Well I am definitely intrigued! I just love the use of color and using the seven deadly sins...brilliant. Now, how about an excerpt from the book?
I
heard a snap and the light cracked on, piercing through my closed lids. My head
pounded and I groaned then rolled over, pulling my cover over my head to drown
out the source of my pain.
“Get
up,” a deep voice commanded. “Get up,” he continued, kicking my shoe.
“Dad,”
I rasped. “I’m hungover and feel like shit.”
He
was silent for a moment so I pulled the cover down just enough to see his face.
He was not amused.
“Ethan,
watch your language, get your butt up, and find a job.” I didn’t answer him. I
had nothing to say that would please him. “And while you’re at it, stop this
ridiculous drinkin’, son.”
I
sat up, ran my hands through my long black hair and wrapped the length around
my fist. I sat back against the wall, reveling in how cool it was, and tried
not to vomit.
“Did
you see them today?” I asked him, unable to help myself.
My
dad removed his hat and leaned against the jamb, scrubbing his face with his
free hand. “You like to torture yourself,” he said, shaking his head then
sighing. “You remind me so much of your mama.”
The
mere mention of my mother sent me spiraling down once more in depression. We’d
lost her a few years before and I was still in agony. That, coupled with the
fact that Spencer Blackwell stole my girl right out from underneath my nose, was
enough for me to drink to excess every night. I hate him.
“Are
they,” I swallowed, afraid of his answer, “are they together now?”
My
father sighed again. “Ethan, get dressed.”
“Are
they?” I asked again, letting my hand drop to my side. My hair slid with it and
cascaded down my back.
“You
are a stubborn boy. Yes, okay? Yes, they’re together. All the more reason to
move on, son.”
My
body suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and I felt my head reeling. So it was
true then. They were together and they would probably get married and I was
going to have to sit there in that godforsaken small town and watch it all
happen. I was going to get a front row seat to my own misery.
I
nodded once, rested my hands on my knees for a brief moment, then ran past my
dad, shouldering him as I did so and nearly knocking him over before making it
to the small bathroom across the hall and retching everything in my stomach
into the toilet.
My
dad stood in the bathroom doorway shaking his head in disappointment. When I
was done, I fell back into the wall. That look shamed me to my core. Any time
my dad felt let down, I felt the weight of my disgrace so heavy the only thing
I could think to dull the ache was to drink myself into a stupor. It was a
vicious cycle.
I
let my hair cascade over my face. I heard the old wood floor creak beneath his
feet as he left without another word and jumped when the front door slammed. My
eyes closed as my head pounded.
The
claw foot tub sat to my left so I leaned up and turned on the water, slowly
removing my clothing one piece at time. Each movement felt like a hammer
slamming into my head.
“God,”
I groaned. “I am an idiot.”
I
stood then stepped underneath the warm water and just stood in silence, letting
the water absorb into my hair and seep into my skin. I breathed in the steam
deeply. I was miserable. Not just physically but my heart was the heaviest it’d
felt since my mom passed and I had no one to blame but Spencer Blackwell for
that.
The
asshole who rode into my life under the guise of helping his sister only to
yank what I thought was a stable foundation right out from underneath me. He
stole from me, a bona fide thief, and I wanted to make him pay. No, I needed to
make him pay.
But how?
I
finished showering and threw a towel around my waist, stepping from the tub and
toppling onto my bed when I reached my room and fell to sleep, not even
bothering to dress myself. I fell quickly, fantasizing about my revenge.
I
must have slept for hours because when I woke, it was pitch black outside. I
rolled onto my side and checked my alarm clock. Eleven o’clock. Perfect
timing, I thought.
I
sat up and tucked my towel around my waist a little tighter, stood and went
straight for my dresser. I grabbed a pair of boxers and socks and put those on
before heading for my closet and tossing an old, worn pair of jeans on, a
thermal and an old tee. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my wallet and keys, threw
on my boots and headed toward my piece of shit truck.
