Unveiling The Sky Read online

  Unveiling The Sky

  Jeannine Allison

  Unveiling The Sky

  Copyright © 2016 Jeannine Allison

  Edited By: Stephanie Parent

  Cover Design © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Unveiling The Sky Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Coming Next...

  To all those fighting invisible demons,

  keep fighting.

  Author’s Note

  Before you start this novel I’d like to address an affliction affecting the female protagonist, Alara Black. Alara, like many, myself included, suffers from major depression.

  Depression is a very serious mood disorder affecting nearly 350 million people worldwide. It is a very personal and varied experience and even with the label of “depression” binding us together, there is still so much that is unknown about this disorder, and each and every person is affected differently.

  That being said, I wanted to address my own experience with it…

  It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to admit, and admitting it here and being vulnerable to complete strangers is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. But pretending it doesn’t exist isn’t helping anyone, in fact, I think ignoring it for so long did the most harm.

  The first time I remember thinking “something’s not right” I was at a baseball game with a group of friends. I was eighteen years old and on the verge of graduating high school. I didn’t understand then that this would be a lifelong struggle, and in an effort to be “normal,” to not be embarrassed by medication and needing help, I ignored it.

  One of my goals in writing this novel was to relay my experience and hopefully help others make sense and accept his/her own struggles. Alara’s experience comes entirely from my own. Some may relate to these feelings, and some may not. There is no wrong way to experience this horrible disorder. I am in no way an expert (doctor, scientist, etc…) on this disorder and my experience in no way encompasses the worst that depression has wreaked on a person’s life.

  Unveiling The Sky hits very close to home because many of Alara’s thoughts and struggles are ones I experienced myself. I wanted to convey the seriousness of this disorder while also showing that you can have depression and still be healthy. I have had some very low and dark times, but that doesn’t mean I’m perpetually in a state of apathy and sadness. There is still plenty of joy and laughter and promise in my life, even if there are days that finding those things are more difficult.

  I thought writing it would be difficult, and at certain times it definitely was, but what I didn’t expect was the amount of freedom I felt after having finished. While it is still a part of my life that I will constantly have to work on, I feel more comfortable with it than I ever have before.

  Ultimately, I hope this novel helps others as much as it has helped me. Even if only one person is helped, I will consider it a success. One of the greatest disservices to depression is silence. This is for anyone who needs a voice.

  “You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.”

  - Ernest Hemingway

  If you or someone you know needs help please call,

  1-800-273-8255

  or visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org

  Glass rained down around me, blood dripping from my hand to the tile below. I tried to take a deep breath, but the air wasn’t there. My breaths grew louder, and with another cry, I slammed my bloody hand into the mirror. After that fourth hit the pain barely registered anymore, and I collapsed against the opposite wall. I watched myself disappear from the mirror as I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor.

  The knocks on my front door were getting louder, and my phone continued its insistent ringing. The only time it stopped was during the three-second intervals between calls when Naomi hung up and dialed again. I watched it vibrate across the counter until it teetered at the edge, precariously balancing, one shake away from crashing to the floor. Exhausted, I finally reached forward to answer it.

  “Alara?” Naomi’s frantic voice shouted. “Open the door.”

  “I-I’m tired,” I choked out on a sob.

  “I know, honey. I know. Just… I need you to open the door.” The normal cheer was gone from her voice, replaced by undisguised panic and sorrow. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as more tears ran down my face.

  Ending the call without responding, I slowly got up, checking to make sure the towel was secured around me. I glanced down to see my long blonde hair was still dripping wet, the water trickling to mix with the blood. As I made my way to the front door, I glanced at the contents of my closet scattered about on my bedroom floor and wondered if this was my life now. Despair. Destruction. Pain. Exhaustion. The thunderous knocks from Naomi’s tiny hands ended as soon as I unlocked the door and stepped back. Not even a second later, she burst in, and her wide brown eyes took in my appearance.

  “Oh God. What happened?”

  “I’m just so, so tired, Naomi.” My shoulders sagged and my head dropped as I started crying harder. She was at my side in an instant, rubbing small circles on my back and telling me it was going to be okay.

  “Alara…” she began softly. “I need you to tell me where the blood is coming from.” I looked down, taking note of the red streaks on my feet and legs. I wordlessly held up my left hand, which she quickly turned over and began examining. She was shifting her focus back and forth between my eyes and hand. “Shit. I think this needs stitches.”

  I withdrew my hand and shook my head. “N-no. I don’t want to g-go anywhere,” I hiccupped as I cradled my hand to my chest.

