Promise Me Read online

  Copyright © 2013 Barbie Bohrman

  Edited by Luisa Hansen

  Cover design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Formatting by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my beautiful daughter, Belinda.

  You'll never be too old to chase your dreams…

  …but, you're still not old enough

  to read this book.

  I love you,

  Mommy

  It's him.

  If you had told me it was him and I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I would have called you a liar. Somewhere in the back of my mind, where I can barely process what is going on around me, I tell myself that I shouldn't be here watching this. I should walk away, or better yet, run as fast as I can, to nowhere in particular. But I don't. I stand there frozen in the shadows watching him through the window. Him.

  He's my first love and my life... and he's kissing my best friend.

  My anger is boiling just beneath the surface, making the flesh on my skin feel like it's about to burst. My eyes probably look like they are going to fall out of my head at any moment. Yet, I cannot stop staring as Chris and Lisa hold, caress, whisper, and kiss each other over and over as if each of their lives depended on it. Exactly the same way mine had when he did those things with me.

  With each subtle change in their embrace, I remember the many times he has held me, touched me, loved me... Memories flash in my head, like a catalog of moving pictures on a big screen: The first time he held my hand, our first kiss, the first time we made love just a few shorts weeks ago. Each memory feels like a stake through my heart and then my body begins to tremble.

  The overwhelming feeling of betrayal and heartbreak is building its way up to my throat, threatening to break the dam of emotions I'm just barely able to keep in check as it is. My eyes have closed on their own accord and the tears slowly begin to fall. I vaguely remember that no one even knows that I'm at this party, so I attempt to make a quick getaway in the hopes that no one will notice I was here. I just want to go back home, crawl back into my bed, and sleep away what could only be described as a nightmare. Unfortunately, I know that when I wake up that won't be the case. I will never forget the scene playing out in front of me.

  I take a few cautionary steps backward, away from the window and clumsily bump into something hard. I let out a loud gasp and instinctively cover my mouth to stifle any noise. I feel movement behind me and catch a glimpse of a hand as it is lightly placed on my right hip. I stare down at the mysterious hand and know at once who it belongs to. A tattoo peeks out from the pulled up sleeve of a white thermal shirt, twisting itself around the defined forearm of its owner. The black ink is in such stark contrast to the color of his shirt, that for a second or two I'm lost in its intricate design. As I slowly begin to get my bearings and I'm able to say anything in protest, I sense movement again. I feel his breath on my left ear and his raspy voice whisper, "Be careful Sabrina. You don't want them to know you've caught them."

  I whimper when I hear his declaration and look up again through the window as my boyfriend's hands begin to wander down the backside of my best friend's body, and what little control I had left is gone.

  I start sobbing. The hand that was covering my mouth has dropped and I automatically place it over my heart in the hopes that it will keep it from spilling out of my chest. Luckily, the music inside has been playing fairly loud and since I'm hiding on this side of the house in the dark, no one can hear or see me while I cry uncontrollably.

  "Don't cry," he says in my ear, "they're not worth it."

  I freeze up at his words. His hand rubs my hip slowly as if he's trying to calm a frightened animal, which keeps me from making any attempt to turn around and face him or to run away. With just his hand he keeps me locked in place, my back to his front.

  "This isn't the first time. They've been doing this for a while," he says.

  When these words escape his mouth, I'm left to wonder exactly just how long this has been going on. My mind is now working in overdrive, trying to quickly piece together every missed call and every late practice Chris may have claimed to have. Again, I try to remove myself from his hold so I can run away. Using both hands now, he quickly pulls me back to him and holds me in a tight grip. Through tears, and after what seems like an eternity, I finally am able to barely speak.

  "How long?" I ask him.

  He doesn't answer me. His body stiffens behind me and his hands are now clutching my hips to the point of discomfort.

  "How long, Tyler," I plead, "please... tell me."

  "A few months," he says simply.

  "Why? How could they do this to me?"

  He slowly turns me around to face him. I can barely make out his features under the soft glow of the full moon. I lift my head up to look at him and I'm not sure what is behind his hard expression. His jaw is set tight, as if he's clenching his teeth, and his chocolate brown eyes lock with mine.

  As he studies my face, I feel the intensity behind his gaze. His face is a mask of emotion that I cannot decipher since I'm too busy trying to keep my composure. I momentarily consider the fact that he might just be trying to be nice to me, which is in complete odds to his reputation. Tyler is particularly known in our high school and home town as a "bad boy".

