Reluctance (The Exchange #2)
Read Reluctance (The Exchange #2) Online
Authors: M. B. Feeney
Copyright © 2015 M.B. Feeney
All rights reserved.
COVER DESIGN BY: © J.C. CLARKE
COVER ART: © The Graphics Shed
Copyright ©
M.B. Feeney
2015
Published by
M.B. Feeney
The right of
M.B. Feeney
to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
License Notes: This novel is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This print may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Acknowledgments
Tammy. Thank you for being the star that you always are. I wouldn’t get half of what I get done without you. You’re the best cheerleader an author could ever ask for. Lucy and Vikki, thank you so much for being amazing pre readers and catching my silly mistakes. I’m just glad you didn’t tell me that Aiden’s story sucked.
To everyone who has supported me in the last twelve months (and longer), thank you doesn’t seem to be enough. It’s because of my words I have your support, yet I can’t seem to find the words to express enough gratitude.
To anyone who has bought this book. It may be short, and it may be fluffy, I just hope you enjoy it and maybe relate to it a little.
Dedication
I never planned to write a series, but people asked for more. This is for them.
Also, this is dedicated to YOU, yeah, you. The one reading this right now.
Table of Contents
Dear Mr. King,
As discussed during our meeting this afternoon, I have put in writing our agreed schedule of meetings.
We shall meet every Wednesday, during your Sociology period. Mr. Greene has agreed to provide me with handouts each week so you are still able to keep up with this class. The last thing anyone wants is for your grades to suffer; I understand how important getting into a good college is to you.
The journal I gave you is going to be our main discussion point during our meetings, so you will need to start writing your entries straight away. Don’t worry about the chronology of events, just get them written down. Please be as honest as possible with your entries. If you can’t tell yourself the truth, then it will be even harder for myself and anyone else to believe you, and in turn, help you.
Each week, we shall read one or two of these entries, depending on their length, to help you assess your anger and depression levels behind each. As I said when we were face to face, I don’t want you to over think when writing the entries, just get the words down. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense, we can work on that.
Tentatively, our meetings are to continue for six weeks. I realize this means there will be a fortnight’s gap during the Christmas break, but sadly, to ensure you get the guidance needed, it is imperative we start straight away.
I understand the issues you have with your brother go beyond simple ‘sibling rivalry’ and I also appreciate that you feel you need to keep it close to your chest. I do, however, hope that in time, you will learn to trust me and realize that I’m here to help rather than to be a ‘pain in the ass’, as many students see me.
Please, Mr. King, co-operate with me during these meetings and in writing your journal entries. The sooner you work through the issues that you have, the sooner you will be able to continue on in your studies and achieve the goals you hold in such high esteem for college and your adult life.
Just to make you aware, a copy of this letter has been sent to both the principal and your parents.
Yours sincerely
Ms. M Jones, Guidance Counsellor
—∫∫∫∫—
December 2011
So, Ms. “It’s
MIZZ
not MISS” Jones gave me this journal. Apparently writing my feelings down will help me deal with my ‘anger issues’ and the ‘depression’ I’ve been suffering since Jessie ended things between us.
I admit, I am angry, and have been for two months, but I’m not depressed. Yeah, I was hurt and shit, but now I’m just angry. All the time; an emotion I’m not used to feeling so much. Up until now, I’ve never done the ‘angry’ stuff; never even knew I had a temper as such.
She’s ‘advised’ me to start at the beginning as much as I can with these dumb entries. I don’t want to do it, but as we have to read them together at our weekly meetings, I have no choice. At least one entry a day. . . This whole thing sucks ass.
There’s no point starting at the very beginning, though; back then everything was good; real good. No, I think my seventeenth birthday is where I need to start this thing. . .
Aiden
December 2011
I’ve been sat staring at this stupid book for almost an hour. It’s like it’s taunting me from my desk, waiting for me to ‘open up’ and all that shit.
When
Mizz
. Jones gave it to me, I nearly threw it back at her. I don’t need to share my feelings. I know how I feel and that’s enough for me. No one else needs to know. Why can’t these kinda things stay private?
So what if I attacked my dick of a brother on school grounds? I would have run him over if I’d been in my car. The douche got what he deserved, and I would have given him more if the principal hadn’t pulled me off.
