by Gia Riley
Future. I finally liked the sound of that word.
Because, sometimes, we had to get knocked down lower than we’d ever been in order to appreciate the possibility of more. I had another chance to pick and choose which piece of myself to bring along with me, and then I’d leave the rest behind. It wouldn’t be easy, but this time, I wanted to rise higher than ever before.
When the room was clear and it was just me and Jasper, he sat beside me in the bed and held me as I sobbed against his chest. Reality was a bitch sometimes, and it was hitting me hard. I wanted to cut one last time, and then I wanted to scream. And, when I was done with all that, I might even want to take off again, running as far away as I could get.
I wanted to live.
I wanted to die.
Mostly, I wanted to feel something other than pain.
Jasper played with my hair, and I was relieved when I saw the strands were dark brown and not red.
“It’ll be okay, Winnie. I’m not going anywhere.”
I wanted to believe him. I chose to trust him. “I’m sorry I thought you’d sent the text.”
“Don’t be,” he told me. “We’re okay. That’s all that matters.”
But I wasn’t okay. Not yet. And I couldn’t give Jasper any kind of time frame of when I might be okay again.
Those moments with Jasper changed me more than the blood, the bullet, and the stage combined. It was one single second of total honesty combined with a million other truths, truths I wasn’t ready to accept until then. And it was in those minutes that I gained more perspective than I knew what to do with. It hit me out of nowhere, and the life I had known before was over.
I was forced to let go of my dreams with Trey. I knew he wasn’t coming for me this time, and there was nothing I could do to clear his name. We had done so many things right and then messed them all up just as fast. Rules existed for a reason. Boundaries were in place to create an even playing field and take away confusion. You couldn’t break them and succeed. It just wasn’t possible.
But Trey’s charges went far beyond the lies the world believed about me. We could have obeyed every single law, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Trey was good to me, but he wasn’t one of the good guys. He sold drugs his entire life and worked for a boss who put him in sketchy situations to make a load of cash. Trey knew it was wrong and when the money stopped meaning more than lives, he wanted out. He wanted out for me and for us. But he was in too deep and it was too late to run. The cops wanted him. It was only a matter of time before they got their guy.
If Jasper hadn’t made the call to the police, Trey’s boss would have eventually tracked him down. He knew too many secrets to walk away without consequences. There was so much information locked away in his brain, he could bring down the entire operation with a single word. He’d never do that, but as long as the possibility was there, he’d never be a free man.
Trey was gone.
My favorite person was behind bars, and I didn’t think he’d ever be set free. Not in this lifetime anyway.
Never seeing Trey again turned the pain into unwavering sadness. Despite how badly I wanted to get better, depression was like standing underneath a wave of water so high, you knew that, once it captured you, you’d never survive it. And, if you did, you’d never be the same. The weight of the world swallowed me up, churned me beneath the surface, and then spit me back out, completely lifeless.
I’d never taken a breath without Trey in my life.
I didn’t want to.
I had to.
Normally, I’d cut to numb the pain of missing Trey. The blade was the equivalent of a Band-Aid, but I couldn’t do it anymore. If I wanted to get better, I had to promise myself I’d never make another cut.
The blades were replaced by a journal, and I was told to write in it whenever the urge to cut struck. For the first couple of days, the journal went everywhere I did. I had trouble finding moments when I didn’t think about razors. But, the more I wrote, the more I realized that numbing my feelings was harder than writing them.
Most of the words I write only make sense to me, but that’s okay because they’re mine.
I carry a leather-bound book of guilt and denial.
“It’s not your fault, Winnie,” the counselors tell me. Every. Single. Day.
But Trey was arrested because of me, so that makes his sentence my fault. And that’s why I almost killed myself.
I had to.
One last cut wasn’t enough of an apology to Trey. I thought giving my life would make it right.
I told that story in therapy today. And I think it almost sent me back to the beginning…
Thirty-Six
Winnie
Visiting hours ended, and Jasper was forced to leave the hospital. He couldn’t sweet-talk the nurses this time, and Trey hadn’t paid anyone off to let him stay. I was on my own.
I waited until midnight, after the shift change, and then I wandered into the hallway. The clothes I wore from The Whip were still in a white plastic bag in the closet. Nobody expected me to wear them when I left, but they were still mine, so they stayed.
