Cut

CUT

A novel by Kathleen Mareé

Penelope Price is a young woman who is utterly scarred and broken. She has been
Cut
.
Residing with her best friend Rosalie since the sudden demise of her long term relationship, she finds herself severed from the world she once lived for. After months of Rosie suffering through failed attempts of trying to drag Penny back into some form of reality, finally, it happens.

A nightclub in Sydney leads to a strange encounter with Jay, a musician who at first meeting seems dangerous, but for unknown reasons there is an unconscious draw. When her inner turmoil dramatically ruins the night, it appears she may be worse off than where she started.

Will her wound ever heal?

Uninvited interest from the mysterious stranger messes further with Penny's emotional state, resulting in more confusion than comfort. He seems to be hiding behind his own secretive walls and she isn't sure she can trust him. The sudden return of her ex, Evan, who is persistent to fill in the reasons for their demise, exposes the shocking truth. Ultimately sending her into the lowest point of her existence.

Does she find her definitive end in the dramatic final scene of this story?

Has she been Cut?

Copyright
©
Kathleen Mareé 2014

ISBN-13:978-1512047387 ISBN-10:1512047384

ISBN - 9781311212122

License Notes

No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional. The author humbly begs your pardon. This is fiction, people.

Thank you to my husband and two beautiful children who were patient whilst I was spending my time locked away in my story. Your love and support mean everything to me and I would not have come this far without you.

Also a huge thank you to my family and friends, who have urged me to write. Not because I have to, but because you all know how much I love to, and for making me realise that that is the only thing that matters...

Finally, to my early previewing team, a.k.a HBC :) Your enthusiasm, constructive advice and encouragement has given me the confidence to start this journey and for that I thank you x

“I'm not a stranger.
No I am yours.
With crippled anger.
And tears that still drip sore.
A fragile frame aged, with misery.
And when our eyes meet, I know you see.
I do not want to be afraid.
I do not want to die inside just to breathe in.
I'm tired of feeling so numb.
Relief exists I find it when….
I am cut.”

"Penny please tell me you are out of your bed and ready to go."

I roll my eyes at the remark.

She is seriously worse than my own mother.

"Okay, I'm coming," I moan under my breath and with effort, kick the heavy doona off my lethargic legs.

Why today?

I honestly can't be bothered to do anything but sleep. I am so tired.

Why am I so tired?

I'm still not ready to face the harsh reality of it all.

Well, not today anyway.

Maybe tomorrow.

That sounds like a better idea.

I bury my head deep into my pillow until it suffocates me wholly.

"Oh. My. God. Penny!"

I hear Rosie's stern tone muffled through the pillow barrier harnessed around my ears and the annoyance in her voice is obvious. Her tanned athletic body is standing strong in the doorway to my room, her hands distinctly firm on her hips and her hazel eyes burning into mine.

Great.

"What?" I groan innocently. "I'm getting up."

As I push the rest of my weighty cover off me so I’m out in the unpleasant open, with much effort I struggle to sit up.  I extend my hands down to my ankles and adjust my socks, which have shuffled uncomfortably during my restless sleep. I knowingly maintain my head fixed to the floor to avoid contact with her, so I don’t have to deal with her pity right now. I can hear her over-the-top sigh as she travels towards me picking up stray, sordid clothing off the floor like she does every time she comes in here.

"Penny, we have been through this a thousand times," she mutters.

"I know..." I mumble, still keeping my focus on my woollen hand knitted socks. The warmest ones you could ever wear. 
His
Nan had knitted them for me one winter. She was the sweetest Nan too. So kind, thoughtful, and always made me feel like I was one of her own. I used to look forward to the small gift waiting for me each year in the mail, delicately wrapped in tissue paper. Every year was a new colour; aqua, grey, mocha, and this year’s crimson pink – my favourite. I feel a tear rise to the corner of my eye as my fingers fumble on the edges of those socks, pulling them up in place just above my ankles.

"Penny, we go through this every day," she starts more empathetically as plonks herself down on my bed, while nervously readjusting the unkempt pile in her hands. "If you don't get up today we will be going through this all again tomorrow and the next day and the next," she sighs. "It’s been three months Pen.”

I hold my breath.

Three months?

Had that much time really passed?

