Unveiled (The Unveiling Book 1)

  Unveiled

  (The Unveiling, #1)

  Jessica Sorensen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  Coming Soon!

  Unveiled

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Created with Vellum

  One

  Rain pours from the sky and splatters against the window of my loft. Lightning flashes, illuminating the view of the buildings outside and my nearly empty bedroom. I shudder as the thunder grumbles from close by.

  I’ve always had an irrational fear of storms; terrified I’ll somehow end up getting struck by lightning. Even indoors, the fear plagues me. Usually, turning on the lights and getting a cup of tea and a good book alleviates my uneasiness. But that all changed the day I committed the worst sin of my life. It was raining that day, and now, not even a book and tea can stop the fear.

  Instead of getting up to put a kettle on the stove, I remain lying in my bed. My room is pitch black, except for the occasional flash of lightning. I’ve been like this for days now and haven’t done laundry or the dishes in over a week. The yoga pants and tank top I’m wearing reek of stale chips, my unwashed hair is a tangled messed, and I desperately need a shower.

  I should get up, shower, and clean my house. I should be finding a way to pay off my debt and get back on my feet.

  I should have done all this weeks ago.

  But I’m so tired of everything. Of life. Of thinking about what I did that night.

  I roll onto my side, curl into a ball, and drag the blanket over my head. Every single one of my muscles ache, every breath hurts, and every thought makes me restless. I just want to go to sleep and stop thinking, but I can’t get my mind to shut off. I keep overanalyzing all of my mistakes and the bad decisions that led to me getting kicked out of culinary school. How, for the last couple of months, I have been selling most of my stuff to pay rent, all because I lost my money by trusting someone I shouldn’t have. Then, this morning, I called in sick from work again, and my boss threatened to fire me if I didn’t make it in tomorrow.

  I need that job at the café. It’s the only thing I have left that hasn’t gone to shit—well, besides my relationship with my brothers and sisters. However, they live in the States, and I’m here in London.

  All alone.

  By choice, I remind myself. Because of what you did.

  No! Stop thinking about that! You need to stop!

  I sink deeper into the bed and fall into memories of how I ended up in this point in my life, and how I chose to move here two years ago, right after I graduated high school.

  I once wanted to be here. Now the loneliness has worn me down, and the quiet leaves too much time to focus on my mistakes, my worries, and all my aches and pain. Aches and pain connected to that night when blood stained my hands.

  My hands begin to tremble, as if remembering, but I shove the thoughts aside, knowing I’ll end up throwing up if I don’t.

  You have to stop thinking about this! What happened … It was an accident.

  Wasn’t it?

  I wish I knew the truth. No, what I wish is that that night never happened.

  What I wish is that I could call up my mom and talk until that weighted knot in my chest begins to unwind and the haze in my head fades. But she and my dad died in a car accident over a year ago, gone as fast as my heart takes its next beat.

  I miss them so, so much.

  I need them so much.

  I miss a lot of people back home, like my brothers and sisters and … and Milo.

  Milo …

  Two years ago, I could have called him. He used to be able to make me feel better, even on my crappiest days. But I ruined that relationship, like I ruined everything else in my life.

  I screwed up everything.

  I’m an awful person.

  I stare down at my hands again as visions of that night two months ago pierce into my brain.

  I had been partying all night, bouncing from club to club, and stumbled into a woman around my age who was visiting from the States. Her name was Rae, and we quickly bonded over drunken talk, shots, and chatting about life in America. When my friends were ready to leave, I wanted to stay. So, they left me with Rae, figuring I’d be okay since my apartment was only a few blocks away.

  Then we met these guys, Cole and Del, and they started buying us a round of shots, saying, “Let’s play a drinking game.” It wasn’t the only game they wanted to play.

  I don’t remember too much after that, only bits and pieces, until I woke up early the next morning. That I remember as clearly as if it happened yesterday.

  My hands begin to shake violently as I picture the blood covering my fingers, dripping down my palms …

  Just like they were that morning.

  Thunder booms from outside, and I sink deeper into my bed, deeper into the dark. I need to find a way to get up, call and talk to someone, tell them what I did, and hope they’ll understand. I don’t have any close friends out here, and I lost touch with everyone back in my hometown of Honeyton, even people I care for. I could call one of my brothers or sisters, but they have their own problems and don’t need me telling them this godawful secret that will destroy them. They don’t need me to ruin their happiness. And I’m twenty years old, for God’s sake. I should be able to get my ass out of bed by myself and walk to the police station, like I’ve been contemplating since that morning.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I throw the blanket off my head and sit up. I comb my fingers through my shoulder-length brown hair, frowning at the sight of my room. A few boxes in the corner, a computer perched on a cracked desk, my mattress, clothes, and a few shoes are pretty much all that’s left of my life. In a couple of weeks, I won’t even have a roof over my head.