Old habits died hard, and I dug out the boots. I turned the right one over and saw the tiny blade taped against the inside of the heel. I had taped it there in case I panicked and needed to run. The pressure had been eating me alive, and I had known that, even if I couldn’t cut at The Whip, I’d wanted the blade close. I’d needed that blade.
I pulled it off and didn’t even bother running it under the faucet with some soap and water.
I was done with life. Once I was alone, the pain came crashing down.
Jasper was home where he belonged, and by the time he got word, I’d be gone. That was how I wanted it. I wanted to die alone so that nobody would ever live with the fear and agony like I did. Seeing my dad with that syringe hanging from his arm was ingrained in my brain. You couldn’t ever forget seeing something like that, and I knew this was for the best. When Jasper saw me again, I’d be tucked inside a coffin or maybe obliterated in an urn. It didn’t much matter what happened to my body. I didn’t have parents who would visit me or a mantel for my ashes to sit.
Opening the bathroom door, I went inside and closed it behind me. The shower stall was small, but I pulled the curtain back and stood inside. My teeth didn’t chatter, my arms didn’t tense up, and all the usual anxiety disappeared. That was how I knew it was time. I’d fought too hard for too long, and this was my chance to take a break. I was ready for heaven to swoop me up and carry me home. If I couldn’t have Trey, I wanted to see my dad.
The first cut I made quickly because I wasn’t sure how fast it would bleed out. The second arm, I took my time and savored the burn and then the ache. My wrists were sliced open, and I closed my eyes and waited for the blood to pool in the drain.
I wasn’t going to go to another foster home.
There wouldn’t be college or a boutique of my own.
My dreams were nothing more than excuses. Excuses that kept me from ending it all.
Winnie Dawes wasn’t meant for more. She was just trailer trash, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, who was meant to follow in her parent’s footsteps.
But life works in mysterious ways, and I didn’t see the next chapter coming.
Nobody in my shoes would have.
I rested my cheek against the cool tiles, and then the bathroom door opened. The scream was so shrill, I was sure it’d keep any dying girl alive a little while longer. She was ruining my moment of peace.
“The angels are coming now,” I told her. “Dad’s close.”
Cindy knelt down in front of me and wrapped white towels around my wrists. “I knew better than to leave,” she said. “I knew you were too levelheaded, too fast. It didn’t make sense after all you’d been through.”
I’d known her for only a couple of weeks. She didn’t know a damn thing about me or what my moods were like.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
The tears poure
d down her face, and her words were muffled with the sobbing again “I had papers in place with the social worker to adopt you. I didn’t want you turning eighteen, aging out, and then running. I wanted more for you, Winnie. And, I know you and Dray aren’t on good terms, but I still had to try.”
The words slammed into me so hard, I thought God had run me over with a truck instead of picking me up with his wings. She couldn’t be serious. Nobody besides my father had ever wanted me, not even my own mother.
“I don’t believe you. You just said that because I’m about to die.”
She screamed again for help and pressed harder on the towels around my wrists. When I looked down at her arms, the stack of shimmery bracelets she usually wore was gone. Now, I knew why she wore them.
“You cut,” I said.
It wasn’t a question. The scars were there. She’d done this, too.
“Yes,” she told me.
There wasn’t any time to say why or when because a couple of nurses carried me out of the shower, and then I was rushed down a long hallway. I was moving too fast to count the popcorn tiles, and that bothered me until the bright light came. It shone overhead, and I smiled when I saw it.
I had done it.
It was finally over.
Six months ago, Winnie Dawes died. She accepted the light and was welcomed home. But just because you’re accepted into heaven doesn’t mean you get to stay.
Surgery had been touch and go, and until they’d replaced all the blood I’d lost, they’d thought I might not make it—or so I was told.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Cindy’s tears again. She was there with Jasper, and they were each holding a hand.
I tried to lift my arms and touch my face to see if I was really still breathing, but I couldn’t move. They let go of me and I wiggled my fingers. I felt the burn beneath the bandages and the tugging on the stitches.
“Untie me,” I begged.
Cindy cried harder. “We can’t, sweetheart. Not until you’re better.”
Better.
I can’t think of a more opinioned word.
That’s the funny thing about life. Better is an observation. One person’s definition could greatly differ from the next guy. It’s all subjective—a feeling that can only be felt by someone who wants to get well.