I rub my oily unwashed forehead in my hands nauseated by how much time I had wasted in my state of misery. I am ashamed that I can't seem to bring myself out of my funk so I can move forward, move on and finally become me again.

Me?

Do I even know who I am anymore?

“Maybe this is all too much for me to help you with.”

Her affirmed words interrupt my thoughts as I hesitantly glance up from the floor trying to make out her emotions before I object with my routine rebuttal, which usually starts right about now.

"Maybe I can arrange a psychiatrist to talk to you? You know, maybe the one that Maggie was seeing?”

Maggie?

I sigh regretfully.

Maggie is one of my best friends, one of the few friends I still had. She lives with her fiancée Ryan on the south coast, so we don't see each other all that often. Especially now. It's probably a good thing too since everything has happened. Ryan is best friends with
him
and I can't risk that connection. Not right now anyway. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to her. She had tried to reach out over the past few months, but I haven’t been talking to anyone so Rosie usually dealt with the calls. Guilt sullenly rises into my throat forming in the shapes of vomit. I shake my head to rid the images in my mind and nervously look up at Rosie, swallowing the awful taste away all at once.

I can tell from her expression that the bother and frustration has vanished yet has been replaced with an anxious desperation. My heart instantly aches. It's a familiar feeling. After that episode changed my seemingly perfect life and sent it into a whirl of uncertainty, these past months my heart has held a more constant severe ache that has left me permanently scarred. A scar that I don't think can ever be truly healed. And through that pain that has its tightened grip over my heart a faint throb still echoes through; as I see my friend’s constant attempts to get me out of my standstill state, faintly fade into the distance. I take a deep breath and gather as much strength as I can.

I have to do this.

I just have to!

"I’m getting up," I un-heartedly chirp as I unsteadily rise out of my bed after spending, what feels like an eternity of not being on my feet.

Do I even remember how to walk right?

"You're right."

I mean, there is NO WAY I am going to see some shrink!

I need to make her believe me.

I shrug my flannel pyjama top off and let it fall carelessly to the floor. She stares at me intently, her bulging fly like eyes searching mine. Searching for confirmation on whether this is really happening. Searching for whether today is any different to our other ninety or so re-enactments, where I bury my head into my pillow and sleep away the days, weeks and months as it would seem.  I look right back at her and allow the corners of my mouth to turn upward so that a small smile touches the corner of my lips.

Ouch, that hurts.

"Are you sure? I just think if you need to talk to someone. I don't know, more professional.”

She stops as if she wants me to fill in the rest. But the truth is I don't want to keep talking about it. It happened. I’ve wasted all of this time going over what happened, re-thinking and analysing every minor detail about that day. The how and the whys? I’m over having to wake up every single day and relive the whole event. To think about those unanswered questions and everything I lost.

Ugh
.

Double Ugh
.

Now I want to sink back into my bed and back to my depressive solitude. The same ritual that has struck me the past few months and has kept me hidden away in my room, like I was some fairy tale princess locked away in a tower under some evil spell. Well I am obviously no fairy princess, and this is definitely no fairy tale. This is reality. My reality. And I don’t want this to be how I spend the rest of my life. I don’t want to be this woman.

I don’t!

I need to keep on going. There is no way I want my friend to abandon me and send me to some psycho doctor so I can rehash all the things I’ve grieved over these past few months. I have no other option but to convince her. I have to.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Can I really do this?

I stumble over to my closet as I struggle to get the feeling into my numb limbs and swing open the door. Without really looking, I fumble through my blouses which hang in colour co-ordination inside – courtesy of Rosie of course. I roll my eyes.

"What’s the dress code for this place?” I ask with as much faked interested as I can; my fingers stifling through each item not paying attention to their detail.

"Are you sure you are ready to do this? I mean, if you aren't ready, maybe we can try again tomorrow?"

There's a real sincerity to her voice now, almost guilty.

So she should feel guilty
, my conscious quips.

"Yes I’m sure," I retort automatically. "What about this?”

I hastily pull out a white cropped blouse, which is slightly transparent and framed with cut-outs along the back of the shoulders. It's my favourite shirt. Correction, w
as
my favourite shirt. My preferred articles of clothing lately seem to be flannel pyjamas and my hand-knitted woollen socks.

Gah.

I get a disgusted shiver just thinking about what a mess I've become.