  And it all started because of a stupid mistake.

  A mistake I can’t even remember doing!

  More weight piles on my shoulders, making it difficult to remain sitting up.

  God, I just want to go back to bed and die.

  Forcing myself to stay upright, I pick up my phone, unlock the screen, and check my messages. Five missed texts and one voicemail. I listen to the voicemail first, figuring it’s from Annabella, my eighteen-year-old sister who just graduated high school. She probably wants to know when I’m heading home for the summer. I haven’t bought a ticket yet and can’t afford one when I’ve barely been working lately.

  Vomit burns at the back of my throat as images of that night flash through my mind again.

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

>   “Come home with us.”

  Rae nods. I hesitate, unsure. Yet, my drunken mind tells me it’s okay. That it’ll be fun. That these guys are hot.

  I should’ve made us leave.

  His voice echoes through my mind. “Just close your eyes and play the game.”

  I can still feel the ropes on my wrists, biting into my skin. As for the game, I don’t remember playing it. All I know is that I woke up covered in blood, and she was …

  No, don’t think about it! I scream to myself. God, I wish I could forget!

  I should go to the police.

  But what if I get arrested?

  Those guys … They told me they’d tell the cops I did it.

  I wish I could flee, leave London, but I’m in desperate need of cash. The only way I will be able to go home is if I call Loki, my older brother, and ask him for money. It’s not like he wouldn’t give me any, and if this were all happening a couple of years ago, I would call him in a heartbeat. However, after our parents died, Loki was given guardianship of our three younger sisters and brother and now he’s too overwhelmed to help me. Even if he’ll never admit it.

  Taking on the responsibility changed him in a good way, but it also made us grow apart as he grew up and I continued to float through life irresponsibly.

  I give him so much credit. He really stepped up, and I’m proud of him for doing it. I feel guilty, though.

  I shouldn’t have been selfish. I should have moved back and helped him. If I did, that night would’ve never happened.

  I press the phone to my ear as the message starts playing. Shit. It’s from my boss, informing me that I’m fired for not showing up this morning. I start to get riled up—he told me I had until tomorrow—until I glance at the date on my phone. Somehow, I lost an entire day.

  Tears pool in my eyes. God, I messed up so badly … with my job, school, that night …

  My life.

  I swallow hard. If my parents saw me now, they would be so disappointed.

  What happened to me? How did I become such a weak, broken person? I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be the strong, happy, bubbly person I once was.

  But how can I do that after what I did to Rae?

  Did you really do it, though? Just because Cole and Del said so, doesn’t make it true.

  I can’t remember that night, though, and Cole and Del can. At least, they say so, which makes it my word against theirs. Two against one.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I swipe my finger to read the message.

  Cole: So, is it going to be a yes or no?

  I grip the phone tighter.

  Ever since I stumbled away from their house that day, after scrubbing the blood off my body in Cole’s shower, he’s been constantly texting me, saying we should meet up. And yesterday, he took it as far as threatening to go to the cops if I didn’t let him take me out for a little fun.

  They promised they wouldn’t call the police when I left that day; said they’d take care of Rae’s body, but that it’d come with a price. I don’t know what they want from me, but eventually, I’m going to have to find out or go to jail.

  Images of that night flash through my mind and tears burst from my eyes. I can’t even fully grasp why I’m crying; whether it’s about that night or my loneliness and disappointment on how my life turned out, in myself, and guilt over what I may have done to Rae. Plus, I’m angry over being blackmailed; angry that I let myself get drunk enough to get into this sort of situation.

  I can’t do this anymore. I’m so freakin’ tired of everything. I just want the heaviness to go away and to be able to sleep.

  Pulling myself to my feet, I stumble into the bathroom and open up the medicine cabinet. More hysterical sobs wrench from my chest as I reach for the sleeping pills and twist off the lid. Then I dump a couple into my scarred palm.

  I add a few more pills, and then some more. Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to my lips, tossing the handful of pills into my mouth before swallowing them down.

  Thunder grumbles again, and the rain quickens as I stumble toward the bed and collapse onto the mattress.

  Rolling onto my back, I blink up at the ceiling then at the window. I don’t jolt when the lightning flashes across the sky and the thunder cracks in a loud boom.

  My eyelids grow heavy as sleepiness overcomes me. Part of me wonders if this will be the last time I ever close my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Rae,” I whisper. “If I did hurt you … I’m so sorry.

