Fear of Falling
Authors: S. L. Jennings
Tags: #Romance, #Young Adult, #Contemporary, #Adult
by
S.L. Jennings
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Amazon Edition
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Fear of Falling
Copyright © 2013 S. L. Jennings
Editing: Tracey Buckalew
Cover Design: Regina Wamba/
Mae I Design & Photography
Photo: ©
Tomasz Zienkiewicz Photography
Formatting by
JT Formatting
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
A Preview of
COLLIDE
by Gail McHugh
For
Her.
Shit happens.
I never really understood that saying. Yeah, there were certain situations in life that were shitty, but they were just that; they were
life
. So it really wasn’t the shit in life that was, well, so shitty. It was life itself.
Life happens.
That was much more appropriate.
Unfortunately, many of us found that out earlier than some. We found out just how awful life could really be. We found out that monsters were, indeed, real. They walked among us. They looked just like you and me. They came in the form of the people that we loved and trusted the most. The people whose only job was to love and protect us.
Funny thing about life is that it never turns out the way you want it to. It’s never fair. It’s harsh and brutal. It kicks you when you’re down. It makes you wish you could give up and part with it just to have a semblance of peace.
I almost felt that peace unintentionally. And if I had known exactly what I was fighting against, I would have succumbed to it. I would have traded my young, shitty life for the peace that came with death.
I should have. I would have been free.
I needed a drink. A strong one.
One that could possibly knock me on my ass and make me forget what I had done just 20 minutes ago. This was always the hard part. The guilt, the self-loathing. Sometimes it strangled me. I hated what I did. I hated the pain I inflicted but it was part of the process, part of what came with being me.
I hurt people, and it wasn’t something I was proud of.
Pulling into the parking lot of the first bar I spotted after leaving the scene of the crime, I punched in a number on my cell phone, speed-dialing Angel. “It’s done,” I announced, not even bothering with a cordial greeting. Those were reserved for days when I didn’t feel like locking myself away from everyone and everything. For days when I didn’t feel myself breaking into a million pieces.
Angel sighed on the other end, feeling my pain through the receiver. “You okay, baby?”
“Yeah. I will be. Down to get shit-faced?” I chuckled though I truly couldn’t find the humor in my own request.
“I’m always down. Where are you?”
After giving Angel the address, I fixed my smeared mascara in the visor mirror. I could have just stopped at a liquor store and gone home to drown my troubles, but I needed an excuse to hold it together. A distraction. In public, I’d have no choice but to plaster on a phony smile and ignore the immense guilt I felt. I’d be forced to pretend.
10…9...8…7…
I started the mental countdown ritual. I could do 10. Twenty was reserved for extra shitty days. Fifty was for all-out hellish catastrophes. Today felt more like a 10: a craptastic situation.
“You can do this,” I whispered to the reflection staring back at me. “It’s ok. You’re ok. It had to be done. You have to keep going. You can do this, Kami Duvall. You will not break. Not today.”
The bar’s marquee stated Dive, though it only slightly resembled the traditional, hole-in-the-wall dive bars I was accustomed to. As I scurried into the air-conditioned building, seeking refuge from the relentless Charlotte summer sun, I could tell it had been recently upgraded with modern furniture and a fresh coat of paint. I liked it already though ambiance was not a requirement for what I had planned for the rest of my evening.
I settled in at the bar and ordered a shot of tequila along with a Long Island Iced Tea chaser. When the bearded bartender raised a questioning brow at my request, I diverted my eyes to a bowl of peanuts a few seats down. I didn’t need his misguided judgment.
“Damn, baby. Sure a pretty little thing like you can handle a drink like that?” a voice laced with a southern drawl called out to me. I looked up to spot a smiling onlooker across the bar. Great. Judgment
and
an asshat with my beverages.
I smiled sweetly before grabbing my shot of tequila, downing it, tossing the slice of lime to the side, and slamming the glass on the bar. When I looked back up, Asshat was already making his way towards me, obviously intrigued with my shot-pounding capabilities. Unfortunately for him, that’d be the only thing getting pounded tonight.
