by S. M. Koz
Love Me, Love Me Not
by SM Koz
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 SM Koz
Cover design by Red Ribbon Editing Services
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Disclaimer: Recommended for adults 17 years and older due to strong language and sexual situations.
http://kozwriting.com
To all the foster kids I’ve met along the way—each of you has taught me more than you can imagine, inspired me to be a better person, and impressed me with your unending fortitude to accept your past, live your present, and make your future bright.
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I need to thank Sara Mack, not only for being my writing partner, but also for being one of the best friends a girl could have. We’ve each experienced numerous ups and downs in our individual writing journeys, but there’s no one I’d rather have by my side through it all. Oh, she also came up with the title for Love Me, Love Me Not. Yeah, she’s that awesome—always stepping in to save a friend when the creative spark has been completely extinguished.
Next is Joelle, my amazing PA and one of the most honest and kindest people I know. Additionally, I’ve never met anyone else who is so knowledgeable about the indie author community. Whenever I have a question about whether something can be done, she’ll point me in the direction of two or three authors I can look to for guidance. Seriously, how does she not only know all these authors and what they’ve done, but also remember it all? I’m in complete awe of her indie book world savviness.
Next, I can never overexpress my gratitude for beta readers. Getting a book to its final version isn’t easy, but it would be nearly impossible without high quality beta readers to catch everything that an author so easily overlooks after reading a manuscript more than twenty times. Jenn, Melissa, and Stacy helped me work out the kinks to ensure Love Me, Love Me Not flows nicely and contains genuine and realistic characters, who the reader will, hopefully, fall in love with.
Next is Kathryn Jacoby, my go to digital arts guru. She has an impeccable eye for making images visually interesting and appealing, and I send her my heartfelt appreciation for all her assistance with my cover and teasers.
Finally is Glen, my husband. While he’s neither a reader nor a writer, I appreciate all the support he provides and the effort he makes to help get me out of a rut. Sadly, his recommendations are rarely used, but I appreciate his thoughtfulness and willingness to try. Maybe someday I’ll write a book deserving of his suggested title ‘Hot, Juicy Love.’ Or … maybe not.
Chapter 1
Hailey
“You need to be quiet,” I whisper, steadying Chase’s elbow while he clears the windowsill with his leg.
“Dammit, Hales, you’re pinching me!”
“Sorry,” I murmur, loosening my grip and helping him land his other leg on the worn carpet that still looks a hundred times better than the carpet I’m used to. The fact that I actually have my own room is another bonus. Of course, the biggest bonus of all is that unfamiliar tightness in my stomach, telling me I can’t eat another bite, despite desperately wanting to.
“Not bad,” Chase says, casing my new bedroom. “The TV’s kind of old, but I could get a few bucks for it.”
“You’re not stealing from my new foster family,” I say definitively. “I’ve been here less than three hours and I already kind of like them.”
“You liked the last one, too.”
“And you ruined that for me.”
“I didn’t ruin nothing,” he says, pulling a baggie out of his pocket. “I got us a half zip.”
I frown at what the bag contains. It’s not for us—it’s for him. “You’re not smoking that here.”
“Shit, Hales, what’s up your ass tonight?”
“I’ve spent the last three nights in three different houses!”
He rolls his eyes and then plops himself on the bed. Before I can join him, his shirt is off and his pants are unzipped, making it clear what we’ll be doing if I don’t let him get blazed. My eyes drift up from the plaid boxers peeking out between his fly to his long, bony arms, and then to his face. He’s got sharp brow and jawlines and sunken cheeks. He looks a bit like a zombie without all the blood and rotten pieces of skin. It’s the result of not eating enough and I know I’d find something similar if I looked in a mirror. I suddenly feel guilty for not sneaking anything from dinner for him.
“Come on,” he says, shimmying out of his jeans.
I sit on the edge of the bed and allow him to wrap his arms around me. I’m exhausted from everything over the last few days, but it feels nice to be close to him. It’s familiar and reassuring when nothing else in my life is. I lay my head on his chest and stretch out my legs as he lifts my skirt and slides down my underwear. Stifling a yawn, I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and ease them over his hips. When they’re only at his knees, he flips himself on top of me. I focus on the strip of light visible under my door. Ms. Jacobson made it clear I could not have boys in my room. I waited to call him on her phone until I was pretty sure she had fallen asleep, though. As long as we’re quiet, I doubt she’ll ever find out.
“I need this right now,” Chase says, his eyes dark as night. He lowers his lips to mine while his hands roam under my shirt and up my body.
