by Flatman, NJ
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Series Page
Dedication
acknowledgements
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
Coming Soon
About the Author
Consumed
(An Addicted to You Novel- Book 1)
NJ Flatman
www.agoodgirldirtymind.com
Copyright © 2015 by NJ Flatman
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Request,” at the address below.
NJ Flatman [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Leddy Harper (http://leddyharper.com)
Author photograph by NJ Flatman (Hashtag Selfie)
The problem with a love that consumes you….is what do you do when it’s gone?
Avery Bradfield didn’t believe in soul mates or true love. She wasn’t sure she believed in love at all. That is, until she met Spencer Phillips.
From day one, Avery found herself consumed by Spencer and the connection that the two of them shared. He taught her that she could feel alive, happy and bonded with another on a level that most couldn’t understand.
Until she wakes up and finds that Spencer has left her…..again.
Certain that this time her relationship is over for good, Avery is forced to endure a world that alternates between happy memories of a man she can’t forget and a darkness that consumes her nearly as much as he did.
Finding herself wondering if it is possible to exist in the world when half of her soul is missing, Avery is only sure of one thing- When pain consumes your every thought, you would do almost anything to make it stop.
Join Avery Bradfield and Spencer Phillips as they venture through a love that tests their limits, pushes them through their fears and shows them that sometimes addiction takes on many forms.
Consumed is the first novel in the Addicted to You Series.
Forbidden: Book 2 (Coming August 2015)
Obsessed: Book 3 (Coming October 2015)
Addicted: Book 4 (Coming December 2015)
Bound: Book 5 (Coming February 2016)
My first book is dedicated to my father.
You didn’t get to see it happen, but I did it!
Thank you for believing in me and my writing from day one.
Acknowledgements
My daughter Madison has suffered endlessly and been tortured with housework and a diet of pizza, hot dogs and frozen dinners while I devoted all of my energy to publishing this book. She deserves my gratitude for putting down her own kindle long enough to help keep things going while I chased my dreams. No more complaining about hauling you to rehearsals and shows -- at least for a month or so.
My friends continued to coerce me into drinking beer, watching movies, having conversations and playing video games throughout the process. Thus reminding me that life was still out there and sometimes it’s the little things that matter the most. Thanks to them for their love, support, excitement for me and tolerance of hearing about this constantly.
Thank you to the family that has supported me, everyone that volunteered to beta read the book and give opinions, the bloggers that have taken time to help me promote it, the groups that have helped me learn what the hell I’m doing once the writing is done, anyone who has ever paid me as a ghostwriter and believed in me and of course those that choose to buy and read it.
Most of all, thanks to those that have hurt me, angered me, lost me and especially loved me……that’s what makes the story interesting.
Chapter 1
He was gone again.
There was no sad goodbye. There weren’t any tears and pleas from me, begging him to stay. He didn’t write a note on the back of a take-out menu and stick it in between the salt and pepper shakers on our dingy kitchen table. No emails awaited me in my inbox that told me how sorry he was and how he would always love me. I had no text messages that explained his reasoning, telling me why he had left and how glad he was to have known me.
This time, there was nothing.
I would receive no words of comfort. He would make no promises of anything to come. There wouldn’t be any heartfelt phrases that would bring tears to my eyes and remind me of a love so powerful that I stayed fully consumed by it. He wouldn’t offer me anything to soften the blow and ease the guilt of his troubled mind and make it simpler for him to go.
There was nothing.
It wasn’t like I really needed them anyway. I had never needed them. The connection that I shared with him made it unnecessary. Each and every time, I’d always known. Without a word, I’d known.
Still, something had always been there. There was always a little piece of something left behind. I always had a sweet and tortuous reminder that he had both existed in my life and ultimately chosen to leave it.
Again.
I’d always had something that I could spend countless hours reading. During those long days of self-doubt and hatred, I’d read it and remember that he was real. When I wasn’t positive anymore, I’d look at what he’d left and be certain that the love we had felt was real. It wasn’t much and would never be enough to make it okay, but it served as a token of what I would soon believe had been an imagined love between the two of us.
This time it was nothing. He had left me nothing. And, I didn’t want to think about what that might mean.
The day had really started like any other. The sunlight had made its way past the blanket that was draped across the bedroom window. The bright light shining into my eyes ensured that I woke up whether I was ready to or not. A few drinks the previous night had left my brain a bit fuzzy and it took some time to remember where I was and what day it was.
Had he done that on purpose? Bought us liquor so I wouldn’t wake as he was going?