“Hey there, honey. I’ve never seen you ‘round here. You must be new. I’m Craig,” he smiled, extending his hand. I looked at it, scanned the length of his body and turned my attention back to my drink. It was much more exciting. Craig took the hint and pulled his hand back but still settled in the seat beside me. I rolled my eyes; he was a persistent little prick. Normally the southern charm was endearing to a California girl like me, but after what I had just been through, it was annoying as hell.
“Craig, right?” I asked after a long pull from my Long Island. He nodded and flashed a hopeful smile. I couldn’t wait to wipe that dumb look right off his face. “First off, calling the wrong person ‘honey’ could very well get you cut. And second of all, how would you know if I was new? Do you hang out here on a regular basis?”
“Easy there, darlin’,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “Just making friendly chit-chat. And yes, actually, I do come ‘round here often. This happens to be my family’s place.”
I eyed Craig disapprovingly. With his wavy, chin-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and the bit of scruff on his chin, he wasn’t exactly bad to look at. He was actually pretty cute in that young southern gentleman kinda way, but I was too far gone on the self-depreciation train to even fall for his charm.
“So what? That gives you a right to harass all the paying patrons?” I replied with a raised brow before downing the last of my drink. It was strong, but not strong enough to stow my bitchiness.
“You are an exotic little thing, aren’t ya? Yes, in-deed,” Craig appraised, ignoring my jab. He finished his beer just as our empty glasses were quickly swiped from the bar. “Let me guess– you’re one of those
moo-lot-toe
girls.”
I nearly choked, and probably would have spit my drink right in his face just for shits and giggles if I’d had a mouthful. “Excuse me? Are you trying to say
mulatto?”
“Yeah! That chocolate and vanilla swirl! I’m right, aren’t I?”
Wow. Craig was a bigger asshat than I initially assumed. I had played this game with guys before. The whole,
“What are you? Let me guess…”
bit was not new to me. Usually I shut it down, but since I had nothing else better to do than stew about my predicament, I thought I‘d humor Craig and eventually make a fool of him. I didn’t think it would take long anyway.
“No, I’m not
moo-lot-toe
, jackass. Chocolate and vanilla? Do I look like an ice cream cone to you?” I snickered. Craig’s eyes widened with glee at my choice of words, instantly making me regret them. Thankfully, the bartender returned with our drinks, so I could get back to the task at hand: getting stupid drunk.
I looked up to say thank you and was met with a hooded pair of chocolate brown eyes and a boyish grin. His hair was covered in a worn baseball cap, and he had just the right amount of scruff on his chin and upper lip to give his baby face an edge. His hands and arms were covered with intricate, colorful tattoos. He was different from what usually attracted me and absolutely beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I had to tear my eyes away before I used Jedi mind tricks to undress him. I wanted to see what else those tattoos covered. Badly.
“CJ, I hope you’re not botherin’ this young lady,” the younger, much more enticing bartender smiled, his deep voice laced with a touch of southern drawl. His large hand (yeah, I noticed) clapped Craig on the back as he shook his head, a lock of brown hair escaping his cap and falling into his eyes. His gaze came back to me, and he winked.
Under normal circumstances, the move would have probably made me blush, and/or flash a flirty smile, but my mind and heart were still heavy with grief. I returned the sentiment with a nod and a nervous half-grin. Sure, he was attractive, painfully so, but that thought would be all I could allow myself to enjoy.
“Aw, you know me, Blaine. Always makin’ friends,” Craig snickered before taking a sip of his fresh beer.
Blaine.
Even his name was sexy as hell, and I resisted the urge to try it out on my tongue. He placed his palms against the bar, and leaned in, looking at me expectantly. Shit, I really didn’t want the attention. But he looked at me intently, his head cocked to one side, with his mouth curled up, and I couldn’t think of anything witty or even rude to say to make the guys go away.