The Death of Me

Copyright Page

Acknowledgments

The Death of Me

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen | (Tuesday)

Nineteen | (Wednesday)

Twenty | (Thursday)

Twenty One | (Friday Morning)

Twenty Two | (Friday Evening)

About the Author

T
o my PAs, Brittany Reece, Linda Cotter, Julia Clare, and Beth Sterry for letting me know it was okay to take my time with a story for once. You ladies push me every day to do my best and I appreciate you for it!

Alaska Angelini. There wouldn’t be a face to Zaydee if it wasn’t for you, and I can’t thank you enough for being on the cover for me. You’re an amazing person!

My beta team for having self control while I tortured you guys with bits and pieces. You know you still love me! Special thanks to Elaina Lucia for giving it that final once over!

Star and Skull Graphics for the amazing cover design; thank you!

N
ot everything in this world is as beautiful as it seems. The drop of dew sitting on the freshly cut morning grass, can hold a deadly bacteria invisible to the human eye. The stray cat that goes by my house every morning, with it's lovely gray and white stripes, is feral and full of disease. The warmth of the afternoon sun that shines so lovingly on the world, infiltrates the skin with cancerous cells building up, waiting for the moment to strike.

But like everyone else, I chose to ignore the danger hiding in every day things and continued on as if nothing were wrong. I always thought that nothing could hurt me because I was the flame, and as such, I couldn't be burned. Because I was a realist, I was waiting for the theoretical bucket of ice cold water to be thrown over my head. I was waiting for the exact moment where I would be able to pinpoint every heartbreak, every sorrow I had experienced come crashing down on me all at once.

I was sitting on a swing in the park, eyes closed, a few blocks away from my  house. It was one of my favorite things to do because it gave me a chance to think. I never had one thought in particular that I wanted to nail down, just a bunch of random things that would go through my head, and this was my place to let them flow freely. It was also my place to be alone because most people seemed to stay away from this place, but just as I was slipping into my thought zone, I heard the sound of children laughing and the pounding of racing footsteps.

I opened my eyes and looked at the slide curiously. There was a little girl with curly blonde hair climbing the ladder, two older boys following closely behind her. I smiled when she squealed happily as she went down the slide with her hands in the air. She couldn't have been more than five years old and her excitement at something so minimal was enough to warm even my cold heart.

It also took me back to a memory of when I was fourteen years old. I turned my face away from the children and used the tip of my foot against the dirt, causing the swing to move back. With a sigh, I looked over at what I assumed to be their father who was reading a newspaper at the lone wooden bench while the children played and thought of another beautifully imperfect thing in the world.

Scars. They should be something to tell a proud story of survival, but the one I had told a story of guilt, depression, and loss. And while the scar may have healed nicely, the feelings I had from it never did.

My tale of woe happened when I was fourteen years old. I had stupidly fallen in love with my thirty eight year old history teacher, Mr. Spears, and ended up getting pregnant. Since I refused to tell my parents who the father was, they made me give my child up for adoption. I never even got the chance to find out if it was a boy or a girl, to hold them, or to see if they looked like me or him. Once I had my cesarean the baby got whisked away and I was left crying in the hospital room alone.

It was on the third night in the hospital that I started to watch the light fade from the beauty in the world, and it was around that same time that I decided to harden myself toward any form of emotion ever again. I spent the next few years in my parents' home, going to school, trying to accept the fact that my history teacher had decided that I didn't exist to him anymore, and graduated a sad, broken teenager. Now at twenty eight years old, I was a full blown adult living on my own and keeping to myself.

Days were normally easy for me, functioning like I had never known heartache, because I always forced it away. But seeing children always made me sad. It always made me wonder if my child was loved and felt more wanted than I ever did. Praying that they wouldn't make the same mistakes I had and that they had a shot at a normal life. Hoping that maybe they thought about me as much as I would think about them at times.

None of it really mattered because they were away from me, so I knew that their chances of being a normal human being were exponentially better than if I had them. Still, I wouldn't go many days without thinking about them.

"Why are you thad?" a little voice lisped next to me.

I glanced to my left and smiled, blinking back tears I didn't even know had been forming. It was the little blonde girl, and she was looking at me curiously as she struggled to get into the swing next to me.

"Because it's the only way I know how to be," I responded with a shrug before I hopped off of my swing and left the little blonde girl on the swing staring after me, with the curiosity only a child could achieve.

T
hree days. That was how long I had spent in my home before I decided it was okay to go back out into the world again. Seeing those children in the park had saddened me so much, that I had spent the last seventy two hours holed up with the blinds closed, watching chick flicks, and crying into a bowl of ice cream.

I was feeling better today, definitely more like myself, and wanted to try this being an adult thing again. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going today, but once I had pulled on my short black denim shorts, loose hunter green t-shirt, and pulled my long, wavy black hair back into a ponytail, I wanted out. It was the first time I had actually gotten out of my pajamas in the past few days and I wanted some fresh air.