“Hmmm ...” I murmur, hoping he’ll think I’m more into this than I am.
Without warning, he rocks into me hard and the headboard slams against the wall. “Chase!” I yell in a whisper, ignoring the pain his movement caused.
“Baby …” he moans, clearly misunderstanding me.
I mimic his moaning and try to move things along quickly, but he becomes uncharacteristically slow and gentle. I grip his rear end harder and urge him to speed things up.
“You want it rough, baby?” he asks, pinning my arms to the mattress.
Without waiting for an answer, he picks up his intensity. Moments later, the headboard bangs again and I know I need to end this immediately. “Now,” I pant.
“Almost …”
; “Come on, baby. Now,” I urge.
Just then, I hear a click and the strip of light becomes a flood. Chase, naked, is still poised above me with my skirt around my waist. Ms. Jacobson is in the doorway holding her hand to her mouth.
For a brief moment, no one moves. Then, Ms. Jacobson turns around. I push Chase off me, throw him a blanket, and yank down my skirt.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her back, fearing the worst.
“I’m calling DSS,” she replies, confirming my fear. The Department of Social Services. Sherry will not be happy. “When I get back, he needs to be gone.”
Chase is already dressed and halfway out the window. “Call me when you get settled at your new place,” he says with a wink and a gleam in his eyes. For him, this was an exciting night. For me, it was another mistake. A huge mistake.
Less than a minute later, I hear the roar of his recently borrowed motorcycle grow loud and then fade away as he escapes from the trouble he created, leaving me alone to deal with the aftermath.
*****
“Hailey Marie Brown, what am I going to do with you” Sherry asks, shaking her head. She’s my social worker and was not at all happy about being woken up in the middle of the night to remove me from another foster home.
I stare at the dotted yellow lines in the road as we travel through rural North Carolina, so I don’t have to see any more disappointment on her face. I’ve known Sherry for a couple years and we’ve grown fairly close in that time. She came out to visit me and my mom on her very first day on the job and has been checking up on us regularly. She’s also the one who finally removed me from my home three days ago. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful, which only worsens the guilt I feel for what I’m putting her through.
“Chase is a negative relationship. You need to start building positive relationships,” she says.
“He’s all I have.”
“You have me.”
“It’s not the same.” Chase made me feel loved when no one else did. He came into my life when I needed him most. He’s not perfect, but who is?
We’re quiet the rest of the way to DSS. In fact, she doesn’t say anything until she’s given me one of their pre-filled hygiene packs, I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, and I’ve settled onto a couch in the children’s play room. She’s lying on another couch in the same room with her eyes closed. I think she’s asleep until she asks, “Are you on birth control?”
“No,” I reply.
“Did he use a condom?”
“No,” I say again, readying myself for a lecture. Instead, I’m met by more silence.
To try and lessen the guilt a bit, I say, “You should go home. I’ll be fine here by myself.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Won’t Jared miss you?” Jared is her boyfriend. I’ve only met him once, but liked him immediately. He’s a second-grade teacher and adores Sherry. I could tell by the way he was mesmerized by her words and constantly touched her arm or guided her through a door with his hand at her back. I can’t imagine Chase ever treating me like that. The closest I’ve ever gotten is when he put his arm around my shoulders during a pep rally at school. Of course, that could have been to keep himself steady since he was also trashed that day.
“Jared knows this comes with the territory,” Sherry says and then rolls over to face the back of the couch. I take the hint and close my eyes, praying tomorrow will be a better day.
Chapter 2
Hailey
Way earlier than I want to get up, I feel the cushion beneath my butt dip. That’s followed by the sound of papers shuffling. “The good news is I’ve found you a new home,” Sherry says.
“Great,” I reply without opening my eyes. If this is anything like the other two foster homes, I’ll be out before the day is over.
“The bad news is it’s not in your current school district.”
“Wait. What?” I ask, bolting upright. I can’t go to a different school. I’m a senior. I’m almost done. I know all my teachers. I have a few friends. Chase is nearby.
“Sorry, but there were no more options in your district. You know it’s hard to find placements for older teens.”
“I can’t go to a different school.”
“You have no choice.”
“There has to be another option.”
“No, and frankly, I’m rather pleased by this turn of events. I think you’ll like the family and the best part is it’s far from Chase.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She’s happy about the one thing that scares me the most.