It took me weeks and weeks to even open my mouth in a therapy session. When I did speak, it was all lies, so I could get discharged faster. The therapists saw right through me, and none of my methods worked. They’d seen it all. What I was doing was nothing new. That was when I came full circle and threatened to kill myself all over again.
I got the attention of everyone but for all the wrong reasons. I stayed tied to my bed, locked inside a little room like I was in jail, while cameras watched me every hour of every day. I’d lived most of my life alone, and I was still living that way. The eyes watching might as well have belonged to Jax. It felt just as intrusive.
Cindy came to see me every day, and I refused to speak to her. Jasper showed up during my tiny window of visitation, and I pushed him away, too.
I missed Trey. I needed him. He was the only one who could make it better, and that killed Jasper more than seeing me locked up. He withdrew just as I had, and I thought I’d lose him forever.
But soul mates don’t disappear. They go through hard times with each other, feeling every ounce of each other’s pain, and they pray. Jasper prayed for me when I didn’t want him to. He talked to a god I wasn’t sure existed, and he kept coming back.
We argued. I cried.
Cindy stuck her nose where it didn’t belong to try to help.
And then, one day, the medication and the pain decided to work together. We got along, and my body gave up fighting against them and wanted to be near them.
Trey was gone. He’s in prison and I’m not supposed to see him. My therapists don’t think it’s a good idea. The wounds are too fresh and the pain still too real.
But Cindy and Jasper are here. They’ve never left my side and I owed it to them to follow the rules and wait it out. When the time came, I’d go to Trey and we’d talk. When I was ready.
I was in recovery for me. Not to get well enough to run back to him.
It took me six long months full of good days and bad days to realize that and to stop hating myself. The scars that used to ease my pain and make me feel whole again don’t do that anymore. Somewhere along the way, my wrists turned into angry reminders of all my failures, and I wanted the scars to disappear.
I’m still learning how to love myself. I’m still working on acceptance. And that’s okay.
I’m an eighteen-year-old girl who’s been to heaven. That’s not something everyone can say, and I don’t say it with shame anymore. It’s my truth.
If I’ve learned anything on this crazy journey called life, it’s that heaven isn’t a destination. It’s a feeling of contentment that sets your soul free.
Winnie Dawes died six months ago.
And, now, she’s more determined than ever to live—to live for tomorrow and all the days after that. She doesn’t need a boy, a man, a mother, or a father to make her whole. She fills her missing pieces with dreams.
And, for the first time in her life, she’s alive. She jumped from the edge of heaven and into forever.
Acknowledgments
Jovana Shirley, you amaze me. Working with you has given me the strength and confidence I need to tell each story. Thank you for your excitement for this book and for making it the best it can be. I am so lucky to have you on my team. I cherish your creative energy.
Marisa-Rose Wesley, you nailed my vision for this cover, even when you had so much going on. Thank you for capturing Winnie and the feel of this story. I love working with you.
Judy Zweifel, as always, you blew through the book and picked out every detail that needed attention. Thank you for your love of the little things and for making my work shine.
Emily Smith, I’m so glad Nina connected us. Thank you for your time, for all of your energy, and for holding my hand when I needed it. I love tackling releases with you! This is only the beginning.
Shari Ryan, thank you for encouraging me to write the story in my heart.
A huge thank you to my reader group—Gia Riley’s Books. You guys are rock stars, and I’m so grateful for you.
My beta crew—Tina Bell, Helene Cuji, Julie Gustafson-Monk, Sue Maturo, Katie Monson, and Kaitie Reister—You are my biggest cheerleaders and support system. Writing is more fun with you by my side. Thank you will never be enough.
Bloggers, I appreciate all of your support. Your promotion, likes, tweets, posts—it means everything to me. I couldn’t do this without you. No matter how big or small you are, your voice matters! Always remember that.
Lastly, a massive thanks goes to every reader. Thank you for buying my books, for reading my words, and for sharing this journey with me. You make my dreams come true.
About the Author
Gia Riley has been in love with writing romance since high school when she took her very first creative writing class. From the small but mighty state of Delaware, she’s a country girl at heart, traveling back to her roots in Pennsylvania as often as she can.
She’d rather pick truth than dare, bake than cook, and will always choose coffee over tea.
Just like life, her stories always have a mixture of heart and humor.
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OTHER BOOKS BY GIA
Lighter
Weightless
In Pieces
Rock the Boat
Rock the City
Stay Awhile
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I’ll Make You Mine