EXPOSED
Copyright © 2015 Ivy Stone
All rights reserved.
Published by Ivy Stone, First Edition October 13th 2015
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 permission in writing. Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For permission requests, email the author at ivystoneauthor@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This 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 of each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design: Louisa, LM Creations
Edited by: Becky, Hot Tree Editing
Proofread by: Prim and Wild Proofreading
Formatted by: Max Effect
Cover Image by: Michael Meadows Studios
WARNING
For Mature Audience 18+
Contains Adult Sexual Situations & Language
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Follow Ivy
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
To Chris,
Because when I didn’t believe in me, you did.
I love you.
“Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares.”
–William Shakespeare
PROLOGUE
Lindsey
Age Eighteen
The stench of paint thinners burns my nostrils the moment I shove open the door to our apartment. Our mother’s meth lab. Ali skips in ahead of me, her short blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. She dumps her school bag on the counter and heads in the direction of her bedroom.
I move inside, closing the door and locking it behind me. “Mom, are you home?”
Silence engulfs me, and I exhale a sigh of relief. Walking past our dining table, I eye it in disgust and scoff. The chemically stained table is decorated with glass jars, bottles, containers, tubes, cleaning products, and oddly enough, today there’s cash. My gaze darts toward the front door and my stomach churns. If I get caught, it’ll hurt. If I don’t, everything will still hurt.
I snatch up the dollar bills, clutching them tightly in my hand as I race to my room to hide the money in the only spot no one’s ever found. My body shakes as dread looms over me the entire time it takes me to get to my closet, shift the boxes out of the way that are stacked on the floor, and lift the loose floorboard up. Wriggling the wooden piece of flooring, it gives way, and my small silver jewelry box comes into sight. I stuff the cash inside and as I shut the lid, I hesitate, my eyes catching a glimpse of the tattered family photo amongst the cash. Two parents, two little girls, four smiling faces. One happy, healthy family. Their affection paints the perfect picture of love. These beautiful strangers, who are they? Where did they go? A stabbing pain shoots straight to my chest, and it ricochets, sending shards of unrequited love and heartache through me for the hundredth time. I slam the lid shut, not only on the box, but also my heart. No longer can I look into the eyes of the one woman who is supposed to love me, care for me, and cherish me. I can’t bear the torture of watching her turn the other way. Putting the floorboard back in place, I arrange the boxes back over it and shut the closet doors just as a gut-wrenching scream pierces the silence of the apartment.
I run.
My feet pound on the floor as I race toward the screaming, Ali’s shaky voice sends a chill over my skin and bile to my throat. There she sits, curled into a ball on the floor, her hands covering her eyes while tears fall freely through the gaps in her fingers. I crouch down, wrapping myself around her body, preparing to soothe her from whatever’s caused her to become so upset. That’s when I see it: the needle on the floor, my mother’s scrawny arm hanging loosely over the side of the bed. I squint my eyes closed, pulling Ali tighter into my arms.
Her whimpers don’t stop.
When I reopen my eyes, Mom’s arm still hangs there, lifeless.
Gradually, I pull Ali off me and mentally prepare myself for what I’m about to see. Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she’s just sleeping. Stepping closer to the bed, I grip the dog tags around my neck, so tight they dig into my palms.
I press my lips together firmly, fighting the fire burning through my belly. Her empty blue eyes stare up at me, I reach for her, placing my shaky hand on her chest to feel for signs of life. My mind is screaming at me that she’s gone—there’s no hope. Her pale skin is icy cold beneath my touch. I pull away immediately.
I sit on the edge of the bed, shock radiating through me. As I stare at her, the first tear falls. Tears of sadness, regret, relief, it all flows out of me until I have nothing left to give. The pain is too much to bear, I can’t leave my heart unguarded. I’ve been used, abused, lost and betrayed and yet still, I sit here mourning the loss of a woman who’d let her children starve so she could spend her last dollar on drugs. How could she do this? How could she die now? This life she’s put us through doesn’t deserve an easy way out. Even in death, she is selfish. No pain, no suffering.
I wipe away the weakness of my tears and coat my heart with iron strength.
Never again will I let myself feel this way. And now I have to be strong to hold it together for my eleven-year-old sister, who’s just witnessed a nightmare we’ll both struggle to erase.
Curling Ali into my side, I walk us to my room. She falls onto the bed and cries into the pillow while I stand beside her, stuffing the few belongings we both own into my backpack, along with my jewelry box. Each time I add something to the bag, my mother’s lifeless face appears in my head, taunting me. I zip up the bag and pull my phone from my pocket. I have two people to call.
“911, what is your emergency?” I don’t answer.
I can’t speak. The words are there on the tip of my tongue, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. The only sound is the thumping of my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Hanging up, I find the other number I need to call.