Levitate
Copyright © 2015 Kaylee Ryan
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.
The following story contains sexual situations and strong language. It is intended for adult readers.
Cover Design: Sommer Stein Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Photography
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Formatting: Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
Kensington 1
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Acknowledgments
MY EYES ARE fixed on the red digits that light up my room from the bedside table. I watch as the numbers slowly climb and grow closer to the midnight hour. Tomorrow is a day I wish I could sleep through. I wish I could erase it from my mind. No, actually that’s not true. I wish she were still here. I wish I didn’t have to live through this day without her. In just twelve short minutes, it will officially be my mother’s birthday and she’s not here to celebrate it.
I fight off the memories of why that is. The pain slices through me. Hot tears race down my cheeks and I make absolutely no effort to wipe them away. There is no use. The next twenty-four hours is going to be a struggle. This will be the fourth birthday Dad and I have celebrated her life without her. They say it gets easier and the pain eases. They, whoever they are, are full of shit. The pain is there, front and center in my chest. I can feel it pound like thunder. This is the same pain I felt that night, the night we lost her. It does, however, get easier to hide. I have become a pro at hiding how her death and that night still affect me.
I hear my roommate and best friend, Nicole, pacing outside my bedroom door. She knows tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. Freshman year, I was a total basket case. I wasn’t ready to talk about that night, but I had to give her something. I told her about my mother dying, but I didn’t want to talk about the details. Nic is amazing and has never pushed me for specifics. She always just lets me know she’s there for me. There is no way I could have survived college without her. I know it bothers her that I haven’t opened up and given her the details. Honestly, it’s not that I don’t want her to know, but that I don’t want to think about it or talk about it more than I have to. I don’t want to explain the terror of that night, the terror that still haunts me. We’ve been inseparable for the past four years and I haven’t told her what happened. My chest aches with guilt that I’m keeping it from her. I just don’t talk about it to anyone, ever. Dad and I don’t even discuss it. We talk about her and how much we miss her, how much she would have enjoyed this or that. Never do we talk about that night. Neither one of us want to bring the pain that close to the surface. I know this day, her birthday, affects him just as much as it does me, but we still don’t discuss it.
Nic has an idea in her head; she knows that whatever happened to cause my mother’s death haunts me. I’m a twenty-two-year-old college senior and I don’t date. It’s hard for me to trust men and I can’t seem to find myself caring enough to put forth the effort. Tragedy does that to you. Makes you change the course of your life, your actions, and responses to normal every day activities.
Deep down, I realize my fear of dating and trust issues are irrational at best. I understand not all relationships turn out the way mine did. I also know that to me, it’s just not worth the risk. I get that my ex, Justin, is not to blame for what happened, but he was supposed to be there. I can’t help but think that if he would have been there, like he was supposed to, if I hadn’t been alone… I roll over onto my side and watch as the red numbers turn again.
Two more minutes.
I try to blink back the tears hot behind my eyes. As the second round falls, there’s a light knock on my door. She doesn’t wait for an invitation as she quietly pushes open the door. A gentle glow of light flows into the room. I bury my head in my body pillow, trying to burrow deeper. The bed dips behind me as Nicole climbs in and hugs me tightly.
“I’m here, Kens. You are not alone. I’m here.” Her soft voice filters through the room. Her words break me open even further and the warm flow of tears turns into a waterfall of emotion I usually keep locked away. This has been the norm for us. She is always there offering support. I often tell her she is getting the short end of the stick with this friendship. She just laughs and says friendships are not about quantity but quality. She assures me I give as much as I take. Although it may be true, I still feel bad for the drama I bring.
We lay there with nothing but the sound of my sobs for company. She never eases her hold, and I thank God every day that she was assigned as my roommate. Nicole Martin has brought me back from the dark side more times than I can count. She is my family. I will forever be by her side for anything she needs. Maybe that’s why when she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” just as she does every time, I find myself wanting to finally tell her everything about my past.
“It’s okay, Kens. I don’t expect it, but I’m here for you,” she whispers into the night. “It might help to talk about it.”
I can’t talk about the details. I won’t. I do feel like I need to tell her something; she deserves that. It’s been four years of her picking me up and dealing with my emotional mood swings. I take a deep breath and spit out the words that I have avoided saying since the day we met. How I have lasted this long, I’m really not sure.
“My…” My voice cracks, so I stop to regroup. Nic doesn’t say anything; she just lies next to me patiently waiting for what I’m about to say. “My mom was murdered. She was protecting me and he killed her.” I barely get it out before I’m bursting into sobs for the third time tonight. This is going to be the norm for me over the next twenty-four hours. After that, I will wear my perfectly practiced mask into place and take each day at a time.