Sanctuary of Mine
Authors: S. Pratt,Emily Dawson
| Sanctuary of Mine | |
| S. Pratt Emily Dawson | |
| CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (2013) | |
| Rating: | ★★★★☆ |
From the bestselling author of RUINED comes SANCTUARY OF MINE: When you see someone who looks like they need saving, you save them right? Mackenzie Deeks is struggling. Outwardly she plays the tough guy and acts like being a young adult with an eating disorder is no big deal. Inside, she's crumbling. Ever since her parents’ divorce, the only way she has been able to feel in control of her life is by purging the despair that has its grips on her and won't let go. Tyler Redding knows when someone needs help - he's seen it before. This time, though, he's not going to take no for an answer. From the moment he first sets his sights on Mackenzie, he's unable to think of anyone else. But how can he focus on a football career when all he wants to do is date the most unassuming person he's ever met? As their lives become intricately entwined, it becomes more than wishful thinking when Mackenzie and Tyler find each other again as adults. With successful careers, a beachside lifestyle and each other’s love to contend with, life should be pretty damn good. But just when they think they’ve found their wonderful kind of normal, their perfect world comes crashing down. It’s going to take a lot to keep Mackenzie from succumbing to old habits, but Tyler thinks he might just be the one to save her for good.
Contents
SANCTUARY OF MINE
is edited in English-Australian. All scenes, social situations, colloquialisms, phrases and context are in keeping with the setting in Australia.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to places or people are entirely coincidental.
The content and characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are no way meant to represent anyone living or deceased. Places are used fictitiously for entertainment purposes.
The written material contained within this novel is subject to the
Australian Copyright Act 1968
. The Author (Michelle A Pratt) writing under the pseudonym of S. Pratt exercises this right and does not hereby give permission for this work to be copied or reproduced in anyway shape or form for public or personal use.
All other applicable international copyright laws are reserved including federal and state.
Quotations may be used for the purpose of book reviews; and marketing if permission is granted by the author prior to use.
WARNING
This novel contains mature content and sexual situations and should only be viewed by persons 17 years +
RESPECT
Respect the hard work of this author.
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SANCTUARY OF MINE
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For my father, Stewart – who I miss even when words cannot close the distance.
Mackenzie
‘Dinner’s ready!’
Inwardly, I groan. I hate this – nights where mum is actually home and being a good parent. She cooks on these nights, expecting I will eat with her. It’s depressing, this little meal for two. I would rather skip the whole debacle altogether.
Since dad left, it’s just not the same. Life is lonely and I often wonder if there was something I could have done to make him stay. When I’m alone in my room, I question if there was something I could have said. Would he have listened? If I begged, would he have stayed? I know it’s ridiculous to think that I could have in any way changed the outcome of my parents’ relationship, but there is still a part of me that wanted to.
‘Mackenzie Deeks, get your butt down here right this minute!’ I know there is no use ignoring her any longer; she will only come looking for me. Making my way down the stairs I can smell the food. My stomach rumbles in response, but it angers me that it’s betraying my resolve to not eat anything.
The minute I enter the kitchen I see the plates of food on the table. Mum’s back is to me, rinsing out the pan in the sink. She’s cooked gnocchi with a creamy sauce, bacon and onions. It smells delicious and I hate her right now. She knows it’s my favourite.
Turning from the sink, she sees me slinking into my seat.
‘Mackenzie, how was your day, honey?’
‘Great mum,’ I reply, knowing that was as far from the truth as it could possibly get.
‘Eat up, I made your favourite.’ The smile is full wattage for my sake, but I know secretly she is watching every move I make, my misery reaching her too. I push the food around on the plate while my mum heartily tucks into hers. Watching her chew and swallow her food already makes me feel nauseous. Perhaps if she’d lost a little weight, took a little more pride in her appearance, maybe dad would have stayed?
It’s a cruel thing to think, but there it is.
‘Come on, Mackenzie. Your food is getting cold,’ she scolds.
‘I’m really not hungry mum.’
‘Nonsense! You eat your dinner this minute, madam, or you’ll be grounded for a week.’ As if her threat would make any difference. My fork finds a solitary piece of bacon and stabs at it harshly. I hate being made to eat.
At this moment I resolve that I must become more crafty to make her believe I am still consuming my meals.
Tentatively I put the food in my mouth. The flavours assault my tongue and the saltiness tickles my taste buds.
Yes!