  I've known Tyler almost my entire life, having been in the same classes since Kindergarten, but we have never been friends. Right now I'm confused by his demeanor and I take a couple of quick steps back. He doesn't let me go anywhere. Instead, he pulls me closer and puts his arms around me. At first, I'm hesitant, but I am no match for his strong arms. I reluctantly give in, letting him pull me even closer until my head is tucked firmly under his chin. I take in the scent of him while I try to calm down. I faintly register his hand rubbing small circles on my back and I begin to feel the smallest sense of being safe in his embrace.

  Ev
en though I know rationally I should stay away from him, I feel comforted by his touch and the warmth of his body all around me. He shifts me just so, and I find myself curled up in his side as he begins to walk forward with me still wrapped in his arms and away from the window where my heart has just been obliterated. He walks me back towards the street where lines of cars are tightly parked from all the party goers. I spot my car and when we're standing directly in front of it, I slip out of his arms and he looks at me intently for a split second until he speaks again. "Give me your keys," he says quietly but with enough authority so that there is not a doubt of whether I should consider it for a moment. I hand him the keys and he proceeds to open my door and carefully guide me into the passenger seat. I watch him while he closes my door and walks around the front of the car until he reaches the driver's side. Without saying a word he slides in, starts the engine and begins to drive. As I stare out the window, I can't help but think of what I just witnessed. The scene just repeats itself over and over in my head.

  Just today I had told my boyfriend Chris that my parents weren't letting me go to the party, having been grounded for something that I can't even remember right now. He was disappointed, or at least I thought he was. But when Lisa sidled up to our conversation and joked that she would keep an eye on him for me, we all laughed it off, knowing full well that Lisa was more apt to get herself into some harmless trouble than Chris. Lisa walked away to her next class, but Chris stayed behind. He grabbed my hand and told me how sorry he was that I couldn't make it and that maybe he shouldn't go either. I instantly brushed the idea way, insisting that he go ahead and have some fun without me.

  After dinner, I had tried calling him and got his voice mail. Instead of leaving a message, I decided to have some fun and be a little defiant. My heart raced as I impatiently waited in my bedroom for my parents to go to bed. I had never snuck out of my house before. It's not like I had to go to the party, but I couldn't get the disappointed look on Chris' face earlier in the day out of my head when he found out I wouldn't be able to go. So, at around 11 o'clock, I tip toed out of my room, down the hallway, until I reached the back door of the house. I was having second thoughts about sneaking out so late when I turned the handle to leave, but I quickly threw them aside as visions of Chris being surprised and happy to see me propelled me further.

  Arriving at the party, I decided to go around to the back of the house and enter through the back door so that I wouldn't be noticed right away by Chris. Walking along the side of the house, I glanced to my left and looked through the windows. Browsing through the first few windows, I saw plenty of people I knew dancing, drinking, and having a great time. As I approached the last window, I smiled when I looked up and saw Lisa's small frame being hoisted up by a guy until her legs were wrapped around his waist. It was then that I froze with the realization that she was with Chris. They were locked in a very passionate kiss, breaking away from each other for a second to get some air until they started right where they had left off. At first, I had a fleeting notion of confronting them. Then, as the initial shock and anger settled itself into my thoughts, an immeasurable amount of hurt rolled through me. The pain kept me tethered to that spot by the window, forcing me to look on silently while my boyfriend started tugging at my best friend's shirt. My best friend. I can't believe she could have done this to me, her "sister," as she would sometimes call me. I thought I knew her. Now, I'm sure I never did.

  "He doesn't deserve you."

  Tyler's voice is quiet, but loud enough to snap me out of my reverie. I look over in his direction to see him staring blankly at the road before him. My eyes trail down to his hands to see he is gripping the steering wheel for dear life. The exposed skin on his forearm is flexing and the veins are visible in the faint light the dashboard provides.

  I don't answer him, instead I return to staring out my window in a daze until my street comes into view. Before I can tell him where to park my car, he pulls it deftly into a space across the street from my house and kills the engine.

  I can't move. I'm glued to my seat and staring at the floorboards. The silence is unsettling; making it worse is the fact that I can feel him staring at me. He turns slightly in his seat and from the corner of my eye I see his hand cautiously approaching my face. He places his hand lightly under my chin, slowly tilting it up and turning it towards him. Whatever thoughts he's having, he's hiding them behind his intense stare. I feel embarrassed, remembering that he has now seen me at my lowest. He senses that I'm about to turn away, so he holds me firmly by applying more pressure to my chin.

  "He doesn't deserve you, Sabrina."

