Freeing
Authors: E.K. Blair
Copyright © 2013 by E. K. Blair
Cover Design by E.K. Blair
Editing by Lisa Christman, Adept Edits
Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
Photography by Andrei Vishnyakov
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 permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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 owner.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-578-12996-9
For my son and daughter
You need to know with every fiber of who you are that when you walk through the front door of your home, you are safe, and you are loved.
The rain falls hard as I drive back home. I’m a goddamn mess, and I can’t get my head to stop tormenting me. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me or why this is happening. I couldn’t even force myself to come this time, and I was such a dick that I made her believe it was her fault. It was a shit thing to do, but I knew if I didn’t embarrass her, she would go open her mouth to all her friends.
I pull up to my house and head inside. It’s dark as I quietly make my way upstairs to my bedroom. Shutting my door, I lie down on my bed and stare at the fan on my ceiling making its rotations over and over. How is this my life?
I’m so twisted that the only reason I wanted to fuck that girl was because I knew Tyler had. It was my sick way of connecting with him. I hate myself for doing what I did. I hate myself for so many reasons.
I grew up in church, going to Sunday school and Bible study summer camps. I believe in God, and was taught that this way of life is wrong. It isn’t what He wants; it isn’t what I want, but at the same time . . . it is. This shouldn’t be happening to me. I’ve done all I can to force these thoughts and feelings away. I’ve pretty much screwed every girl in my graduating class at La Jolla High. Nothing is working though; in fact, it’s only making everything that much worse.
Nobody knows. I’m not sure anyone will ever know. I’ve spent the last few years praying that this is just a phase, fighting the thoughts that skate around in my head. Pretending to be someone I’m not in an attempt to escape this sick person who lives inside of me.
The only person I need right now—the only one who would listen and not judge me—is gone. I feel like God is punishing me for some reason. He took away the only one who could help me. The only one I could confide in. It’s been almost two years since Jacie died. She was in the car with her boyfriend on prom night when an overly tired truck driver hit them head-on and killed them. She was my best friend. Everyone even called us by the same name: Jase for Jason, and Jace for Jacie. We never went through any sibling rivalry and did everything together: exploding mud pies with firecrackers when we were little, and later, learning to surf. Surfing was our thing; we would always go out early on Saturday mornings and stop at the In-N-Out Burger on the way home. Mom and Dad still haven’t touched her room, and I’m not allowed to mention her name.
I miss her.
I miss everything about her, and now I need her more than ever. I need her to tell me it’s okay, that I’m okay.
When I got my acceptance letter from the University of Washington the other week, I knew it was where I was going to go. I need to get the hell out of California and away from everything I know. I need to free my mind of the constant taunting. I just need to be free to find myself. To figure all this out. To understand why, when I was banging Carly tonight, all I could think about was Tyler.
Fuck.
I’m not a fag. That shit is sick, and it’s not me. I hate myself for even thinking that it could be. Just three more months before classes start at UW. August is when I will escape from here and finally get the headspace I need to work everything out.
“Kimber, what’s taking you so long?”
“Stop bitching. Just let me get my boots on, and I’ll be ready. Man, what has your panties in a twist?” she whines as she sits on the floor of her closet, zipping up her boots.
“I’m going to say goodnight to Candace real quick. Hurry up, okay?”
“Uuugh!” I hear her grunt as I walk down the hall to Candace’s room. When I open her door, she is sitting on her bed studying. Typical Candace. She’s focused and quiet, and she’s the sweetest girl I know. I love her more than anything. She was the first person I met and became friends with when I moved here to Seattle three years ago. We had an instant connection. In a way, she reminds me a lot of Jace in her sincerity. She made it easy for me to decide to open up to her about being gay, and she was the first person I ever told. She didn’t even think twice about it when I told her.
“Hey, Jase,” she says as I walk into her room and sit down next to her.
“You really should come out with us. This band is supposed to be really good.”
“I have a lot of reading to do. Besides, I have to be at work by six tomorrow morning,” she tells me as she closes her books and slides them to the foot of the bed.
“You know your excuses are lost on me, right?”
She smiles, and I kiss her forehead before hugging her.
“Stop molesting my roommate. I’m ready,” Kimber says loudly as she enters the room, flipping her bright blonde hair behind her shoulder.
“You guys have fun. Call me tomorrow, Jase.”
“Will do. See ya later.”
When we arrive at Level One, the place is packed. Kimber and I head straight to the bar and waste no time downing a couple shots. The band playing tonight has brought in a large crowd. It’s the busiest I have ever seen this place.