I turn towards her but keep my eyes firmly fixed on my shirt that I'm holding out on display, nervously awaiting her response. There is a suspended silence before I barely hear a whisper. "I always liked you in that shirt."

I glance up to look for her reaction and she smiles. Mission accomplished.

"Okay, so finish getting ready and I will meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She picks up my pyjama shirt I carelessly discarded on the floor and adds it to the pile of unwashed items she still holds in her hands. On her way out she halts in the doorway and turns her empathetic gaze toward mine.

"You will see Pen, everything will be ok. Tonight will be great! Just what you need."

And just like that, she disappears behind the door.

Was she trying to convince me that everything will be alright, or herself?

I instantly regret my sudden desire to re-enter the real world.

I want this over with.

I toss the blouse I had previously displayed with pride on my unmade bed disrespectfully and head towards the en-suite, swallowing away the nausea. As the half dozen or so down lights instantly fill the bathroom, I am staring into a startling reflection. The large beautifully embossed mirror that hangs so delicately on the opposite wall is filled with the image of a girl. A young woman. Her ash blonde hair that is pin-straight and fine is almost stuck like glue to the woman’s head. Her pale, ghost like skin no longer has a radiant glow, but is deadly white and lifeless. The eyes...

The piercing blue, crystal eyes that had received many compliments over the years from friends, family, and even strangers on how beautiful they were just look hollow and vacant. The dark grey circles framing their place on the woman’s face with haunting precision.

Is this really me?

Is this what I have become?

The once well-groomed girl who took care of her appearance is not what is staring back at me in the mirror. I slowly slide my feet along the stony floor, until the horrifying image in the mirror is even closer. I lean myself over the porcelain sink and trace my weak fingers around the darkened circles bordering my eyes. Tears begin to well, and I notice my hands trembling uncontrollably.

Pull it together Penny.

I close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths.

I can do this.

I need to do this.

I turn both taps on precariously and splash the now tepid water all over my face. The mere thought of my personal hygiene of late, makes me cringe in disgust. Yanking off the taps, I gently pat my face with the nearby black towel hanging on the rack beside me. A thought silently creeps into my head, about how the beauty of the perfectly designed black and white elegantly themed en-suite starkly contrasts my dreary black eyes and deadly stark skin. An unorthodox, silent chuckle wafts from my insides at the thought. I must be crazy.

I loosely twist my long hair up into a carefree bun and tie it into place. Reaching for my makeup bag, I pull out my powder foundation, some blush and black mascara and roughly try to make myself look remotely normal – failing most likely.

"Are you ready?"

I hear Rosie's bear call from downstairs and without further thought, I roll my eyes. I automatically toss the makeup on the bench and head for my shirt that I had tossed on the bed earlier. I carefully lift it over my head, trying not to smudge my less than perfect attempt at my makeup, drop my pants to the floor and grab a pair of dark blue skinny jeans out from under the bed. I can't help but gloat slightly as the thought that Rosie missed my well-worn jeans from under the bed when she was raiding my floor for dirty washing is kind of gratifying. I smile inside at the small win.

"Penny?" I hear her bellow again.

I zip my pants up, grab a pair of black ankle stilettos off the floor and slam the door behind me before I contemplate hiding myself under the doona.

What a rush.

I can feel the blood filling my head as my body reacts to being so stationery for so long. I take off down the hallway in a zombie-like manner, and stumble down the stairs holding one hand on the timber balustrade and the other tightly grasping my heels.

"Wow, you look great!” she states precariously, as I hear the excitement in her voice tremble slightly.

I mean the day has come.

The day has finally arrived when I would get my sorry ass out of bed and into the real world again.

The thought is quite terrifying, almost crippling. I shake my head to avoid any chance of tears running down my face and screaming at the top of my lungs that I can’t do this. Grabbing my wallet off the glass foyer table at the bottom of the stairs, and stashing it under my arm I force a smile in reply. I bend to squeeze my toes into my shoes.

Geez, have my feet gotten fat?

I barely get the zips done up on my shoes and the pain in my toes is almost unbearable. I toss aside any thoughts of doubt just in case my mind is playing tricks on me. Rosie moves away from the front door, signalling for me to exit first and as I am faced with it staring back at me, I am frozen. In an instant, I am right back there...