Holding up her hand, she says, “You can glare at me all you want, but he’s ruined two placements for you already, has left you to take the blame for stolen property, and may have impregnated you or given you an STD. Putting on a condom is not rocket science, you know.”
I can’t dispute any of that, so I flop back on the couch and cover my eyes with my hand.
“Oh, no, you don’t. It’s time to get up. We’re making a stop at the Health Department and then I’ll take you to school. You’ll meet the Campbells this evening.”
The day turns out to be as awful as expected. I was totally violated at the Health Department, but at least I wasn’t pregnant from the numerous times Chase and I had unprotected sex. They also gave me the morning after pill and got me started on birth control. I was actually pleased by that because I know Chase wouldn’t spend money on condoms and I can’t imagine becoming a mother myself. My own life is a mess. How could I care for another person? Not to mention, I had about the worst role model ever. I’m not sure I’ll ever know how to be a mom.
After that, I was registered at my new school and had to go to class. First up was geometry. My least favorite subject. At my old school, I had As or Bs in all subjects except math. With math, I was lucky to pass each semester.
To make things even better, I was late, so the office assistant had to interrupt class to introduce me to the teacher. All twenty pairs of eyes locked onto the hand-me-down and two-sizes-too-big jeans and wrinkled t-shirt Sherry found for me this morning. That’s when I realized how bad it will be at here. At my old school, everyone knew my story starting in the first grade, so I was able to blend into the background as we got older. Here, being the new kid, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone will stare and talk.
I fight back the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks with this thought. I’ve never had dreams of being popular. I just want to go unnoticed. When I finally slide into a chair toward the back of the room, the other students turn around and focus on the teacher again. I breathe a sigh of relief and try to follow the lesson, but it’s useless. On a good day, I’d have trouble. On a day like this, there’s no chance.
When the bell rings, I lower my head and slowly gather my belongings from under the desk, hoping no one will remember I’m in the class. It works, and I slip in behind the last student to leave the room.
Next up is lunch, which will be painful since I don’t have anyone to sit with. My plan is to forget about food and hide in the library. It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with being hungry anyway. It was rare for my mom to keep anything other than beer in our fridge, so I’m used to skipping meals. Unfortunately, the office assistant who escorted me to class earlier meets me in the hallway.
I tell her I’m not hungry, but she says she needs to make sure the meal plan information from my old school transferred over correctly.
“What would you like for lunch?” she asks, walking behind the students being handed hamburgers, soup, and grilled cheese.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something. How about some fruit and a sweet tea?”
I don’t reply, but she reaches between the students anyway to fill a foam cup with tea and then plucks an apple from a bowl. I reluctantly accept them when she hands them to me. She then steers me toward the front of the cafeteria line, which earns me scowls from some of the students.
“Enter your number,” she tells me,
pointing to a small machine like the one I’m used to from my old school.
I do and the machine beeps.
The cafeteria worker standing there swivels the machine around and squints his eyes to read the display. “There’s an error. Did your parents say anything about needing to add more money to your plan?”
I shake my head, keeping my eyes down.
“I was worried about that,” the office assistant says in a lowered voice, but not low enough for the crowd of students around us to hear. I feel their stares at my back and want to run away as quickly as possible. “She gets free state-subsidized lunches. We’ll work with DSS to get that straightened out. Until then, let her get whatever she wants.”
“Alright,” he nods. “Does she get breakfast, too?”
Everyone within earshot now knows exactly how poor I am.
The assistant looks back at me. “Breakfast?” she asks.
“I—I don’t know,” I whisper. Will my foster family feed me breakfast before school? Will I get to school in time for breakfast? How will I even get to school?
“Well, it’s yours if you want it.”
I nod and then the assistant conveniently disappears, leaving me alone in the middle of the crowd. Since she’s the one who made me come here, you’d think she could at least stick around so I wouldn’t have to sit by myself. I stand at the junction of the food line and the tables, looking back and forth. Most of the tables are packed with a mixture of guys and girls, laughing. There are a few tables in the back that are empty, so I decide to go that way. I lower my head, so no one can make eye contact with me and begin the hike, trying to melt into the floor.
It goes well until my eyes land on a pair of Nikes right in front of me. I glance up and find a large frame walking backward as he yells something to his friends and wildly gestures with his hands.
I jump to the right, trying to get out of his way, but it’s not fast enough. His elbow collides with my face. My nose to be specific. The jolt causes me to drop my cup. It goes flying in the air, sending sweet tea everywhere—onto the floor, onto the guy’s pants, onto my borrowed shirt—as I stumble.