Promise Me
Copyright © 2013 Barbie Bohrman
Edited by Luisa Hansen
Cover design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Formatting by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
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 have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to 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 or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
To my beautiful daughter, Belinda.
You'll never be too old to chase your dreams…
…but, you're still not old enough
to read this book.
I love you,
Mommy
It's him.
If you had told me it was him and I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I would have called you a liar. Somewhere in the back of my mind, where I can barely process what is going on around me, I tell myself that I shouldn't be here watching this. I should walk away, or better yet, run as fast as I can, to nowhere in particular. But I don't. I stand there frozen in the shadows watching him through the window. Him.
He's my first love and my life... and he's kissing my best friend.
My anger is boiling just beneath the surface, making the flesh on my skin feel like it's about to burst. My eyes probably look like they are going to fall out of my head at any moment. Yet, I cannot stop staring as Chris and Lisa hold, caress, whisper, and kiss each other over and over as if each of their lives depended on it. Exactly the same way mine had when he did those things with me.
With each subtle change in their embrace, I remember the many times he has held me, touched me, loved me... Memories flash in my head, like a catalog of moving pictures on a big screen: The first time he held my hand, our first kiss, the first time we made love just a few shorts weeks ago. Each memory feels like a stake through my heart and then my body begins to tremble.
The overwhelming feeling of betrayal and heartbreak is building its way up to my throat, threatening to break the dam of emotions I'm just barely able to keep in check as it is. My eyes have closed on their own accord and the tears slowly begin to fall. I vaguely remember that no one even knows that I'm at this party, so I attempt to make a quick getaway in the hopes that no one will notice I was here. I just want to go back home, crawl back into my bed, and sleep away what could only be described as a nightmare. Unfortunately, I know that when I wake up that won't be the case. I will never forget the scene playing out in front of me.
I take a few cautionary steps backward, away from the window and clumsily bump into something hard. I let out a loud gasp and instinctively cover my mouth to stifle any noise. I feel movement behind me and catch a glimpse of a hand as it is lightly placed on my right hip. I stare down at the mysterious hand and know at once who it belongs to. A tattoo peeks out from the pulled up sleeve of a white thermal shirt, twisting itself around the defined forearm of its owner. The black ink is in such stark contrast to the color of his shirt, that for a second or two I'm lost in its intricate design. As I slowly begin to get my bearings and I'm able to say anything in protest, I sense movement again. I feel his breath on my left ear and his raspy voice whisper, "Be careful Sabrina. You don't want them to know you've caught them."
I whimper when I hear his declaration and look up again through the window as my boyfriend's hands begin to wander down the backside of my best friend's body, and what little control I had left is gone.
I start sobbing. The hand that was covering my mouth has dropped and I automatically place it over my heart in the hopes that it will keep it from spilling out of my chest. Luckily, the music inside has been playing fairly loud and since I'm hiding on this side of the house in the dark, no one can hear or see me while I cry uncontrollably.
"Don't cry," he says in my ear, "they're not worth it."
I freeze up at his words. His hand rubs my hip slowly as if he's trying to calm a frightened animal, which keeps me from making any attempt to turn around and face him or to run away. With just his hand he keeps me locked in place, my back to his front.
"This isn't the first time. They've been doing this for a while," he says.
When these words escape his mouth, I'm left to wonder exactly just how long this has been going on. My mind is now working in overdrive, trying to quickly piece together every missed call and every late practice Chris may have claimed to have. Again, I try to remove myself from his hold so I can run away. Using both hands now, he quickly pulls me back to him and holds me in a tight grip. Through tears, and after what seems like an eternity, I finally am able to barely speak.
"How long?" I ask him.
He doesn't answer me. His body stiffens behind me and his hands are now clutching my hips to the point of discomfort.
"How long, Tyler," I plead, "please... tell me."
"A few months," he says simply.
"Why? How could they do this to me?"
He slowly turns me around to face him. I can barely make out his features under the soft glow of the full moon. I lift my head up to look at him and I'm not sure what is behind his hard expression. His jaw is set tight, as if he's clenching his teeth, and his chocolate brown eyes lock with mine.
As he studies my face, I feel the intensity behind his gaze. His face is a mask of emotion that I cannot decipher since I'm too busy trying to keep my composure. I momentarily consider the fact that he might just be trying to be nice to me, which is in complete odds to his reputation. Tyler is particularly known in our high school and home town as a "bad boy".
I've known Tyler almost my entire life, having been in the same classes since Kindergarten, but we have never been friends. Right now I'm confused by his demeanor and I take a couple of quick steps back. He doesn't let me go anywhere. Instead, he pulls me closer and puts his arms around me. At first, I'm hesitant, but I am no match for his strong arms. I reluctantly give in, letting him pull me even closer until my head is tucked firmly under his chin. I take in the scent of him while I try to calm down. I faintly register his hand rubbing small circles on my back and I begin to feel the smallest sense of being safe in his embrace.