Escaping Heartbreak Page 18

  I released him, running for my parent’s room.

  “No!” I yelled, when my eyes took in the sight of my mom lying on a blood soaked mattress, her eyes focused on the ceiling. There were cuts and slashes all over her. I couldn’t mistake the sound of her blood dripping from the bed onto the hardwood floors.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  I ran to Cayla’s room next, praying that she had hidden and was okay—or better yet, hoping I’d wake up and find this to all be a nightmare.

  “Cayla!” I shouted, clutching my stomach as it heaved violently.

  Like my mom, she was lying in her bed. Her eyes stared straight at me—the color so light it was almost white. Her normally rosy complexion was now a grayish blue color. Her throat had been slit open, the blood coating her, the bed, and the floor. Her mouth was open in a never-ending silent scream.

  I fell to the ground, sobbing hysterically.

  “Cayla,” I cried, crawling on my hands and knees over to her bed. “Cayla, please! You can’t die! Cayla!” I smacked her cheeks, shook her, yelled at her, and none of it did any good.

  She was gone.

  They were all gone.

  I pulled my phone out, fumbling to press the right buttons.

  “911 what’s your emergency?”

  “Help! You have to help me! They’re dead! They’re all dead!”

  “Who’s dead, sir?” The calm voice asked me.

  “My family! They’re dead! God, they’re all dead!”

  “Sir, what’s your address?”

  I couldn’t answer the woman. I had lost all capability of speaking. A strange noise was escaping me—half crying, half screaming.

  I shook Cayla some more, hoping in vain that what I was seeing would disappear and she’d wake up and tell me I was crazy.

  I’d rather be losing my mind than face this reality.

  When I knew that Cayla wasn’t going to wake up I sat on the floor beside her.

  I rocked back and forth, sobbing, my blood-covered hands running through my hair. I kept muttering under my breath, “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.”

  That’s how the police found me.

  Even five years later, I still felt like I was stuck in that room, rocking back and forth beside Cayla.

  Only now, I said, “This is real.”

  Break Me

  by: Harper James

  Available Now

  One

  Gemma

  Gemma hurried around her room, throwing the last few things she could think of to pack into her suitcase. If only she could find her only beach bag, which also happened to be the one her mother loved to borrow, she may actually make it out the door on time. She knew that, just as she had for the past few years, the majority of her time would be spent either in her room or on the beach, book in hand. She definitely wasn’t interested in getting a ride to one of the local shops in order to get a new beach bag once she arrived if she couldn’t find hers. That meant additional time with one of the four people she would be avoiding like the plague for the next eight weeks. There was no way she would choose this year to start socializing with her father’s family. Just sharing a room with Kate, her far-too-peppy half-sister, was more than she could tolerate.

  “Mother,” she called out in an annoyed tone, knowing her mother hated being called by that particular name.” Where is my striped beach bag? I’m going to be late,” she yelled as she crawled under her bed. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she pushed the latest box full of books her father had sent out of the way. So what if he was trying. So what if she was desperate to read at least three of the ten books inside. So what if she needed to save every penny and these would help alleviate the amount taken up by her limited Kindle money. There was no way in hell she was giving him the satisfaction. As she heard her mother approaching, she scrambled out from under the bed and hid the envelope from the University of North Carolina in her bedside table. Now was not the time to get into that discussion.

  “Gem, I told you I was taking it last month when I went to that training.” Maggie came into the room and tossed the bag on the bed, the bangles she wore on her wrist clanking as she let her hand fall to her side. Her long flowing black skirt waved from side-to-side. Gemma took her in and admired her timeless, effortless beauty. Gemma wasn’t one who could pull off the natural hair and makeup or the loose, flowing, hippie-inspired clothing her mother opted for daily. Instead, Gemma wore unassuming outfits, designed to avoid attention, not because she was shy but because there was nothing worth showing off. She had dark hair, which fell at an average length; she was average height and average weight. What is there to showcase when you have what most other girls have and only wish you could look like the few who were blessed with more?

  “Mom, that was a month ago. I told you if you borrow my stuff to give it back.” Gemma grabbed the final item she needed, stuffed it in her suitcase, and zipped the top closed.

  “Gem, please pay attention.” Her mother shook her head but smiled. “Are you focusing?” Gemma crossed her arms and stared at her mother, attempting to hide her scowl. “That beach bag I just gave you? It is yours.” The sarcasm was so thick at that point Gemma nearly had to bat it out of her way. “That was me giving it back.” Gemma gave in and rolled her eyes as she pulled her suitcase onto the floor and started to head out of her room.

  “Uh-uh, missy, we need to talk.” Maggie sat on the end of Gemma’s bed and pulled her legs up under herself, wrapping her skirt around her feet to warm them.

  “Mom, I know: be safe, carry mace, and don’t turn into a blond bimbo. We good?” Gemma huffed as she looked at the clock and calculated how much time she had left.

  “Yep.” Maggie stood. “Oh, and try to see if you can find anything to treat that bug you’ve come down with. I don’t want that sour-puss attitude to rub off on me.”