My body screams to be fed, my gut already gurgling at the prospect of receiving a little morsel. But my mind strongly says no. Like a hawk, mum watches each and every mouthful. I only eat a quarter of the meal in the time it takes her to finish her generous portion.
‘Can I leave the table please?’
‘No, you can finish your meal.’
‘I’m done mum, I’m full.’
‘No, you’re not. Finish it please.’
She’s trying very hard to remain calm. I know that I really cannot eat another mouthful. With not having eaten anything solid in days, and definitely not this rich, I’m beginning to feel the side-affects already. The fact
that I have chewed my food so slowly is bearing no consequence. All the cream sauce is making me feel physically ill and I know I will not need to use my fingers tonight.
‘I need to use the bathroom.’
‘No you don’t!’
Her shout slaps me across the face. Her anger seeps through her teeth like a low hiss, the kind an animal would make.
‘I really don’t feel well,’ I beg.
‘I’m sick and tired of you pulling this stunt, Mackenzie. You really need to stop doing this to yourself.’ Right then the food in my stomach starts to make its protest. Heat swarms my body and I know I only have seconds to make it to the toilet before I redecorate her kitchen tiles.
Without another word I pick myself up off my seat and charge towards the downstairs bathroom.
She’s after me quicker than I’d expected, but still not able to catch me in time. I slam the door on her face, snapping the lock into place. Flinging the toilet lid back, I wretch my dinner into the bowl, bits of food splattering the seat. Outside my mother bangs on the door, hysterically shouting at me as though it will somehow make a difference. It won’t.
When I am finished, my body is shaking. I blow my nose and then use toilet paper to clean the top of the toilet seat before flushing my shame down the drain. Washing my hands I glimpse myself in the mirror. I barely recognise the girl staring back at me. My eyes are bloodshot and there are newly broken capillaries. My long hair hangs limply to the side of my face, sweat making it stick to my cheeks.
I look a complete and utter mess, not at all like the pretty girl my dad used to call me. But for some reason, I feel better and in control. It’s like with one simple purge I feel like a weight as been lifted from my shoulders. That feeling is kind of euphoric, which makes doing it kind of addictive.
Mackenzie
There is always the most popular girl in grade eleven. She has blonde, highlighted hair that bounces around her shoulders in perfect, glorious ringlets – the kind that many would pay a hairdresser a fortune to have. Her blue eyes twinkle with a little mischief and all the boys seem to instinctively know that she will happily play their silly games. A button nose is slightly upturned, leaving one to believe that she is better than they are. It’s true, she is. Or at least the general population seems to agree with the consensus.
She walks down the hallway of South Sydney High School; her arse sashays just enough to grab every male’s attention, her pert tits bouncing just a little. There is no training bra for this girl, her body, well on the way to womanhood.
It’s not me, though. That’s Marla. I’m the girl hiding with her head in the locker. Remaining invisible is my key priority. Peeping out the corner of my eye I watch her as she passes me. There is no way you will catch me wiggling down the hallway of school. Nobody likes to watch the movements of a stick insect. This is because I have no arse to speak of and my tits only just fit the boob tube that fits loosely to my jutting ribs. I’m totally fine with that, though. It means I won’t get noticed. And if I don’t get noticed, then there is no way I will make friends. Preferring the company of one means there is no chance of me getting my heart stomped on. I like it this way.
With a sigh, I close my locker and make my way to first period, head down so that my long straight hair covers my face. My books gripped in hand, the sinew in my arms strains against the weight. I feel weak and heady this morning, but I’m well aware this is self-inflicted, so will give myself no sympathy. Just lately we’ve been having four seasons in one day. I shiver slightly and pull my cardigan around my tiny frame.
Prepubescent
some would call it, but that’s not the case.
The first time I got my period I hadn’t even reached my eleventh birthday. Everything was normal though, until my parents divorced two years ago. Now, almost sixteen, I can’t remember what it’s like to have these womanly problems, the lack of nourishment in my body turned off that switch some time ago.
I shuffle on, in my own world. The move to Sydney at the start of the year was supposed to be a new start for my mum and me. More like a new start for her. She is the one with the new job and boyfriend. Me? I had to leave behind the people who already knew me and who I was comfortable with. Childish to think, but I’m intent on not enjoying my school year. I want my mother to feel as much misery as I do about the whole thing.
The bell rings and students file into their classrooms. I’m almost home free when I spot a pair of pleading eyes looking my way. There’s fear there, someone clearly in need of a friend.
Why me?
Despite my need for anonymity I can’t ignore a plea for help, no matter how much I hate the thought of being sociable.