  “I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to. Sher’s already on her way over. She should be here any—”

  “Fuck. What the hell happened? Is she okay?” Sherry’s voice sounded as she raced through the front door and slammed it behind her. Her burgundy hair was wild and curly around her flushed face, and her chest heaved under her Arizona Cardinals T-shirt, giving the impression she ran here.

  Their voices became muddled as they moved me to the couch. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing once more and stop my tears. I thought back to my childhood when I got in trouble for talking too much and laughing too loud, and I couldn’t help but wonder how it all changed. How could the happy child I was turn into this? I tried to think of the exact moment when I felt the change, the exact moment when simply waking up seemed like a chore, but I couldn�
�t. I opened my eyes to the white plaster above, only vaguely aware of Sherry and Naomi sitting on either side of me. As I continued to stare at the ceiling, I started counting and realized this had been going on for three years. I’d felt this despair, destruction, pain, and exhaustion for three freaking years, yet I’d done nothing about it. I constantly wrote it off, telling myself I’d be okay. I had time. It hadn’t broken me… until tonight.

  “Alara.” Naomi’s voice became clearer, and I realized my tears had slowed and my breathing was more manageable. She came around and knelt directly in front of me before giving me a slight shake. “Alara,” she repeated.

  I brought my head up and looked at her. She let out a relieved breath and sat next to me again before grabbing my uninjured hand and giving it a squeeze.

  “Sher knows how to stitch you up. She left for the drugstore. She should be back in ten minutes.”

  I nodded while my sorrow continued to subside and I slowly slipped into numbness. I turned my head into the back of the couch, feeling the rough texture against my forehead as the last of my cries disappeared. Naomi hugged me from the side and rested her head on my shoulder, all the while whispering, chanting, that everything would be okay. But for the first time in three years, I didn’t believe it, because when I closed my eyes, all I saw were more days just like this.

  Eight months later…

  The moans and grunts were getting louder. I pulled my pillow over my head and burrowed between it and the mattress, but it proved useless. Naomi and Caleb had been having sex all night and my roommate was an unabashed screamer. It was on her fourth or fifth plea to God that I finally threw the covers off, quickly slipping a bra on under my shirt and changing into running shorts. I had just reached the door and shoved my feet in my shoes when I heard the distinct sound of an ass slap.

  Grimacing, I slammed the door as hard as I could before taking off toward our apartment complex’s tiny gym. Thankfully no one was there, and when I glanced at the clock I realized why. 5:30 a.m. On a Sunday. On the second to last weekend before school started. I was going to kill Naomi.

  Caleb had been gone all summer, and I thought about how disgruntled she’d been up until ten hours ago when he showed up at our door. I was comparing the pros and cons of a sex-deprived Naomi and a sex-crazed Naomi as I climbed on the treadmill closest to the window. Both sucked, one figuratively, and sadly, I knew the other was quite literally. Caleb was an atheist, but whenever Naomi’s mouth was on him, he conveniently forgot that fact. Loudly. At least he had the decency to blush in the morning.

  I only had enough energy to work out for forty-five minutes. That’s what only four hours of sleep gets you. Climbing off the elliptical, I stretched my sore legs and wiped the sweat from my brow before making my way back toward our (hopefully silent) apartment. I sent up a quick prayer as my hand closed around the doorknob, and I pushed it open. Smiling, I took in the silence and made my way into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle.

  “God, I missed sex.”

  I jumped and whirled around at the sound of her voice. Naomi stood in her neon-green sports bra and black boxers as a grin spread across her face.

  “Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “Were we loud?” She wore an expression of mock innocence and barely contained her laughter as she reached forward to swipe my now filled bottle.

  “No, you were loud.”

  She shrugged and jumped on the counter, swinging her legs. “So what are you up to today? Caleb and I were thinking of catching a movie.”

  I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You know you can’t have sex there, right?”

  She frowned and took a sip before tossing my bottle back to me. “Hmm… well, we can at least do some hand stuff.” I chuckled and shook my head at her serious tone before walking by her and toward my room. “So that’s a no?” she hollered as I crossed the threshold.

  “That’s a hell no,” I yelled back before closing the door on her laughter. I smiled as I walked into my adjoining bathroom and started the shower. After quickly throwing off my sweat-soaked clothes, I stepped under the cool stream and let out a content sigh.

  My arms were tender as I lifted them above my head and washed my hair, slowly moving the suds in circles. I made quick work of conditioning my ends before grabbing my favorite coconut lime body scrub and rubbing it down my legs and arms. When I reached my left wrist, I paused before reverently tracing the slightly raised scar that ran from the center of my palm to the heel of my hand. The night I’d gotten that was the worst of my life, but it could have been so much worse if it weren’t for Naomi.