  “Too late,” Gemma said, walking up to her mother to give her a hug goodbye. “I’ll see you in eight weeks. I love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get pregnant.” Gemma knew her mother was joking, but there was a part of her that wondered just how much. There was a part that wondered if her mother ever wished she could go back and take her own advice.

  ~~~

  Two hours later Gemma sat in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. Her flight was crowded, so she was reluctantly thankful to her father for booking her the window seat right behind the exit row, which allowed for a little bit of space. After lifting the shade, she was able to see the men loading the suitcases onto the belt and into the underbelly of the plane. Watching her oversized suitcase ascend the long system, she leaned her forehead against the cool surface and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. This was it, her last summer to have to endure this trip and these people. One more summer and then she would go to school and finally cut the ties her father had severed before she was even born.

  Her flight was a long one, or, at least, long for the person stuck in a seat wanting nothing more than to bail and disappear for the coming weeks. Gemma knew that she had a lot of decisions to make about her future, but for now, all she could think about was what she had to endure as soon as she exited the aircraft. Her father’s family was nothing like her and her mother. Where Maggie would drop the f-bomb or shrug her shoulders over a broken curfew, Karen never swore or looked anything less than country-club perfect. And there was no question about how her father and Karen would react to a missed curfew, because Gemma’s perfect half brother and sister wouldn’t dare break it in the first place.

  Gemma lived in a suburb of Dallas, Texas, while her father and his family lived in Durham, North Carolina. The only things their hometowns had in common were the D’s that started their names. Gemma’s mother taught various art classes at a local community college. Though she could support the two of them along with the monthly checks she received from Gemma’s father, they in no way lived a glamorous life. Their simple two-bedroom apartment and shared
car got them from one day to the next. Gemma was also expected to follow in her mother’s footsteps and pursue a life both creating and teaching art to show the world just a little more beauty.

  Gemma’s father, Michael, didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. He did have the ability to create, however, and that is what made him one of the most respected and well-known authors in the country. Every university had fought for him as soon as he made it known he wanted to get in a classroom. UNC had won out based on its reputable writing program and the fact that it was so close to his muse, their summer home. Every summer since she could remember, her father and his family would rent the same beach house for eight weeks so he could write as much as possible in the place his creativity never seemed to stop. He would hole up in the loft that made up the fourth floor of the home and only come down when he was starving. Clearly, it was working since his last three books written there were instant best sellers and the three before that only took a couple of weeks to climb the charts.

  Since Gemma landed at Raleigh-Durham International Airport, they always waited on her there, loaded her things into the already full car, and headed straight to the beach. As usual, this arrival was no less awkward than those in the past. Gemma walked through the terminal, dread and nerves filling her inside. She had been taught since she could absorb information that these people were wrong and her mother was right. They were the ones who had ruined any chance she ever had for happily ever after. When the glass carousel door deposited her on the sidewalk, her father’s family sat almost directly in front of her, waiting. He hurried out of his car and around the front as Karen, his wife, climbed out with a smile too big for any grown woman.

  “Gemma.” Michael Andrews smiled down at her; it was sincere if not insecure. “Did you have a good flight?”

  “Sure,” she said as she handed her bag off to him awkwardly. Karen came forward as if to hug Gemma, so she lowered her head and hurried toward the van, pretending not to have seen the gesture as well as the hurt in her stepmother’s eyes. Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably as Gemma slid the door open and Karen started toward her own door to get back in the vehicle.

  Gemma peered inside the van and saw that Gray, her brother and the youngest of the crew, had already designated the very back of the van for himself. He was looking at his phone with his headphones already in place. Kate sat on the far side of the vehicle, waiting on Gemma to climb in. Gemma could already tell it was going to be a long ride. She hadn’t even turned to shut the door behind her when Kate started talking. Yes, a very long ride, indeed.

  Their summer home was in a small city called Emerald Isle, which was the definition of a beach town. Gemma watched out her window as they entered the city by way of a bridge. Dozens of people stood on their paddleboards below, making their way slowly into the distance. There were gift and souvenir shops, bike and equipment rentals, walking and riding trails, and quaint diners everywhere. Her favorite place to frequent, Dockside Coffee, was open, and she could almost taste her medium iced coffee. What made it so great was the ice. The cubes were frozen coffee. Her mouth watered, and her caffeine-deprived head pounded at the thought.

  A left and then, about a mile later, a right and she was in the beachside community that would be her home for the last two months she would ever have to spend with these people. Kate sat next to her in the middle row of the mini-van, reading what looked like a book Gemma had been dying to get her hands on for weeks. She would have to figure out a way to get a hold of it one night while Kate was off with her mother or asleep. This wouldn’t be the first summer she “borrowed” books from her sister. She had quite the knack for grabbing the book right from Kate’s hands as she slept.