To match the chocolate eyes are long lashes that really belong on a woman. He’s got a mop of dark curly hair that hangs too far down his forehead. His body posture is rigid but submissive, not giving his tormentors any reason to antagonize him anymore. Two of the school’s football jocks are crowding him. They’re twelfth graders and should know better, but they’re taking full advantage of the lack of an authority figure present.
Swallowing my nerves, I approach them.
‘Everything okay?’ I’m talking to the boy, not the jocks, but they are far from pleased with my interruption. I square my shoulders, no intention of backing down. One of them grabs him by the scruff of his shirt while the other turns his steely gaze on me.
‘Run along Jane.’ He uses his big meaty fingers to pretend they’re legs, running them across the air in front of my face, his intention for me to leave them to it quite evident.
‘No!’ The loudness of my voice surprises even me. I give myself a pat on the back, proud to have stood up to him when all I want to do is run and hide like I always do. Both of them have now turned their attention towards me, their earlier victim completely forgotten.
‘What did you say, Jane?’ His snarl does nothing to improve his monkey-like features. I half expect him to
screech like the primate he resembles.
‘I said no, I’m not going away until you leave …’ I allow the boy to give his name.
‘L … Levi,’ he stammers.
‘… Levi alone. And my name’s not Jane.’ His innuendo that I am a plain Jane is not lost on me. I just don’t give a shit. By now the hallways are deserted, everyone is safely in class but us. For a second, I consider screaming my lungs out to grab some attention from within the nearest classroom, but we’re saved by something else. Or should I say
someone
.
Coming towards us at a quick jog is Tyler Redding. Just one look at him is enough to make the knees go weak, even for a wallflower like myself. Normally I don’t buy into the whole school jock shit, but for this guy, my body seems to be making an exception.
His shoulders are wider than I am tall and he’s 5 foot eleven of pure muscle. I’m certain he hasn’t finished growing, but it’s hard to imagine him getting any taller. I absently wonder what his stomach would look like and cringe as I think of my own emancipated one. I duck to the side as he charges at us and grabs the two jocks who are already here around their necks.
‘What are you two knuckleheads doing here? Coach is looking for you!’ His voice is molten. It reminds me of hot chocolate, which I have not drunk in years. I absently wonder if he is as sweet too, but then shake that stupid thought from my foggy brain.
No damn way, Mackenzie, don’t even think about it!
As if reprimanding myself will do any good. My legs are already like jelly and Tyler’s presence is doing nothing to improve my condition.
‘Aww shit, Tyler, let go man!’ Beefcake one is whining like a pussy. I kind of like that.
‘Only if you go straight to practice, coach will skin us all alive if we’re not back soon.’ I dare to look into Tyler’s eyes and
realise he is staring at me intently.
‘Sure Ty, we’ll head on over right now.’ Beefcake number two is turning a nice shade of pink as Tyler increases the pressure around his neck.
‘You guys sure?’ He’s teasing and taunting them, grinning like a kid who just got the present he asked Santa for as a Christmas gift.
‘Yeah, we’re sure.’ Gasping, beefcake one answers for both of them. Tyler lets them go and shoves them off in the direction he just came from. They leave us with a filthy look, but don’t challenge us. The boy against the wall looks relieved and I’m half tempted to check if he pissed his pants.
‘You guys okay?’ I’m surprised he gives a shit, but nod anyway.
‘Good, well I’ll see you around … Mackenzie, isn’t it?’
‘Ah, yeah.’ I snap my teeth together so it isn’t blatantly obvious that I’m shocked as all hell that he even knows my name. He nods at me and the boy, giving us a grin that flashes all of his pearly whites and a deep set dimple in his cheek. If there is a God, he was damn well smiling the day he made Tyler Redding.
‘Later,’ he yells, setting off at a jog down the hallway.
‘Yeah, later,’ I whisper, before turning my attention to the would-be bullied boy.
‘Thanks. I appreciate you stepping in for me.’
‘No problem, you’re new aren’t you? I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘Just started today. Name’s Levi Tuppers.’ He offers me his hand in greeting and I shake it tentatively. Making friends was definitely not on my list of things to do today.
‘Well Levi. We’d best get to class before we attract attention from the teachers as well. Who have you got for first period?’ Levi takes out a printed sheet from his bag and consults it.
‘
Mr Politzer, for English.’
‘Come on,’ I sigh, ‘I’ll show you the way, looks like we’ve got the same teacher.’ Levi pockets his class printout and smiles gratefully at me.