Breathless
Let's take a look at the book...
17 year old Charlie is broken. In more ways than one. Struggling to cope with rejection from her distant, heartless mother; and an incident that should never have happened, panic attacks and black outs have become her new normal. Until she meets Tyler, an angry boy with a questionable past...who just happens to be on the run from someone trying to kill him. The same someone who murdered his father. Caught up with Tyler running for his life, Charlie begins to see life differently, facing her fears and falling for a boy she almost loses.
Let's take a look inside...
CHAPTER 1
‘New Beginnings’
“If my mother was an animal, she would definitely be a Doberman...Victoria Gray, I say the words loudly, deliberately, the acid taste of bitterness rolls off my tongue. The mere thought of her name almost makes me feel sick but I swallow hard and press on. I refuse to think of her as my mother, I say scanning the faces in the classroom. Unfortunately she is, biologically at least. Funny how you can be born to someone that you are completely different from. Except for my dark hair it’s such a relief that I don’t look, or think anything like her”
All eyes are riveted to my face, ears attuned to every word and I steel myself and continue.
“You see my mother, if you can call her that, is a high profile media personality. You’ve seen the photos: dark glossy salon perfect hair; her Botox induced face and her white teeth, immaculately bleached. I never thought I would know what hatred feels like; I guess this extreme disgust must be kind of close. I can only hope my words convey their correct implication.”
I look around at the horror dawning on their faces, my anger rippling through the audience, causing discomfort as my ‘Show and Tell’ veers off the accepted rails. I smile inwardly at its desired effect. I wait to be asked to stop. Silence hangs heavy in the air and I don’t stop now, I need to make it count.
“I remember when I was about five or six years old and she was reluctantly patching up my split open knee, sit still and don’t be such a baby! You are so much like your father Charlotte, she snapped. The steel of her eyes, the sneer in her voice...unforgettable.
Then at twelve and protesting to another photo shoot. Charlotte for God’s sake get that sulky look off your face or I’ll slap it off, it’s bad enough that you are so fat. I can’t have you on camera sniping like that. The sharp bite of her tongue, leaving another dent in my already bruised self- image.
And so, I see my mother as a dog, something like a Doberman, sleek, beautiful to look at. The type people have put down because they are simply too vicious,
The End”
I finish my class speech to a progressive gasp and walk back to my desk, head held high in victory. I’ve imagined this scenario a dozen times. I can see it as if it’s really happening, a class speech describing a family member if they were anything other than the person that they are. A deserving fit for my mother...but it’s not real...and there is so much more I can say...but I can’t allow myself to think about her final betrayal.
Because when I do...it spins me out of control.
I jolt upright hyperventilating. The reminder so real I can almost feel the pressure indented on my lips as I run my fingers over them. I’d been lying awake for hours the speech running through my head on repeat. My room is starting to feel claustrophobic with the heat of early autumn sun streaming through my window. Drenched in sweat I force myself out of bed. Dreading the day ahead, I stumble across the room pushing hard against the window longing for cool air on my face!
‘New Beginnings’
“If my mother was an animal, she would definitely be a Doberman...Victoria Gray, I say the words loudly, deliberately, the acid taste of bitterness rolls off my tongue. The mere thought of her name almost makes me feel sick but I swallow hard and press on. I refuse to think of her as my mother, I say scanning the faces in the classroom. Unfortunately she is, biologically at least. Funny how you can be born to someone that you are completely different from. Except for my dark hair it’s such a relief that I don’t look, or think anything like her”
All eyes are riveted to my face, ears attuned to every word and I steel myself and continue.
“You see my mother, if you can call her that, is a high profile media personality. You’ve seen the photos: dark glossy salon perfect hair; her Botox induced face and her white teeth, immaculately bleached. I never thought I would know what hatred feels like; I guess this extreme disgust must be kind of close. I can only hope my words convey their correct implication.”
I look around at the horror dawning on their faces, my anger rippling through the audience, causing discomfort as my ‘Show and Tell’ veers off the accepted rails. I smile inwardly at its desired effect. I wait to be asked to stop. Silence hangs heavy in the air and I don’t stop now, I need to make it count.
“I remember when I was about five or six years old and she was reluctantly patching up my split open knee, sit still and don’t be such a baby! You are so much like your father Charlotte, she snapped. The steel of her eyes, the sneer in her voice...unforgettable.