  Kate and Gemma were complete opposites. Kate was small in both build and height. Her straight sandy blond hair always seemed to be perfectly in place, and her bright eyes glowed against her tan skin. She always wore perfect makeup and the latest trends in fashion. She was the cheerleader, the class president, and one of the most talented singers Gemma had ever heard in person, and that was only in the shower. Gemma was average in every way and had wavy dark hair. Her eyes were pretty enough, a dark brown that almost shined, and that worked to dress her face up enough that she rarely wore more than mascara and lip gloss. She had hidden in the shadows all through high school and had never gotten involved in anything beyond her school’s newspaper. She had dated a guy she worked with on some stories for a few months, lost her virginity to him, found that sex sucked, and bailed on that relationship. To Gemma, all the glamour had gone to her father’s second child, and that pretty much summed up the karma of her life.

  Gray was asleep across the rear bench, his legs over the back of his seat. Gemma couldn’t believe how much her fifteen-year-old half-brother had grown. Gemma wondered how he was already so old. It was crazy how fast time went everywhere else but seemed to stall for her. She would finally be eighteen a few weeks before summer ended. Having her birthday every summer while she was away from her mother and with a family she could barely tolerate just further proved her lot in life. Kate, who had just turned seventeen in March, had spent the first thirty minutes of the car ride, telling Gemma about the party her parents had let her throw. Gemma wasn’t sure what tortured her more: the fact that Kate believed Gemma would in any way be interested in this or the fact that Kate now had a brand new Jeep to drive around her high-class neighborhood while Gemma and her mother shared a Mazda3.

  As they pulled up into the circular driveway, Gemma jumped out of the car as fast as she could. She wanted nothing more than to get in the house, throw on some shorts, and get the hell out of there. If Karen asked her if there was anything special she wanted picked up from the store one more time, she was going to cut her. As she was pulling her bags out of the trunk, a loud laugh had her turning around to see where the noise was coming from. A beautiful blond girl held onto a beach chair and bag as another dark-haired girl carried an umbrella and her own bag. A tall, dark, and oh-so-handsome boy gripped the free hand of the dark-haired girl and smiled down at her. Definitely taken. Blondie glanced over her shoulder at Gemma and smirked. Something about that smile told Gemma distance was best. No problem there. She turned back to her bags and headed for the back door.

  “Gemma,” her father called and poked his head around the side of the van. “Don’t go anywhere. We’re going to eat in a few, and then I was thinking we could hang out and play a game or something tonight.” Gemma fought to keep from rolling her eyes as she turned back.

  “Yeah, sorry”—she shrugged—“I’m not really hungry, and I’m pretty tired from all of the travel.” I’ll just be in my room.” Michael frowned but nodded, knowing that starting a fight now was useless.

  Two

  Three hours, the smell of her favorite pasta dish, and a raging caffeine headache later, Gemma sat on her bed and looked out her window at the dark night. The house was massive, yes, but that didn’t mean she was able to get away within its walls. All of the bedrooms were on the second floor. Her father had a large room at one end of the hall, and then Gray had one that sat between her father’s and the room the girls shared. The room Gemma shared with Kate was a pretty good size, able to hold two full beds and a massive dresser that doubled as a media center. The beds sat on opposite walls, and a large space between them seemed to be filled with a little more than air. At times, the tension became so thick Gemma found herself practically running for the door. Windows were all around the room, but the one on her side went right out onto the back deck, and from there, it led to freedom.

  The community’s population didn’t swell for another week or two. Most families were still getting done with school and trying to get away. The fourth of July was always crazy, and then it would slowly die down again. She could see the lights turning on in the various occupied rentals and knew the beach was slowly emptying. Since their portion of the beach was private, it was beautifully maintained and even offered seats and umbrellas; however, it did close at 10:0
0 p.m. Gemma was a fan of this inconvenience for most of the other tourists. It meant that after ten she could sneak out and find a spot out of the way—one small break from all the noise and stress of being around strangers.

  “Ugh,” Kate whined as she threw the door open. Gemma had been moments from crawling through the window, but the sound of the door slamming open caused her to throw her back against the wall in shock. “I hate when she makes that chicken Alfredo.” She set a granola bar, a Fruit by the Foot, and a water bottle on their shared dresser. “I mean how the hell am I supposed to hook up with a hottie, like that one we saw this afternoon, if I’m eating carbs, cheese, and bacon all the damn time?”

  Gemma knew for a fact that Kate loved that meal and was the reason Karen made it once a week. She seriously hoped the reason for the snack wasn’t what she thought it was; that would be just a little too . . . nice for Gemma to stomach. “Hmm” was all she said in response.

  “Anyway,”—Kate threw herself on her bed and started studying her nails—“what do you want to do tomorrow? I was thinking we could hit the beach and see if we can catch any ‘fish.’” She turned and winked at Gemma who found herself fighting not to roll her eyes for the second time that day. Her mother would simply roll hers back. Gemma wasn’t sure how these people would take it.

  “Um, I’d rather avoid cancer if you don’t mind. I’ll probably find a book somewhere in this hellhole and head to a coffee shop or something.” Gemma was full of it and she knew it. She wanted nothing more than to lie in the sun and let it put her to sleep while she tried to focus on her Kindle.

  “Oh.” The hurt was too evident in Kate’s voice, and the part of Gemma that knew none of this was her fault was hit with a pang of regret. Then she heard Karen yelling down the stairs and the regret evaporated quicker than it had appeared.

  “Kate, your brother is waiting on you.”

  Kate turned to Gemma and her shoulders slumped forward. “Well, hell.”