Unravel

Calia Read breaks the mold in this explosive novel that grabs hold and doesn’t let go until the shocking truth is revealed. One kiss can change everything . One month ago I was admitted to a psych ward. Yesterday, Lachlan told me I’m losing my mind. But I know what I saw. Will you believe me? Behind the walls of a mental hospital, Naomi Carradine feels her world breaking to pieces. She’s starting to believe all the voices questioning her sanity. Only visitors from the outside world keep her tethered to reality. But deep in her thoughts, Naomi is haunted by memories of a golden summer that twisted into a waking nightmare of obsessive love and fractured truths. Just home from college, Naomi moves in with her best friend, Lana, the daughter of a Virginia senator. At a lavish party thrown by Lana’s father, Naomi meets a sexy stockbroker named Max and finds herself unable to resist his charms. One fiery kiss and she’s going back for more, beginning a terrifying descent. Having witnessed the unspeakable, Naomi has only one hope of escape: unraveling the devastating secrets of her past. Unravel is intended for mature audiences. Praise for Unravel “A sexy, mysterious, and enthralling story . . . Calia Read’s words are so captivating, they’ll hold you hostage and throw you into loops you’ll never see coming.” --Claire Contreras, author of There Is No Light in Darkness

ldquo;A sexy, mysterious, and enthralling story . . . Calia Read’s words are so captivating, they’ll hold you hostage and throw you into loops you’ll never see coming.”—Claire Contreras, author of There Is No Light in Darkness

Autorentext

Calia Read

Leseprobe
1

BREATHE ON GLASS

I gaze out the window at thousands of snowflakes fluttering to the ground. I press my face against the pane, aching for freedom. But it isn’t a thin layer of glass that’s blocking me from the outside, it’s the truth.

Most people believe the truth is a delicate little bird. They think it’s harmless.

But I know something they don’t.

If they dare to move their hands away from their body, they’ll discover that the little bird is gone. It’s torn their skin apart and traveled to the core of their soul, right where it hurts the most.

And that’s why I’m here and they aren’t.

I press my forehead against the window and breathe on the glass. Mist forms and my tally appears. I put another mark on the glass. Thirty days.

Thirty days since I’d been involuntarily admitted to Fairfax Mental Health Institute.

Seven hundred and twenty hours of opening my eyes every morning to an unfamiliar room. Seven hundred and twenty hours of having nurses coming in and out of my room every hour. Seven hundred and twenty hours of being monitored around the clock like I’m a toddler and can’t be trusted.

I watch a fly moving across the window, frantically trying to find a way out into the world.

“I’ve already tried, dummy.” I tap my finger against the window. “They have these suckers bolted tight.”

The fly stops moving, as if it can hear me. Sooner or later, it’s going to find a way out. I feel envy, thick and powerful, flow throughout my body. I want to slam my palm against this insect, killing any chance of its escape.

This is what my life has been stripped down to. I’m envious of a fucking fly.

Loudly, someone knocks on my door.

One, two, three . . .

Three is the magic number for my nurse. It’s as if those few seconds will allow her to brace herself for what she’ll discover on the other side.

Mary stands in the doorway. I take in her short brown hair and colorful scrubs. “You have a visitor,” she says.

I move away from the window. My heart beats the same monotonous rhythm every day, but in seconds it speeds up. The tone sounds different. It isn’t dull. It’s interesting and new and exciting. It’s beautiful. And it can only mean one thing.

Lachlan Halstead.

Before I leave the room I look over my shoulder. The fly’s gone.

“Lucky,” I mumble under my breath as I walk out of my room.

Anyone who ever doubts whether madness exists need only look right here. It drifts throughout every room. It slides down the sterile hallways and attaches itself to every patient, stripping them of their hope and covering them with despair.

Some people don’t react. But the ones that do, scream. Their shouts echo throughout the building. The nurses run down the hallway and a few seconds later those screams turn into moans and then stop. When I first arrived, those screams sent a chill down my spine. But now I’m used to it.

As Mary and I walk down the hall, a nurse and a brunette patient pass by. My steps get slower. I stare at the brunette. Her hair is cut short. Her skin is pale, but underneath the fluorescent lighting its tone takes on a yellow hue. Her body is emaciated. There are track marks all over her arms, telling their own story. She meets my gaze. Her soul shines through her eyes, and asks, “How the hell am I still alive?”

I have no answer.

Mary stops at two locked doors. She enters a four-digit code and the doors slowly open. It’s like we’re entering hell. The rec room is the most depressing place in Fairfax Mental Health Institute. This is where everyone is shoved together.

Mary pushes me forward. The blinds are open, letting sunlight pour in and making the tan linoleum floors blindingly white. Tables are spread throughout the room. A few people are sitting down, playing board games or watching the television mounted on the wall. The news plays so softly the captions are on.

But most people do nothing. They stare straight ahead, their eyes vacant.

There are so many minds around me that are wasting away. But I have someone that keeps me coasting above insanity, and he’s only a few steps away from me.

My body relaxes as I watch Lachlan. He’s sitting at a table next to the windows. His thick brows slant low as he scans the outdoors. His tan hand reaches up and loosens his dark blue silk tie. His brown hair is still cut short, with a few strands brushing his forehead.

If I blink, he’s just a boy with a cocky smile that comes from a child’s naivety. Wiry frame. The best friend that stole my heart. When I open my eyes that image disappears, and in front of me is a man. His cockiness has evaporated into experience. His body has filled out. And now, not only does he own my heart, he possesses my soul.

He’s always been an extension of me, and you cannot be that close to someone and expect your pain not to spread. I know that my sadness is his sadness.

I move across the room. Lachlan is still looking outside. I squint my eyes and follow his gaze to the naked tree closest to the window. It’s the same tree I always look at. Its branches have been stripped of their leaves and bow from the cold wind. For the last week, I’ve watched a frozen water drop on one of the lower branches. It hangs there, looking ready to fall.

The weak branch sways in the air, but the water drop remains. If the ice drop can hold on, then perhaps I can hang on to my small bit of sanity.

I pull out the chair across from Lachlan.

His eyes meet mine. It’s a shock to my nerves. My blood rushes straight to my head.

“How are you?” he asks.

My feet rest on the edge of the seat. I place my chin on my knees, refusing to look away from him. He visits frequently. But those visits seems to stretch farther and farther apart.

“I’m the same as two days ago,” I say.

Lachlan stares at me levelly. His …