Author of the Month #4 - Amalie Silver Sunday Feature: Exclusive Excerpt Giveaway!
"Author of the Month" is a feature that I created to honour some of my favourite authors by featuring their works for an entire month!
This feature will:
- Run for entire month.
- On every Sunday of the month (excluding the first week where I will have a blog post introducing and interviewing the author), there will be a blog post dedicated to the author. The content of the blog post is entirely up to the author's choice.
- The "Author of the Month" button will be displayed in my blog's sidebar during the entire duration.
- If you have any questions to ask the author(s), you can leave a comment below the blog post or privately message me at natshane94aa@gmail.com.
For the entire month of February, I am proud to feature author Amalie Silver.
Amalie Silver resides in Minnesota with her husband, two toddlers, and German Short-haired Pointer, Saba. She consumes approximately three pots of coffee a day, and credits this for her survival over the past decade. When not completely consumed in her writing, she can be found taking road trips to northern Minnesota, engaging in fierce Scrabble games, or reading a good book. She’s a sucker for all romance genres, literary fiction, and psychological fiction.
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Part I
Progress: Interrupted
On the way home that
night, I hit a baby white rabbit. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the
life ripped from its fragile body, peppering the pavement with white and red
pieces of innocence.
We all have to live with
the choices we make. Some seem brilliant at the time, and some mistakes we
realize right away. Regret isn’t something that disappears, it is something
that lives inside of us and alters every path we take from that point on.
Sometimes it can be beautiful, and sometimes it’s anything but.
For as proud as I felt
about my decision to leave, there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t
wondered what would’ve happened if I had stayed.
I can’t help but think:
perhaps I’d started that year beautiful and ended up ugly.
-Charlie
Chapter One
Jesse
The fury bubbled slowly. It
started in my gut and extended out to every limb until my hands balled into
fists at my sides. Charlie walked out of my bedroom door and down my steps. The
sound of the front door sealed my fate.
I couldn’t believe she did
it.
Come back.
I waited in hope that she
might change her mind, and that this wasn’t a strange fairy tale with a wicked
and unforeseeable end. I’d given Charlie everything I had to offer. But it
wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t good enough.
The small clock on my
nightstand echoed with each tick, making the room feel smaller. The silence in
the house made my head spin, my heart rate spike, and my teeth grind. But it
wasn’t until I walked to the window and watched her open her car door that it
settled in.
You can’t do this to me.
The snow had stopped falling,
leaving her green car covered in water. With clouds in the sky, the moon’s
presence lingered with a faint glow.
She rubbed her forehead and
licked her lips. Glancing up quickly, she saw me standing in the window and
looked down again before ducking into the driver’s seat.
And then she was gone.
What had I done wrong? What
was the past year for? It wasn’t fair.
The more I thought, the more
I paced. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and another surge of adrenaline fought
with a contradicting lump in my throat. I’d chosen the wrong girl to trust. She
had systematically broken me down over the past twelve months to where there
wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. I would’ve maimed, died, killed if she
asked me to.
But leaving her alone wasn’t
something I’d considered. Could I do it? Was it best for her? For me?
There was no way it could end
like this. She didn’t know me at all if she thought I’d allow it.
For every tear, every
cigarette, every heartbeat, and every breath, she’d taken what she needed and
left me standing with my dick in my hand. She was selfish and cruel. Mean and
callous.
She’d become me. And I’d
become her. The sensitive had become volatile and the volatile had become
sensitive.
Goddammit. This snuck up
on me.
More meds. That’s what she
needed me to do. More meds, more soft kisses, more compliments, more dates,
more meds. That’s what she needs me to do. More meds.
I ran through the hallway,
jumped down the steps, and sped into the kitchen. Digging through the cupboard
to find the medication I hadn’t taken in months, I dropped bottles of
painkillers to the counter. My hands were clumsy and the same words cycled in
my head.
“Where are they, where are they, where are
they?”
I found the bottles, tore off
their caps, and ran the water. The three pills sat in my shaky palm, and for as
hard as I tried to keep it still, my mind wouldn’t allow it.
The searing pain in my side
returned, and I closed my hand into a fist around the pills. Bottles of painkillers
lay on top of dirty dishes surrounding me. The cold water sprayed against the
sink and I swore I could still hear the ticking of the clock on my nightstand.
Madness.
My mind went blank and my
anger surged. I threw the pills across the room and tore the cupboard door from
its hinges. The sound of my heartbeat drowned out the noises, and my rage was
fueled by my hatred for Charlie. The circumstances. The outcome. The faith I’d
had in her.
Dishes, bottles,
vases—anything within my reach I flung against the bookshelf on the other side
of the room, but I couldn’t hear them crash. So I tried again.
Whiz. Chirp. Swish. Honk.