My black flip-flops slapped along the pavement as soon as I walked out of my house and down the driveway. I walked past my white Maserati Ghibli without a glance, and took to the sidewalk like a woman on a mission.

It was a beautiful spring day in Stuart, Florida, and I figured I would probably walk the couple of miles to the beach. I always liked it there because the water was so clean and the waves that lolled lazily against the shore were welcoming. A day in the cancerous sun with my feet in the golden sand would probably be enough for me to be happy for twenty four hours.

Stuart was small and private which is why I had relocated here. The population was about thirteen thousand, and the chances that I would run into someone from my past were slim to none. I thought it would be the perfect place for a fresh start, even after eight years.

None of the shadows looked like Mr. Spears, and my nightmares didn’t include my parents anymore, and I looked at that as an accomplishment; even if it took three years. 

I finally made it to the beach, and sat down in my usual spot a few feet away from the empty lifeguard post, as I looked out over the ocean. I liked this part of the beach the best because there was never anyone in the chair and since it looked like it would fall over at any moment, the other beach goers would stay far away from it.

I didn’t mind it. Hell, I was hoping that one day it
would
fall over and possibly take me out. It would be a small mercy to keep my demons away, and the best thing for anyone who knew me.

Part of the reason I ran so far away from home was because I didn’t want to damage anyone else. I decided to let myself drown in the darkness that had built up inside of me since my baby was taken from me; to let the sadness and pain consume me, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

Of course, I hadn’t exactly left on good terms. I sat them both down, and told them how much I hated them for abandoning me when I needed them the most. I told them that I wished they would die slow, painful deaths, and never think of me again. I sure as hell didn’t plan to think of them.

Their faces were a mixture of shock, hurt, and maybe even a dash of relief. It was something that I let the demons inside of me hold closely. I wanted them to drown in my sorrow and hatred for them, and that was the only way I knew how to make it happen.

To me, that was the only truly beautiful thing left in this filthy world. Knowing that on the inside I had killed them over and over, each death more horrible than the last.

But that was just a passing thought these days. I had been making progress and moving on from that moment, even if it would creep up on me when I acknowledged my scar. I liked to think that though I was as damaged as I was, maybe I did have hope.

I pushed the stray hair from my face that the breeze had shaken loose and sighed. I wouldn’t dwell on those thoughts right now. This was my calm moment before the proverbial storm that always hit, and I was going to enjoy it.

I pulled off my t-shirt, to lay it out behind me, and laid down on top of it, crossing my arms behind my head. I didn’t care that I was lying there in my bra and my scar was hidden because I was lucky enough to have the crescent shape hidden well; having been cut open above the pelvic bone. 

I took a deep breath and let it out, repeating the act three times until I felt myself go to my comfortable place. I never thought of it as a happy place, because I was certain I didn’t have one.

It took me almost no time to fall asleep. Something that would take some tossing and turning in my bed, was done easily enough on the sand with the ocean nearby. I always wanted to buy a sound machine, but always forgot.

It wasn’t long before I was startled awake. A beach ball had landed near me, spraying sand all over me and I sat up to see who the culprit was. A pair of teenage boys with sheepish looks on their faces ran over to me.

“Sorry! I told him not to hit it that hard,” the one with the bright red swim shorts said.

“It’s okay,” I replied with a smile. I retrieved the ball from the other side of me and handed it to him, waving as they ran off.

I started to lie back down, but a sudden, bad feeling in the pit of my stomach kept me from going back to the world of dreamless sleep. I sat up and looked around, wondering if it was maybe someone watching me. After the boys had disappeared from view, there was no one near me. Upon further inspection, I saw that there was barely anyone on the beach.

So why do I have such a bad feeling all of a sudden?

I got to my feet and grabbed my shirt, shaking loose any sand that had managed to stick to it it, before I pulled it over my head. I put my hands on my hips for a moment, and took one last sweeping look around the area until I was satisfied that I wasn’t being watched.

I ran back home with my flip flops in my hand trying to figure out what had suddenly shaken me so badly.

A
fter showered and dried my hair, I went into my bedroom and sat down at my desk. I adjusted my towel to keep it firmly wrapped around my body and flipped open my laptop. I decided I would surf the internet and see if anything major had happened in the news. Realizing nothing of note was there, I decided to go to the
Los Angeles Times
obituaries and go through my regular routine of looking for my parents.

I spent a good fifteen minutes scrolling through all of the names. I liked to take my time and go slowly, as a personal form of torture, and was just about to close my laptop when I saw it.

A name that I recognized. A name that belonged to someone I loved. A name that wasn’t Mom
or
Dad.

“Frances Robert Lettsworth, aged 84, entered into eternal rest on Friday...”

I stared at the picture next to the headline and felt tears start to sting my eyes. All of the sadness that I had been feeling was making sense. Even though I didn't know that my grandfather had died until just now, I understood I was feeling things that bothered me more than usual. For as long as I could remember, I had an amazing relationship with that man. I kept in touch with him for the first few years that I was gone, but after a while each time I tried to reach out there would be no answer. I wasn't sure why, but now...