  Even though we’d been friends since the second grade, we’d never thought about living together in college. We had heard the horror stories about rooming with friends, and we didn’t want to do anything to rock the boat. Unfortunately, the boat was rocked anyway.

  My depression had never been worse than it was at the end of last year. I was living by myself, and the numbness crept in so slowly I didn’t even notice it until Naomi barged in one afternoon, yelling at me for blowing her off again. She told me she felt like I didn’t care about our friendship anymore. She cried. I hadn’t seen her cry in years. But there she was, crying in my living room while I lay on the couch I’d barely moved from in three days.

  I think that was the first time I realized my depression affected more than just me. But it was just so easy to lose myself in it. I felt so worthless and unloved that I honestly believed she’d be relieved all those times I canceled on her. But she wasn’t. She was hurt and confused, and that was on me. So yeah, the boat was rocked. That bitch was practically waterlogged.

  We moved in together shortly after, and in those first few months, I slowly realized our fears of living together were completely unfounded. Because even though most friendships were surely tested by it, I forgot Naomi wasn’t like most friends. She wasn’t perfect. She left her clothes in the dryer for days, never took out the garbage, and her crap was constantly cluttering the common area. And let’s not forget the loud sex. But that didn’t matter because she was still my best friend and the best person I knew. So if she wanted to have loud, crazy sex and leave her stuff everywhere, she could go right ahead. I’d take the bad, because in the end, it paled in comparison to the good.

  But as I continued tracing the scar and the water ran cold, I couldn’t help but think one day she would wake up and realize my good could never outweigh my bad.

  …

  Naomi and Caleb had successfully removed themselves from bed an hour ago to go to the movies. I’d just slipped into jeans and a T-shirt when I remembered my niece’s party was supposed to be at the park this year. If I didn’t know how hard it was to say no to Megan, I’d hate my sister for agreeing to this. Living in Arizona meant I typically limited my outside excursions to the months of October through April; anything else was a sure death sentence. Like right now, in the middle of freaking August.

  Quickly removing my clothes, I settled on a knee-length mint-green dress instead, even though it would only make a minimal difference in the triple-digit heat, but anything would be better than jeans. I grabbed her present off my desk before rushing out the door and to my car. The party didn’t start for an hour, but my sister had put me in charge of watching Megan while she set up everything. I pulled in just as Jackie was slumping down on the bench.

  “AUNTIE ARA!” Megan screamed as she came running toward me. I bent down, taking care to keep my dress tucked under my knees, and waited for her to launch herself into my arms. She barely slowed down as she plowed into me, and I rocked back with the force of it.

  “Hey, sweetheart. What’s going on here today?” I made a big deal of looking around at all the decorations my sister had piled on the table, getting ready to set up.

  “It’s my birthday party, Ara. Duhhh… remember when I gived you the pretty pink invitation with all the glitter?”

  “Gave,” Jackie corrected from behind her. “You gave her the invitation, sweetie.”
/>   Megan nodded, trying to look stern like her mother. “I gave you the invitation, remember?”

  Jackie chuckled a little while I tried to keep a straight face. I hit myself on the head as if I just remembered. “Of course. What was I thinking? Wait… did I forget your present?” Again, I made a show of looking at the bags around me and frowning.

  “You got me a present?” she asked excitedly as she hopped around in front of me, her big brown curls bouncing with her.

  “I sure did. Now tell me. What was the one thing you wanted more than anything else?”

  “Daddy, I wanted Daddy to come home. That’s the wish I made this morning on my breakfast pancake.” I saw Jackie’s face drain of color as she stood behind Megan and a look of complete torture came over her face.

  “WAIT!” Megan yelled and grabbed my hand, bringing my eyes back to her now pale face. Her lips trembled and her eyes were wide with tears. “It doesn’t come true if I tell you. Mommy says it’s not gonna come true if I tell you.”

  My sister sprang into action, coming around and kneeling with us. She squeezed her daughter’s hand as she reassured her. “That’s only on birthday cakes, sweetie, not pancakes. There are never any rules on pancakes.”

  “Really?” We both nodded earnestly until the tears that had sprung up began receding. “Pinky promise.” She pouted, daring us to tell her we were lying, before sticking her pinky in Jackie’s face. After we both locked fingers with her, Megan gave us a wide grin and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Why don’t you go play on the swings for a little bit?”

  “Okay, Mommy.” Megan turned to run away before pausing and spinning around to face us again. She quickly ran and hugged me once more before whispering in my ear, “I missed you, Auntie Ara.” And with that, she was skipping toward the swing set.