The mattress we slept on sat on top of the cold hardwood flooring and had seen its share of better days. But it was comfortable, so typically if I could manage to avoid that beam of light, I could sleep in a good bit of the morning on my days off.
That day I wasn’t so lucky.
I’d tried to swallow but it was difficult. The lump in my throat had appeared the moment I’d seen him missing from the bed. That was when I’d known.
Normal people wouldn’t have given it a second thought. It would be typical to assume he had gone to the bathroom or the corner café for a cup of coffee. Some might even think he had
taken off with a friend for the day. Rolling over and seeing his side of the bed empty wouldn’t have caused a panic attack for most people.
But I wasn’t most people and I knew.
I wasn’t psychic, although it often felt that way when it came to him. It was different. We had a connection that I couldn’t explain to anyone else. Something that I never truly believed existed until I met him. Something that I didn’t even really understand enough to try and figure it out. So when I saw his spot empty and felt the sharp pain deep in my gut, I knew. No words were needed.
I could feel it. I just knew.
“Spence?” forcing myself to speak his name aloud, I called for him in the hopes that just once my gut would be off. I hoped that for the first time the bond we shared would steer me down the wrong path. That I’d be wrong about it all. “Spencer?” I tried one last time, knowing that I wasn’t going to get an answer.
I half-heartedly hoped that he’d pop up in the doorway like any other morning. I’d look up at him, realizing that he was wearing nothing but the shorts he’d slept in, and feel the electricity take over. His arm, muscles tight, would lean against the frame of the door and hold up his weight. The tattoos across his chest and upper arms would draw my attention. I loved to look at them. Sometimes I’d lie in bed and trace my fingers along the edges, admiring his beauty and feeling lucky he had chosen me.
One leg would be halfway crossed across the other and he’d have a cup of coffee in hand. He would tilt his head to the side just a touch, causing his hair to fall across his forehead, and I’d watch a corner of his mouth turn up into a smile. Dark eyes would shine bright with love as he wished me a good morning and asked if I’d like some coffee. Just like any other day.
But it wasn’t any other day and he wasn’t going to show up. He was gone. I knew it. Even as I had hoped I didn’t know it, I knew it.
Our apartment couldn’t have been more than six hundred square feet, so there was no need to shout. We’d only been there a few months and never had problems hearing the other. Even if the shower was running or the boiler kicked in. And that morning, it was silent.
I listened carefully. Longing to hear anything - any sound - that would indicate he was there. Something that would relieve the panic setting into my body. A noise or voice that would stop the inevitable collapse.
But it was only silence. Dead, deep and dreary silence.
I felt my stomach lurch and everything inside of me tighten, but there were no sobs. Not yet. They would come. I had no doubt about that. When the time was right, my body would succumb to the pain. But that time wasn’t now. My heart hadn’t accepted what my mind already knew. Spencer had left me.
Again.
It was a numb feeling that I was growing accustomed to. He’d left before. Always telling me that it was for the best. We didn’t need to be together. It was over.
It never lasted long. As much as Spencer wanted to walk away and hide from what we had, he couldn’t stay gone any more than I could. We didn’t just love each other, we needed each other. He was my soul mate. The other half of me. The one true love I’d never find again. We were addicted to each other.
It wasn’t something I’d ever wanted. I never really believed in love. I didn’t think it existed, let alone in the capacity that we had found it. It seemed unreal, almost like a fantasy.
Not that it’d been easy. My best friend Colby said it wasn’t healthy. The way we were so attached. She didn’t believe that anyone should be that way with another. In fact, we didn’t have a lot of support at all. No one seemed to understand what we had or why we wanted it. But we did, and that was all that mattered. So no matter how many times he’d left, he’d always come back.
This time was different. He didn’t try and convince me of anything. He didn’t remind me of his love before he was gone. He just vanished as if he’d never even existed. This time I wasn’t so sure that he’d come back. That belief would shatter me. I knew this. I would break into a million pieces and I’d never be able to put them back together.
Unable to move, and barely finding the strength to breathe, I pulled the heavy comforter up over my shoulders and around my neck like a cocoon. Something about the action helped me to feel safe and secure in a moment when I needed it the most. Spencer was gone.
My body slid back down into the lumpy mattress, I rolled to my side, and my knees curled up to my chest. Warped into a ball, I spent hours lying and staring at our still undecorated walls and feeling my soul shatter into pieces. No matter how many times I went through this, and with Spencer there had been many, I could never quite get my body accustomed to the feeling.