I
knew exactly where I was going because it was where I planned on going every
night until I forgot about Caroline Hunt.
My
truck started but barely and I tore out of our driveway not bothering with my
seatbelt, kicking up dust and rocks as my tires spun against the loose gravel.
I’d replaced my stereo because I couldn’t stand radio, at least not Kalispell
radio, and plugged my phone into the audio cable. Bastille’s Dreams remake
blasted and I turned it up, letting the painful lyrics wash over me, fueling my
desire to get plastered as quickly as possible.
I
entertained myself with thoughts of strangling Spencer Blackwell with both
hands then beating the crap out of him with my fists. Bastard. I
pulled into the local pub and put my piece into park before tucking my left
foot into the emergency brake.
I
disconnected my phone and the stereo went silent, reminding me of how alone I
really was. I turned the engine off and absolute silence surrounded me. I
couldn’t take it. My door creaked with age as it swung open and I slammed it
shut, unable not to. The fury raging in my blood was more than I could contain.
Before
heading inside, my hand went to the empty space between the cab and the bed and
searched for the bottle of whiskey I always had wedged in between. I took a
large swig, not wanting to spend too much of my savings on the liquor inside
the crap establishment. After all, I was going to need it. Revenge was a costly
business.
I
took one more swig for good measure and wedged it back in its usual place then
wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve. My hair swung heavy in my eyes. It was
still a little wet from my shower and I thought about tying it back with the
extra leather tie I usually kept in my glove compartment but thought better of
it. It helped me hide and I wanted to hide.
I
looked around me. The lot was full but I only recognized a few cars this time
which was good because I had no intention of making conversation. Regardless,
most of Kalispell had stopped trying because I’d rarely done any responding
since Cricket cut out my fucking heart and ate it raw. The hair was only
insurance.
I
took two deep draws of air, gulping it down, desperate for it to soothe me but,
of course, it didn’t. I let each escape my lips in shaky breaths and clenched
my fists over and over before deciding to head inside.
My
boots crunched the gravel beneath my feet as I headed toward the door. When I
entered, I ducked my head toward the floor and let my hair cover me, not that
it did any good other than to conceal me. I could still feel the heat of their
stares, though, still feel the pity in their gazes. I wanted so badly to yell
at them to fuck off but I kept as much composure as possible. I couldn’t get
kicked out of the only real bar in Kalispell.
I
picked a stool at the end of the bar, the same stool I always did in the corner
and in the back because it was dark. I sat and met Vi’s eyes. She sauntered
over to me, placing her elbows on the bar top, giving me a clear view of her
generous chest. I held back my eye roll.
“Hello,
darlin’,” she drawled. “You look like shit.”
“The
usual, Vi,” I told her as quietly as I could.
“How
‘bout a kiss then first?” she asked, leaning in a bit more.
“Christ,
Vi, how many times? Huh? Just get me the gosh damn drink.”
She
laughed. “Already worked up then, I see. I like it,” she said, winking.
Vi,
or Violet, was thirty-nine years old, had lived in Kalispell her entire life,
and had worked as a bartender for over fifteen years. I could tell at one time
Vi had been a beautiful woman but I could also tell she had heard many hollow
promises from equally hollow men and that she obviously believed them all.
Otherwise, why would she still be there? I watched her tired eyes and her
slightly too-forced smile. She had the look of someone who used to be chased
but had graduated to the chaser. She looked miserable.
She
left and returned with an empty glass and a bottle of Jack. She set the glass
on the bar and filled it to the brim. She was being generous. She was always
this way. She told me once she hoped I would drink it all away and decide to
take her up on her offer. I told her that would be a cold day in hell, to which
she only laughed.
“Drink
up, buttercup,” she said, smiling lasciviously.
“I
will,” I told the bar top.
I
watched the world around me through the breaks in the hanging strands and six
glasses later, I was starting to finally feel numb. I lifted my head a little
feeling slightly relieved, feeling like I could breathe a little deeper now
that the ache wasn’t so severe. I continued to search the crowd, not knowing
who I was really looking for.
