Title: Secondhand Hearts
Author: Yvonne Wilson
Genre: Adult, Second Chance Romance
Published: February 2, 2016
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One shot and she was gone forever.
One moment. One decision. I was no longer living. Fading. Dying. My past and my present were stolen. Lost. Misled. My heart was broken that day. Damaged. Shattered. But Secondhand Hearts can be mended. Treasured. Loved. Forgiven.
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Secondhand Hearts Excerpt #2 © Yvonne Wilson 2016
~Kessler
My lips are dry, so I drain the last few drops of Monster into my mouth. Using my tongue to coat my lips in that syrupy mixture of energy in a can, I feel Jai’s feathery brush of her lips against mine. Like fresh strawberries, plump and sweet. Closing my eyes, I reach out for her…
And then as fast as it came, it’s gone. The vision is no longer there. My body, my mind, emotions, everything is in an ugly tug of war.
Memories: 1 Me: 0
I’m so fucking afraid. I’ve lost more of those moments, and there’s no way I can lose these memories too. But those memories remind me that Jai’s gone, allowing the darkest and blackest memory to wrap its unforgiving fingers around my heart. They squeeze so hard that I think I might bleed out. And when I relinquish control and accept their grasp’s bidding, they release me, clapping and cheering with the hostile irony they’ve created just for me.
My cheek against the cold concrete pulls me back to my reality, and I laugh. From exhaustion, from disbelief…
I don’t know.
Sweat from my workout coats my body and soaks into my clothes, creating a chill against my damp skin, so I’ll stay awake and I continue to laugh hysterically. My legs curl up to my chest and I’m on my side staring at a mark on the floor made by someone’s shoe. This makes me laugh harder.
Tears begin to fall from my tired eyes, so I swipe them away with one hand, trying to get them to stop, but more tumble out. They keep coming until it is one stream of salty liquid and I don’t want them to stop anymore.
I wonder how long I can cry before the tears cease to fall? Can I cry myself to death?
My sounds are odd and strangled, getting louder and louder. I hope Jaina can see me here. That she sees what she has reduced me to and how pathetic I am.
“BITCH! Can you hear me? Is this what you wanted? You win. Fuck you. Let’s play a different game now.” I’ve got my two middle fingers waving in the air in a lame attempt to send her a signal of surrender or maybe it’s to say “Fuck You.” Either way it’s not what I really feel or really want her to know. “I love you, baby. Come back and take me with you. Do you hear me? I said I fucking love you, but I hate you more.”
I don’t though.
I don’t hate her.
I can’t hate her.
| Yvonne Wilson is a teacher by day, working at the elementary level in the resource and learning assistance areas. Her writing is fit into any time possible between taking her three kids to their various sports and activities. She lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest of British Columbia, and will often be found curled up with a good book or watching a crime drama. Yvonne has a love for running shoes even though she doesn’t run, but they sure make an outfit look super cute. She loves guacamole and will eat that by itself or on almost anything. Ice cream ranks pretty high too. |
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Sounds really awesome!