Then at twelve and protesting to another photo shoot. Charlotte for God’s sake get that sulky look off your face or I’ll slap it off, it’s bad enough that you are so fat. I can’t have you on camera sniping like that. The sharp bite of her tongue, leaving another dent in my already bruised self- image.
And so, I see my mother as a dog, something like a Doberman, sleek, beautiful to look at. The type people have put down because they are simply too vicious,
The End”
I finish my class speech to a progressive gasp and walk back to my desk, head held high in victory. I’ve imagined this scenario a dozen times. I can see it as if it’s really happening, a class speech describing a family member if they were anything other than the person that they are. A deserving fit for my mother...but it’s not real...and there is so much more I can say...but I can’t allow myself to think about her final betrayal.
Because when I do...it spins me out of control.
I jolt upright hyperventilating. The reminder so real I can almost feel the pressure indented on my lips as I run my fingers over them. I’d been lying awake for hours the speech running through my head on repeat. My room is starting to feel claustrophobic with the heat of early autumn sun streaming through my window. Drenched in sweat I force myself out of bed. Dreading the day ahead, I stumble across the room pushing hard against the window longing for cool air on my face!
It’s a daydream, a fantasy I tell myself. Only I’ve imagined it so often it’s like it’s become real. And
I’m actually standing before my class and humiliating, deservedly, my mother.
I shake my head trying to clear it from the pervasive thoughts stuck on repeat. I need to get outside.
I need to walk. I sit on the sand dunes at Wanda beach...staring at nothing.
My head rests on my arms that are hugging my knees and I will myself to keep breathing. The scene before me is usually seriously spellbinding with the bright gleams of sunlight peering through the grey blanket of dawn. The stretch of silver white sand goes on as far as the eye can see, toward Boat Harbor at it’s Eastern most point, encasing the froth on the tops of the waves that crash against the shoreline.
Today I feel nothing.
I check the time on my phone. Fighting the urge to stay here, I get up and make my way down to the wet sand and start walking along the waters edge back to the path.
Back in my room I watch the minutes tick by deafeningly on the clock on my bedside table and change my clothes for the tenth time. Nothing feels right. The tinge of red that usually highlights the deep brown of my hair looks dull this morning and although my hair is normally straight it has a kink in it that refuses to straighten. After three attempts with the straightener I give up and sink onto my bed in despair. Pulling myself up to get dressed I feel so bad I could throw up. Instead I lace up my Doc Martens and pull my hair back into a ponytail. With no one else around, no one to talk to, my thoughts race and swirl through my mind sapping my energy, and my head starts to ache with the doubts crowding it.
It’s okay, you have to go to school today I can’t, I feel sick
My head rests on my arms that are hugging my knees and I will myself to keep breathing. The scene before me is usually seriously spellbinding with the bright gleams of sunlight peering through the grey blanket of dawn. The stretch of silver white sand goes on as far as the eye can see, toward Boat Harbor at it’s Eastern most point, encasing the froth on the tops of the waves that crash against the shoreline.
Today I feel nothing.
I check the time on my phone. Fighting the urge to stay here, I get up and make my way down to the wet sand and start walking along the waters edge back to the path.
Back in my room I watch the minutes tick by deafeningly on the clock on my bedside table and change my clothes for the tenth time. Nothing feels right. The tinge of red that usually highlights the deep brown of my hair looks dull this morning and although my hair is normally straight it has a kink in it that refuses to straighten. After three attempts with the straightener I give up and sink onto my bed in despair. Pulling myself up to get dressed I feel so bad I could throw up. Instead I lace up my Doc Martens and pull my hair back into a ponytail. With no one else around, no one to talk to, my thoughts race and swirl through my mind sapping my energy, and my head starts to ache with the doubts crowding it.
It’s okay, you have to go to school today I can’t, I feel sick
Where can I buy this fabulous book?
Amazon
About the author.
Mary Carter is currently, a freelance writer with the content site HubPages.com. She can be found under the name of carter06@HubPages.com. She has published her first short story 'High School Blues' and has completed her first Young Adult novel 'Breathless' the first of a series which is now available for sale as an e book on Amazon books.com mm carter. She has also recently written her second stand alone YA novel which is going through a final edit, and is happily working on several other novels simultaneously. Mary is a previous Adolescent school counselor and works part time as a Child and Adolescent Therapist. She and her husband and son have recently relocated to the breathtakingly beautiful Byron Bay hinterland.
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