  The second my eyelids shut, images of memories flood my mind. Memories of my brothers and sisters, and all the fun, happy moments we shared together: Christmas spent around the tree, Fourth of July’s in the park, camping on spring break and roasting marshmallows, the first time Annabella and I tried to make a cake, going to her dance recitals, attending Alexis’s art shows, watching Nikoli’s football games, teaching Zhara cheers when she tried out for cheerleading, hanging out with Loki and talking about life …

  A final memory slams hard against my brain. The last time I saw them at our parents’ funeral.

  They were sad, broken, buried in so much pain. We have been through so much. They have been through so much.

  God, what have I done? This will destroy them.

  As panic flares through me, I flop over onto my belly, stick my finger down my throat, and force myself to throw up. Even after my stomach feels empty, I still feel drowsy and can barely keep my eyelids open.

  Worried some of the medication entered my system, I fumble for my phone. Then I slide my numb fingertip across the screen and open my contacts. The names are too blurry to read, so I randomly tap the screen.

  The line rings, and then I hear a voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Help …” I murmur. “I think I did something … really …” A slow breath falters from my lips. “I need … help.”

  “Jessamine?” the person asks.

  I know that voice. The name is on the tip of my tongue. I care for this person. A lot. My body aches to be close to him … every day … but I don’t talk to him anymore because I broke him … Just like I break everything.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “No … Nothing’s okay … I need help … I did something bad, and then I took some pills … I thought … I wanted everything … to end, but I don’t. I can’t do this to my brothers and sisters.” My voice drifts as my arm slumps to the mattress.

  “It’s going to be okay.” He sounds afraid. “Just … hang on.”

  Numbness consumes my body, and then the phone slips from my hand.

  Lightning and thunder cracks across the crying sky, the lightning flashing through my room. For a fleeting moment, I think I see Cole standing near the window. But he fades away as darkness hauls me under.

  Two

  When I open my eyes, I’m no longer staring out my loft window at a lightning storm, but at the ceiling of a hospital room. The air reeks of disinfectant and cafeteria food, the beeping of a heart monitor makes my head throb, and my throat feels like it’s on fire.

  “Do you want me to get you some water?”

  My head whips in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.

  A woman a few years older than me is standing beside my bed, jotting something down on a clipboard. She’s wearing scrubs, and her nametag displays “Mia.” Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks irritated as she waits for me to answer.

  “Water would be nice. Thanks.” I cringe at my raspy voice that sounds like I spent an entire night smoking a pack of cigarettes. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday,” she answers, setting the clipboard down on a bedside table.

  “Wednesday?” My muscles gripe in protest as I sit up and glance around the small room. There are so many windows, and I can see the nurses and doctors rushing around in the hallway just outside. “I’ve been here for almost two days?”

  She nods, picks up a pitcher, and fills a small cup with water. “I’ll l
et the doctor know you’re awake.” She hands me the cup then collects the clipboard and heads for the door.

  “Wait!” I call out. “Can you tell me how I got here?”

  She stops in the doorway and turns, her brows elevated. “You don’t remember?”

  I rack my brain, bits and pieces gradually coming back to me: a lightning storm, lying in bed, getting fired from my job, losing my spot in school, losing all that money, trusting people too much, the blood on my hands … that night … being exhausted and disappointed in myself, wanting the pain and heaviness to go away, wanting to forget everything … the pills, throwing up, the paramedics showing up at my loft, the doctor telling me I have to stay in the hospital for forty-eight hours so they can evaluate my mental stability.

  “Oh, God,” I groan. The rhythm of the heart monitor quickens as guilt, fear, and disappointment crash over me like waves colliding with the shore.

  The nurse casts a worried glance at the monitor. “I’ll get the doctor. After he checks in on you, if you feel up to it, you can have a few visitors.”

  “I won’t be having any visitors. I don’t have … anyone.” I may feel alone right now, but I’m not about to call any of my brothers or sisters and drag them into this mess. I did this to myself. I can deal with this by myself. That will be my punishment for what I’ve done.

  “What about your brother?” The nurse glances down at her clipboard. “Loki Baker?”

  “What about him?” Confusion swirls in my mind. “Wait. Did you guys call him?”

  She shakes her head, her confusion mirroring mine. “He arrived last night when you were asleep. He came in for a little while, but he had to leave after visiting hours were over. He said he’d be back today, though.”

  Loki is here? Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.

  “How did he find out I was here?”

  “Maybe your landlord called him? Or one of your neighbors who saw the paramedics come in?” she offers with a shrug. “Look, I need to get the doctor, and then I have other patients to check up on. If you want to find out how your brother knew you were here, you can always just ask him.” She walks out of the room without waiting for me to respond.