A
quiet but persistent nagging awareness took residence in my chest for some
unknown reason as I watched a girl dance on her own in the middle of the dance
floor. Others around her paid no attention to her but she was the first person
my eyes were drawn to. I studied her.
Her
hair was tucked into a blue scarf, little tendrils peeking through and grazing
across her neck whenever she moved. She was extraordinarily tall and her hips
and rear end were more indulgent than I’d ever considered before. She turned
slightly, giving me her silhouette. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were
full. She was beautiful, I could tell, even if I couldn’t see her fully through
the low lights.
“Jeez,”
I said, swiping a hand down my face. “I’ve had too much.”
But
I still couldn’t stop watching her. She wore worn jean cut offs, a fitted
button up with the sleeves rolled up her forearms and ankle boots. She rolled
her shoulders playfully, enticing someone she knew just off the dance floor.
Another girl joined her side and they did the robot. She threw her head back
and laughed.
This
shocked me almost sober. “That laugh,” I whispered to myself. “That laugh,” I
repeated. I knew it but couldn’t quite place it.
She
took her friend’s hand and twirled her around the floor vivaciously. She was so
full of life. So my exact opposite.
She
lightheartedly skipped in place and raised an arm in salute to her friend
before turning toward me.
That’s
when I got a good, clear look at her. I gasped out loud and placed my hand on
the back of my head, my elbow on the bartop, ducking my head down lower to hide
myself further.
Please, please, please do not recognize me, I thought, still watching her from the
corner of my eye.
She
stood two seats down from me. “Vi!” she said, laughing a little. “Vi!”
Vi
turned toward her. “Hey, baby! What’ll it be?”
“Can
I have a water, please?” she asked, sitting down and releasing a breath of
exhaustion. She continued to smile, though, and it ate a little at my gut.
“Of
course,” Vi answered and started to pour water into a clear plastic cup. Vi’s
eyes pinched a little. “Hey?” she said.
“Yeah?”
she asked.
“How
come I never see you drink anything harder?”
Her
face fell a little but picked right back up. No one would have noticed it but
me. “I’ve never had good luck with alcohol,” she admitted a bit sadly.
Vi
was quick enough to recognize something there that didn’t want to be said and
let it go with a nod, handing over the water without another word.
“Vi!”
someone else called out and she walked their direction.
She
took a long drink from her water and set it down, turning toward the crowd and
surveying the dancers. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, some
private joke she shared with herself.
I
looked on her for a long time. Long enough for my heart to calm itself. Long
enough to struggle with myself in an internal argument. Finally, I decided that
I wasn’t watching her because I found her attractive, though I knew she was.
Only that I was wondering what she was doing there.
She
turned around in her seat after catching her breath and glanced at me. For a
moment, I believed she didn’t recognize me but I was wrong. A second scan
confirmed it for her. She leaned in and narrowed her eyes. Shit.
“Ethan?”
she asked. “Is that you?”
“Hello,
Finley,” I answered.
Book Blurb:
If you’re looking for a
story about a good, humble girl, who’s been hurt by someone she thought
she could trust, only to find out she’s not as vulnerable as she
thought she was and discovers an empowering side of herself that falls
in love with the guy who helps her find that self, blah, blah,
blah...then you’re gonna’ hate my story.
Because mine is not the
story you read every time you bend back the cover of the latest trend
novel. It’s not the “I can do anything, now that I’ve found you/I’m
misunderstood but one day you’ll find me irresistible because of it”
tale. Why? Because, if I was being honest with you, I’m a complete
witch. There’s nothing redeeming about me. I’m a friend using, drug
abusing, sex addict from Los Angeles. I’m every girlfriend’s worst
nightmare and every boy’s fantasy.
I’m Sophie Price...And this is
the story about how I went from the world’s most envied girl to the
girl no one wanted around and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in
the world.