Each and every moment felt as if it would destroy me. Nothing in me was strong enough to survive a fall of this magnitude. My muscles were weak. My brain was foggy. I had been damaged to a point of disarray. Breathing took an effort I wasn’t sure I wanted to put in. Though I knew in my head that I would survive, with each passing second I felt confident that I wouldn’t.
In the still and silence I would hear my phone at random intervals. A call. A text. An email being sent through. Every time I heard that noise it lifted my heart for a fraction of a second, giving me hope that maybe it would be Spencer. Those were the moments when I found the strength and desire to move. I would roll over and grab the phone- my heart racing- to look at the notifications.
Instead I’d see my own reflection in the glass and I’d hate myself for paying attention to it. My long mousy brown hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush in weeks. A combination of the restless sleep I’d had, the night of drinking and the hours of crying and rolling around on the bed. Hair hung over my eyes simply because I’d been too lazy and preoccupied to move it.
It was for the best. My eyes were so puffy and swollen it was almost impossible to see the light green hue. Dark circles had appeared beneath them, making me look as washed out on the outside as I felt on the inside.
The down side of a light complexion was the way it changed when I was upset and crying. The soft pale shade on my cheeks had changed to a ruddy tone. The changes in my skin looked as though I’d been sick or someone had slapped me. My nose was red and even my lips appeared to be somewhat puffy.
I was glad I couldn’t assess my body or how it looked. Slumped over during the moments I was able to sit and curled into a ball when I wasn’t, nothing about me would have appeared attractive. The baggy t-shirt and sweat pants that I’d slept in only added to the withered and gloomy appearance that anyone looking at me would see.
No matter how many times I checked the phone, it was never him. People I loved and cared for would check in or try to chat. I would get notifications of things I was supposed to remember. Missed calls from people I would otherwise be happy to hear from. I ignored them all. Everyone was important. Yet none of them mattered.
The high from the hope I’d felt would crash and my heart would sink deeper into my body. The hole inside of me would grow larger. The weight of the sadness that I felt would get heavier.
Each round of disappointment left me aching a little more. Every time I’d toss my phone back onto the floor, a small part of me hoping it would crack. If I had no phone then I could ignore it. I could go on and not have to face that he wasn’t going to contact me. Not that day. Not ever again.
I couldn’t cope with the agony that was torturing my body, so I drifted in and out of consciousness. His face would flash in my dreams. Memories. Moments. My heart was aware that the only way I would see him again was behind my closed eyes. In my dreams.
Even those were scattered and confusing. Sometimes I would see him. Loving and smiling at me. The Spencer I’d known. My Spencer. Telling me I was important. Promising he’d always be there.
Other times he would be distant and dark. Driving away. Heading to another place that didn’t include me. Never once looking back to see if I was still there. Broken. Waiting. Hoping that I’d see him again.
Those dreams, both good and bad, woke me with a jolt and
the heartache grew. My eyes would open and I’d realize that he was gone and once again I would sink into anguish. The happiness I’d felt while sleeping would fade and I’d realize how dark my life was going to be.
Physically I knew I could get up and walk around. It was more a lack of desire than a true inability. That was proven when I realized that even heartbreak didn’t make the bladder stop. But, the pain was no less real. I’d known heartache in my life. Felt it. But when Spencer took off, it turned physical. I would feel a real and viable sickness and pain.
I always lost weight when he left and I knew this would be the same. It wasn’t intentional. I couldn’t keep the food down when I did eat, but most days I had no desire to eat. It wasn’t the overwhelming sadness that did it. It was a nausea. Food made me feel physically ill.
Something about this was worse than I’d been through yet. The pain and the ache was so great I could barely find a reason to hold on. Mentally I checked off a list of reasons that I should try. I kept hoping that I’d run across something that would make breathing worthwhile in those moments that it was so hard to do.
It was stronger. More powerful. Harder to bear.
Probably because every other time there had been something. An argument. Words. A note. Something. I had always had that after it was done. I could hold it. Read it. Remember it.
It kept me going. It gave me hope. My brain knew that it wasn’t for me. It was Spencer’s way of making things easier for himself. But it helped me. I had belief. If we had that- if he could say those things and mean them- he would come back. In the darkest hours it was the belief that he would return that made it possible to hang on.
I was terrified. I’d woken up alone- the same as many times before- and there was nothing. No reminder. No hope. My brain scanned everything. Words that had been said. Memories that we shared. Events that had happened. Anything that had transpired.
I was searching. Scanning. Trying desperately to find something. A sign that it was fake. A hope that it was real. I couldn’t find anything to show me that it was anything other than genuine. But that didn’t make me believe it any less. A broken heart was difficult, but a broken soul was irrational.