This is the first chapter of Because of Beckett (the second book in the Torey Hope series.) This book is on all platforms for just 99¢ (Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, ARe, Nook.) Find Because of Beckett on Amazon– getbook.at/BeckettAmzn
“Jeremiah, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be around him and have people stare at him all the time. Half of them look at him like he’s less than human and half of them look at me with speculative eyes, trying to figure out if any of his problems are my fault.” She looked at him with pleading eyes, begging him not to stop her.
He couldn’t say that he was surprised, it’s not like their relationship had been all that serious. But, instinctively, he knew he had to protect Beckett from her.
“Fine. Go. But, if you leave, don’t ever come back to us.” Jeremiah said this with conviction. He said it, possibly, with a sliver of hope that she would choose to stay with him. But, he said it with finality. If she left, she would never be welcomed back.
She walked away, right then, that day, never turning back. He didn’t dwell, his heart didn’t hurt, he picked Beckett up and their lives went right on as if nothing had happened.
At my lowest point, my sister walked in while I was on my hands and knees, in my kitchen, being fucked up the ass by a man from whom I had “purchased” drugs. I traded sex for the pills. Pills I used to drug my sister and her boyfriend. So she would walk in and see him fucking me.
Yeah, I guess you could say I had hit the proverbial rock bottom.
My name is Audrey Decker. I’m a bully…a mean girl…a bitch.
I’ve been vanquished to intense in-patient therapy for a month. In the beginning, I was pissed at everyone who had a hand in putting me here. I hated the staff here at the inpatient center. I refused to talk. But, my new therapist kept at me and eventually broke me down. He promised that he’d stop bugging me if I just gave in to talking to him. So I agreed, just to shut his ass up.
I hope you know how much I hate you right now. Nothing I’ve ever done to you even comes close to comparing to what you’ve done to me. You blackmailed me with taking my business away if I didn’t do this stupid and degrading therapy. I don’t need therapy. Just because you’re jealous of me doesn’t mean I need therapy. I had hoped we could be friends as well as sisters, but now I don’t think we can even be sisters.
No love here,
Every day, multiple times a day, my therapist, Dr. Xander, made me dig bone and soul deep to help me figure out the WHY of me being a bully, a mean girl, a bitch. Why did I need the control? Why did I need the power? Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, we had found the answer to that question. But, the answer was something I had buried deep, hidden it so that it would never be found. It was ugly and it was disgusting. I spent hours in the shower after sessions trying to wash the filth from me. I was grateful for Dr. Xander being there to assist me to unearth these repressed memories and that he was able to help me sort through them and deal with them as I was able to unpack each of them.
We made our first breakthrough on a Monday. I had been at the center for about a week. My sessions had been informative up until that point, but nothing earth shattering. Dr. Xander had warned me that he would keep pushing and prodding until he made me reach deep inside. He told me that I was sharing frivolous stuff. Sure, I used sex for fun and power. Yep, I bullied my sister. No doubt I looked down on people with disabilities and those that weren’t as good or pretty as me. But, these were superficial. He wanted the root problem and he wouldn’t stop until he got to it. Dr. Xander was like a deep-earth driller; he never faltered he kept channeling through all of my shit until he hit pay dirt. Some days he was a bulldozer, some days he was content to just sift gently through the pieces that he was finding. The good, or bad, part was that he made me sift through the pieces as well, and I never liked the fragments I picked up.
My day started every morning at 7:00 am. Breakfast was served in my room. I was allowed to have two sets of lounge clothes from home to sleep in but I had to be showered and dressed in soft pants and a plain t-shirt or sweatshirt by 8:00 am. Luckily, my sister, Beth, had brought me the allowed clothing items along with a few toiletries that were considered permissible. I had never felt so vulnerable and ugly in my entire life; Audrey Decker doesn’t go through the day in lounge clothes and no make-up. Audrey Decker fixes her hair perfectly every day, applies just the right make-up to accentuate her impeccable features, and dresses to the nines to highlight a bombshell body. This new wardrobe that had been forced upon me was another reason I was beyond pissed about being here.
I bet you laughed your ass off when you packed my clothes for me. In fact, I don’t think I even had any clothes in my wardrobe this ugly, so these hideous things must be yours. They look like something a plain Jane would wear. I still hate you.
Usually, we’d work together for 3-4 hours then break for 2 hours for lunch. After lunch, I had a two hour break where I could nap, watch a few of the approved videos the center had available, write letters to my family or friends, write in my journal, read or just relax. Then, Dr. Xander would reappear from wherever he would disappear to during lunch and my two hour break, and we’d start up again, sometimes working until 7:00-8:00 pm at night. It shouldn’t have been exhausting, just sitting and talking to the doctor, but it was utterly debilitating. I’d drag myself back to my room and be asleep before my head even hit my pillow. Most of the time I was so mentally and emotionally fatigued, I would sleep straight through until my alarm. I didn’t have nightmares until the day we hit the mother lode.
We’d been talking for about an hour. I felt like something was trying to sneak up on me. It was like I was walking and I’d hear or feel footsteps behind me, but when I’d turn around there’d be nothing. Like there was a nagging memory right there, but I was successfully dodging it. Dr. Xander realized what I was doing so he changed his questioning tactic. He asked me to tell him what had happened to me as an outsider. Instead of things happening to “me” or “I,” I was to speak in 3rd person and tell the story about “Audrey.” The change in pace and the difference in questioning threw me off just enough that I wasn’t able to sidestep the memory and it blindsided me.
While, in reality, I was still sitting on Dr. Xander’s soft brown leather couch, I might as well have been standing in the middle of the interstate as a Mack truck plowed me over. I was a bloody, pulpy mess and there was no way to stop the pain, the words just poured out.