  I gather up the courage to look straight in his eyes and tell him, "You keep saying that."

  He hesitates before he answers me, but not before a sigh escapes his lips, "You're special. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

  Did he just say that he thinks I'm beautiful? My expression must mirror the surprise I'm feeling because the corners of his mouth twitch slightly as if to stifle a grin.

  My voice drops so low that I barely hear myself ask, "You think I'm beautiful?"

  "Yeah, I do," he says just as quietly. "Not only are you beautiful but you're really smart and too good to be with an asshole like Chris Lyons."

  My brain is not absorbing what he just said. This night couldn't get any worse or crazier if I was in an episode of The X-Files. Tyler Anderson, probably the hottest and most dangerous guy in town is telling me all of this on the same night I caught my best friend since grade school and boyfriend of three years going at it like there was no tomorrow.

  "But you don't know me at all Tyler," I tell him as I feel the tears break free again. And really, he doesn't. I've seen him here and there but can't say that I know anything real about him other than what I've heard through the grapevine. He inclines slightly forward so that he's just a few inches from my face. He takes the opportunity to tenderly wipe some of the tears that are trickling down my cheeks with his thumbs. I feel like a moth to a flame, drawn into his chocolate gaze and I begin to mentally chastise myself for feeling nervous -the good kind- when I'm still reeling from the night's revelations.

  "I know you and I see you," he whispers softly, "the real you."

  He leans closer and I tense up thinking that he's going to kiss me. Instead, he unlatches my seatbelt and pushes up the manual lock on the passenger door. He pulls back, unlocks his door and gets out, walks around the front of the car to open my door and holds out his hand to help me out. With his other hand, he hands me my keys, but not before scanning my face as if he's looking for something specific. With a slight grin that causes his lips to curl up just enough to look ridiculously sexy, he says, "You're going to be fine, trust me."

  Before I walk across the street to my house, it dawns on me that he drove my car here and that he has no way to get back to the party. "Tyler, let me give you a ride home at least?"

  He shakes his head and says, "No thanks."

  "I can give you a ride back to the party then," I say trying to find a way to repay him for his kindness. In the back of my mind, I'm considering whether I actually want him to leave me at all. The thought terrifies and thrills me all at the same time.

  "I'm walking. Don't worry about me, I'm good. Thanks anyway," his response comes out clipped as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  "I feel terrible that you'll have to walk," I counter and try to maneuver around his large frame to make it to the driver's side of my car. He grabs me by the arm, pulling me close so that we are pressed together. His hand comes up to tuck a lock of my auburn hair that has fallen out of my pony tail behind my ear. He bends down to place a chaste kiss on my cheek, his face lingering a second or two longer than necessary before he pulls away for good.

  "Go to bed, Sabrina," he says to me, "promise me that tomorrow you'll dump his sorry ass, cut that bitch out of your life, and try to hold on as best you can until you're out of this shit hole town in a couple of months."

&
nbsp; I don't even know what to say to him. I still can't think clearly. My brain is in a haze of painful visions of Chris and Lisa all over each other, intermingled with Tyler being sweet and gentle and taking care of me.

  "Promise me," he says in a slightly more demanding tone, but his voice still soft enough that I know he's sincere.

  "I promise."

  He nods, as if he's content with my response and turns to walk away from me. When I step off the curb to cross the street, I hesitate and call out to him, "Tyler!" He stops and turns around a few feet away from me, but I can still see his face clearly. "Thank you... for everything."

  He smiles at me one last time then turns around and walks into the night, disappearing completely from my sight.

  The graduating class of 2001 invites you to

  our 10 year class reunion!

  June 25th, 2011, Skippack Golf Club,

  Five-thirty for cocktails,

  Followed by dinner and dancing at six-thirty.

  The invitation arrived yesterday, and all I could think was, how the hell did they find out where I live? I mean, I don't really stay in touch with many people from my home town except for my parents. I definitely wouldn't put it past them to give out my address in the hopes of getting me to come home for a visit though. Being an only child, they make sure to check up on me at least twice a week, three times even, if I don't take the initiative to call them on my own at least one of those times. Every call is filled with the usual questions about my job, my life, etc. They keep me up to date about what's going on back home. All the calls end the same way, wanting to know when I'll be coming back home for a visit. My answer…"We'll see."

  "So, are you going?" My roommate and best friend Julia asks as she sits across from me at our kitchen table about to pour an obscene amount of creamer into her coffee. Over the years, it never ceases to amaze me how much crap this girl can put in her body and still look like she belongs on a runway in Milan.