Breaking Free
Authors: S.M. Koz
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Teen & Young Adult, #Contemporary Fiction
Breaking Free
By SM Koz
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 SM Koz; All rights reserved.
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 written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
To anyone who has ever cut.
May you find strength in Mal’s story.
Chapter 6: July 19 (Day Two Continued)
Chapter 7: July 20 (Day Three)
Chapter 16: July 28 (Day 10 Continued)
Chapter 21: August 1 (Day 14 Continued)
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I’d like to thank Becca who had the courage to share her story with me in order to bring life to a fictional character, shaping her reality and making her speak not only to me, bu
t hopefully a world of readers.
I also owe a huge thanks to Rachel for her editing expertise (bring on the red ink!) and my beta readers. Here’s a heartfelt shout-out
to Jenn, Barbie, Tracey, Tiffany, Andrea, Emily, Lynn, Georgia, Amanda, and the Authonomites Trularin, Pippa, Roger, and Joe for their willingness to read a work in progress and provide invaluable feedback. A special thanks also goes to Christina from Christina’s Book Blog for her assistance with translations, Tiffany from Tiffany’s Book Hangover and Jenn from Swooning Over Books for all their help and marketing expertise, and my street team (especially Tracey, Joelle, Rebecca, Jess, Nicole, and Kolette). Thanks for taking a chance on a new author!
Lastly, I can’t forget Sara and
my family. Without their continued encouragement and support, I’d never be able to do this. Sara also gets props for naming the main character in
Breaking Free
. From the moment she mentioned Kelsie, I knew it was perfect.
Chapter 1
: August 24
“
Tell me what happened
,” the shrink says, removing his wireframe glasses and placing them on the notepad on his lap. This is my third visit. He always comes back to this.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
It’s the same answer I’ve given him every time. I lean back in my chair and stare at the clock hanging on the wall, urging the second hand to move faster.
“Take me back to that night.”
Intent on ignoring him, I close my eyes, but what I see takes my breath away. It’s the crimson halo. My eyes snap open and my heart beats wildly in my chest. I haven’t seen that in over a month.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. Then take a deep breath. I need to control my thoughts. I can’t start seeing that again.
“Did you take your meds this morning?”
I hate the meds. They threaten to make me forget what I’ve done. Who I’ve hurt. What I’ve lost. But the alternative is a deep, dark abyss I may never escape from. What I didn’t realize is I’m one missed dose away from that. I only skipped my morning meds and I’m already seeing her again. Not wanting to tell the shrink any of this, I shrug my shoulders in response to his question and focus on the coffee stain on his polka-dotted tie. Then I start counting the polka-dots. Anything to take my mind off the crimson halo.
“You need to take those. They’ll help.” When I don’t say anything, he continues,
“Would you like to talk about the Wilderness Therapy retreat?”
Fifteen
polka-dots, sixteen polka-dots, seventeen polka-dots.
“How did you feel about going on the retreat?”
Twenty polka-dots, twenty-one polka dots. That’s it. No more dots to count. “Fantastic,” I reply.
“
Why is that?”
I move my eyes from his tie to his
face, which is now etched with deep lines at the corners of his mouth. I give him a smirk as I answer, “I’ve always wanted to learn how to live in the wild. Off the land. Just me and nature.”
“Kelsie, you need to be honest with me.”
“I’d be great as one of those people who live off the grid. No phone. No electricity. I could move to Alaska and hunt moose. Melt snow for water.”
Picking up his glasses, he rests an ear piece in his mouth.
Since he doesn’t say anything, I continue, “Maybe raise big fluffy dogs that can pull me around on a sled. Or build snow shoes out of trees that I trade to other off-gridders for luxuries like soap.”
He sets his glasses in place and
scribbles something on his notepad before saying, “Are you finished?”
“
Finished what?”
“Do you want to get better, Kelsie?”
I stare at him. He stares back. I must be getting under his skin because he’s never done this before. He usually just keeps asking me questions to try and get me to talk about myself. We sit like that for at least a minute, neither of us saying anything. He blinks first and I smile. Minor victory for Kelsie.
“You’ve ha
d a lot happen to you over the past few months. Things that are difficult for anyone to handle. It’s not uncommon for teens to turn to coping methods. The problem is it won’t work long-term. The rebound emotions are only going to worsen. I can help you learn how to deal with those emotions in a healthy way, but you have to open up to me. It will never work if you don’t trust me.”
Like I would trust him. What has he ever done to
earn that? What has anyone in my life ever done to earn that? Except Jenna and JC. But they’re gone and I’m on my own now.
He
sighs. “We’ll meet again in three days.”
“Can’
t wait.”