No one needs to know why; I doubt they’d believe me over Mr. Perfection, anyway. Why would ‘Big Man on Campus’, Tyler do wrong enough to deserve a beating? I just wish I managed to break his jaw rather than dislocate it.
Fuck this. I’m done with this stupid journal.
Aiden
—∫∫∫∫—
December 2011
Apparently my anger is an ‘issue’ that needs dealing with. I went into school yesterday and told
Mizz
. Jones that I wasn’t writing the dumb entries. She tried to reason with me, and I ended up yelling at her. Dad was called into school and when he got back home, gave me a lecture about doing what
Mizz
. Jones tells me or I lose all privileges at home. So, I have to write something. . .
So, my seventeenth birthday.
Taking Jessie out with the money Mom and Dad gave me for my birthday in October was going to be something special. I’d told her to dress up nicely, and Dad even lent me one of his suits. Knowing she preferred it, I ditched my glasses and put in the contacts that irritated my eyes. I wanted it to be perfect; for her, not for me.
Eight months dating a cheerleader was something I’d never expected to happen to me. Ty was the one all the girls flocked to; especially the hot ones, but for some reason, Jessie Evans chose me, and stayed.
For the first couple of weeks, I kept waiting for the laughing to start, to be told it was all a joke or a bet, but it never happened. No, things between us only ever got better and better; stronger and stronger. We were in love, and I didn’t care about the stares we still got at school or the whispers about a cheerleader dating a nerd.
The month before, as an early birthday present, she took me to her parent’s beach house for the weekend. It was just us, and we made the most of it. Having been each other’s firsts, we were still in that ‘raging hormones’ stage and at any chance we could, we’d get down and dirty – her words, not mine.
I was on a total high for at least a week after we got back. It may have been cold, but the beach house had been amazing. We spent most of the weekend either in bed or in the hot tub. That was an experience, one we repeated again and again. Bubbles certainly add a certain. . . Intensity. Especially, when skin is already flushed from arousal. It was pretty much the perfect weekend.
We were happy.
So I thought.
I. . . I can’t do this. I just. . .
Mizz
. Jones can bite me. Dad can withdraw as many privileges as he wants. They can’t make me write this stuff down. I’ll go to the meetings, but this shit is personal.
Aiden
—∫∫∫∫—
December 2011
So it seems that my feelings about this entire crappy situation need to be addressed in this little brown book rather than discussed verbally. I think that the whole thing’s a crock of shit, but if I don’t along with it, it could damage my chances of getting into a good college.
Mizz
. Jones has to write a report which will go in my file. She can’t discuss details unless I give her my permission – yeah, right, but it will divulge if I’m ‘unwilling to work through my problems’.
It’s frustrating. No matter how much I shout at her in the hopes she’ll yell back; give me a reason to walk away, she’s never once raised her voice. It’s frustrating as hell.
All I’ve ever wanted to do is go to a damn good college to study world history and get out of this place. Mom and Dad worked hard to save up enough of a decent college fund just in case there was no possibility of a full ride. There is no way in hell I’m going to jeopardize that.
So, Jessie. My seventeenth birthday was the day she broke my heart.
I just read that line back and realize it reads so much more dramatically than I planned it to.
As I mentioned before, that was going to be the night I made it clear how I felt. I’d told her I loved her before then, but I don’t think she’d ever really believed me. I’d even bought one of those eternity rings to give to her. A promise for the future, as it were.
As far as I knew, I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. It was all I wanted from our relationship, and had done for the last couple of months.
“Aiden, I have something to tell you.” Is it weird that I can still quote her? “This. . . This thing between us. It needs to end.” I remember staring at her, my hand in my pocket holding the ring box in a tight grip.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” Yeah, she went there; too many lame assed romance books had rubbed off on her. I told her to cut the bullshit and tell me the truth. “I’ve met someone else.”
Words I’d expected to hear from the beginning; to be told she’d made a mistake choosing me. I didn’t want to know, but I asked who it was anyway.
“Your brother.” It was then I passed out. According to a friend who had been working as a bus boy in the restaurant, I just keeled over to one side and fell out of my seat. Jessie was just sat there watching, crying. He said it spoke volumes that she didn’t help me.
Aiden