I yanked on the edge of the
dining table and flipped it upside down, followed by each chair. My shoulders
were tight, every muscle in my face felt strained, and the rush of spins to my
head made it feel like I was on the other side of the room watching myself
destroy it.
But I didn’t give a shit.
I flipped the television but
barely heard the crash to the floor. I tore the drapes from the windows, the
books from the shelves, and the paintings from the walls.
Not deserving her was one
thing; my temper, my moods, and my impulsive behavior had always gotten me into
trouble. But I’d never asked for anything. I’d never wanted anything like I
wanted her. And I’d fucking tried. I’d tried so damn hard to keep her, but in
the end she didn’t care. She didn’t believe me. She thought she was smarter than
me.
I took heavy breaths, pausing
to see the damage I’d done to the room. I couldn’t think. My mind wasn’t
allowing for the regret and consequences; it only made room to obsess over what
the past two hours had done to me.
The walls of Dennis’s house
were chipped and cracked. The glass from windows, dishes, and pictures was
scattered over the carpet. The television was fucked, along with the small
table it had sat upon.
My fingertips were bloody. Small
scrapes stung in the cool air coming in from the window, and I stared at my
hands, welcoming the pain.
Fuck you, Charlie.
I tried to get the words out
of my head, but nothing else would stick. My mind spiraled, my body shook, and
I bit down on my tongue until I could taste blood.
I ran upstairs and stopped at
the threshold of my bedroom door to catch my breath.
She was here. Just a
moment ago.
And now I’ve lost her.
I walked to the edge of my
bed and stared down at the messed sheets. It had been a place I’d taken dozens of
women, and it hadn’t been special; it hadn’t been sacred.
Fuck you, Charlie.
What had she done to me? Who
does something like that?
I picked up a pillow and
buried my face in it, smelling her faded perfume. I closed my eyes and went
back to the first time I met her. A timid mouse behind the cash register. The
pizza was for Olson. It was pepperoni and mushrooms. She wore a wrinkled
Crimson T-shirt. Her lipstick was faded. It was raining that night, delivery
was busy. She was guarded, uneasy. Prey.
I could remember every moment
with her. For the first time in my life, I could remember things. The clarity
Charlie gave me, the way she didn’t assume, her red hair, those damn blue eyes…
She was gone.
Like the rest of them.
I grabbed my chest, slid down
to my knees, and let it consume me. She’d warned me this was coming; she’d said
she wouldn’t be another victim of mine. But I thought I could show her, prove
to her, convince her that the way I felt about her was different from anyone
who had come before her. If I loved her hard enough, the rest would fall into
place.
My body gave out and I
slouched on the floor. I stared into the sea of dirty clothes, resting my
bloody fingertips on my knees.
“I won’t live a life in
love that requires me to stay on guard and cower in the corner,” she’d said. “Love isn’t the place you go when
there’s nowhere left to run.”
It was too much.
I couldn’t process the words,
our friendship, and the pounds of regret keeping my chest in a constant state
of heaviness. I traced the wavy lines of my tattoo, remembering all the damage
Charlie had done and dismissing the light she’d brought.
My head hung low, between my
knees, and I kept my eyes shut.
“What the ever-loving fuck?”
I looked toward my door at
the sound of Jake’s voice from downstairs.
“Shit,” I mumbled, bouncing
to a stand and grabbing a shirt from my floor. I pulled my arms through, noticing
a smear of blood covering the tattoo on my arm, already dry and brown. I froze,
and looked down in thought.
“Jesse Fucking Anders! Where
the fuck are you?” Jake bellowed through the house. “I’m going to kill you!”
His voice rumbled through the walls and down the hallway, and I quickly grabbed
my shoes and keys.
“I’m here,” I said, walking
down the steps.
Jake stood in the middle of
the shitstorm, assessing the wreck I’d caused. I kept my head down and slipped
on my shoes.
“You want to explain this to
me?” Jake’s voice cracked.
“Not now. I gotta go.”
His face was red and his eyes
bugged out. “What? Hell no.” He breathed heavily and shook his head. “You’re
not going anywhere until you tell me who trashed my dad’s house.”
I shrugged. “I did.” Jogging
down the steps, I grabbed my coat just before I got to the door.
“That’s all you’re going to
say? No explanation?” He stood at the edge of the steps and looked down at me,
but I kept my head down.
“Not now. I have to take care
of something.” I opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air.
“Fine! That’s how it’s gonna
be? Jesus, you’re an asshole. You’ve got one week to find a new place to live,”
Jake shouted through the door just as I shut it behind me.
***
A moment so fragile that
if I move or speak, the whole thing will collapse.
So I’ll just sit here, in
this dirty chair, in a place that shouldn’t be open at midnight , and listen to a new song in my head.
The click.
The screech.
The crumble.
The buzz.
I’ll watch. I’ll remember
the vibration of the needle as it collides with the layers of my skin, giving
me a different kind of hope. One that I can make for myself.
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