As soon as I open the door, Marta, the new nanny
, says, “All done, Señorita Kelsie?”
Yes, I’m a seventeen
-year old with a nanny. After everything that happened, Sheila, my stepmom, decided I couldn’t be left alone and she couldn’t be bothered to watch me. Not even for a moment. Then there’s my dad. Being a hot shot movie producer, he couldn’t disrupt his work schedule. I’m lucky if he’s home a couple days a month. I can’t even remember the last time I ate dinner with him.
I nod to Marta and stalk towards the parking garage with her at my heels. When I
open the car door, there’s an envelope on my seat.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for you. It came in the mail today.”
“
Who’s it from?” I ask, hoisting myself into the Subaru.
“
W. McCoy.”
I
pick up the package and lay it on my lap while I buckle the seat belt. “I don’t know anyone named McCoy.”
“From Durham, North Carolina?” Marta
asks, backing out of the parking spot.
“Durham?” I
turn the package over and study the return address. She’s right. It’s from W. McCoy of Durham. My hands tremble. It takes me only moments to rip open the envelope. Inside, I find the generic notebook you could buy in any office supply store. I flip it over and study the dirty cover. I have an identical notebook in my room, but it looks pristine, which makes sense because I never used it for its intended purpose. The person this belonged to must have, though.
Taped to the cover is a yellow post-it note. “
I think my son would want you to have this. Wanda McCoy
.”
hannon Kozlowicz ( KOZ Pinehurst, NC 28374
ve you. who sturggle ons), but the only one she'st flaws is I'zations, somehting s
In less than a second, tears well up and spill over my eyelids.
It’s the first time I’ve cried since I started the meds. That must be another side effect of missing a dose.
“Oh, no, Se
ñorita Kelsie. I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would upset you,” Marta says, patting my leg with her hand as she turns into traffic. No doubt Sheila gave her strict instructions that an emotional Kelsie is a bad thing.
I shake my head.
“I’m fine. It’s just … unexpected.”
As much as I want to tear into his journal, I can’t do it in the car.
I have no idea how I’ll react to what it contains. No one can see that.
I tap my foot and drum my fingers the entire ten-minute trip back to
my house. Before she even has the car in park, my seatbelt is off and my door is open.
“Slow down, Se
ñorita Kelsie,” Marta says, fumbling with the keys and trying to keep up with me.
After punching in the entry code, I throw open the door and rush down the hallway to my room.
“No, no, no …” Marta yells, shaking her head. “I can’t let you be alone.”
“I’m fine.” I
turn into my bedroom and try shutting the door, but her foot stops it.
“Se
ñora Sheila will fire me. I need this job.”
I pause. I don’t want Marta to lose her job, but I’m also not interested in her w
atching me read his journal. There’s a good chance the tears I’ve already shed are only the tip of the iceberg.
“You rea
d in the living room. I’ll stay in the kitchen.”
Because I’m so eager to read his words,
I nod and rush to the couch. I miss him. Although this can never replace hearing his voice, it could fill a void that’s been present for the past two weeks, just on the fringes of my consciousness. I know the feeling and if it weren’t for the cocktail of drugs my shrink has me on, I’d be back in that abyss.
As promised, Marta retreats to the kitchen. She’s pretending to be preoccupied with
a crossword puzzle, but her eyes are on me. She’s waiting for me to break down so she can call Sheila or my shrink. As much as it pains me to admit it, she may have that opportunity if the journal takes me back to that last day.
Peeling the cover from the first page, I see his name and the date
our Wilderness Therapy program started: July 18. On the next page is his first entry.
Day 1: I made it through the first day. Actually, that makes it seem worse than it really is. All we did today was hike in the woods, have dinner, and talk around a campfire. If I had better company, this could actually be fun. Unfortunately, it seems as though everyone else was sent here to work through some serious issues. The worst may be Malibu Barbie. I predict she’ll be gone by the end of the week.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.
“
You okay?” Marta asks.
I ignore her and continue
reading.
That’s unfortunate because she’s hot. If I had met her at home under different circumstances, I’d definitely ask her out.
“I bet you would, Casanova,” I murmur wistfully.
“
Señorita Kelsie?” Marta asks, stepping around the island, still holding her untouched crossword puzzle.
I continue to ignore her
. I can’t believe he called me Malibu Barbie and thought I was so weak I’d be the first one kicked out, but then said I was hot in the very next sentence.
“Are you upset?”
I shake my head so she doesn’t hover over me as I think about his words. There was a reason I was slow the first day. Had I known we’d have to hike ten miles, I never would’ve packed so much stuff.
And then
, without even a second thought, my mind draws up the memories of our first day, while Marta watches me from the other room with concern.