—THANK YOU! Your support and love for my books mean so much to me. I appreciate you all more than you could ever imagine. Thank you for taking such good care of me and all the other indie authors!
And to my family—You guys rock my socks! (Don’t look at my feet right now because they’re mismatched.) Thanks for encouraging me to follow this dream of mine. I love you guys.
About the Author
Emily Snow is The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Devoured series, the Savor Us series, Tidal, and Wrecked. She loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories about naughty rockers. Visit her blog and her website for news, teasers, and contests.
Find Emily on Twitter @EmilySnowBks
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Metamorphosis
By Erin Noelle
“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)
Chapter 1
“I can’t believe we are finally here. I am completely and utterly exhausted, but could not 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 that I’ll wake up tomorrow morning back at my parent’s 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 that’s 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 over-bearing, 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 my parents. 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 item or for 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 fina
lly had to let me go. I’d been looking forward to that day for at least three years, ever since I realized that 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 of their outrageous and outlandish rules. I knew that 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,” she spat.
“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 that 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 that Lindsey Lohan has a minor drug problem or that Charles Manson might have been a psychopath. Elizabeth and David are nuts and I’m still not sure how you’ve 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 are still in shock over my standing up to them,” I continued as I thought back to the day prior when I had 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 had attempted to implement a 10:00PM 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 that allowed her to go to public school, to participate in whatever extra-curricular activities SHE wanted, and to actually date... gasp! Instead, in the parental lottery I had been awarded a duo that 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, right?
“Scarlett, you are doing it again! I’ve never seen you so spacey,” Evie cut into my thoughts once again. “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.
“Just shut up and let’s talk about tomorrow. Have you decided what you are going to do with your hair?”
“I’m not really sure…”
“Wait,” she interrupted, jumping off of 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 from the cabinet that I had just put away less than an hour before. Once she had opened the bottle of white wine she had stolen from her parent’s house and poured us each a glass, she rejoined me in her bedroom.
“Okay, now we are ready. So tomorrow?” she asked , eluding to the day we had planned for my external makeover. Weeks prior she had scheduled for me to spend a day at a local spa for a massage, a manicure/ pedicure, waxing, and a new hairstyle. After that we were to go shopping so I could start reinventing my wardrobe. Luckily, I had saved upwards of five thousand dollars throughout high school babysitting, tutoring, and teaching after school music lessons, so I would be able to purchase a good base.
“Look Evie, I am extremely excited about tomorrow. I really am, I promise.” I paused to take a drink of wine. It wasn’t as bad as I had 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 are eighteen, a chance to recreate their image, who they want to be… And I’m so thankful and relieved that 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 laying, 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 have 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 of 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 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. Heart-breaking and gut-wrenching, sweet and sentimental, sexy and sensual… we loved them all. Reading was the one thing that Evie and I could experience together for the past couple of years since I wasn’t allowed to do anything outside of 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 of 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 experienced in any way sexually is truly laughable, most twelve and thirteen year olds have done more than I have. Reading about something and actually doing it is quite different, especially when you are 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 the
ir 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 is my type. I don’t know who is 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 are too afraid they will 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 are looking for. I mean we have only read hundreds of books that pretty much cover every category of guy that exists. Think about all of our favorite book boyfriends…”
“That’s just the thing, I love so many of our book boyfriends, ALL of them actually,” I giggled as the wine was 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 beloved 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 of what’s going to happen once you get a real taste of the passion that you read about so often. If those books get your panties all wet, what’s going to happen when an actual hottie get his hands on you?”