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PROLOGUE
EMMALEIGH
Hope is a word I stopped believing in a long time ago. It’s one of those words that people throw about so casually. Hope you are well. Hope you have a great day. Hope you feel better soon.
But what does it really mean? For someone like me, hope is a pipe dream. Something I gave up on when I grew up, a bit like Father Christmas. As my dad used to say—once I finally stopped believing—“There’s only one fat man who brings presents to this house… me.”
I know I probably sound depressed, and you would be right. I believe my doctor’s files say something along the lines of moderate depression, generalised anxiety disorder, and suicidal ideation. Basically, I feel exactly the same as most people do at some point during their lives. But that’s the thing, this isn’t just a passing phase, this is my permanent existence now.
I once had it all. High-flying career as a nurse, an amazing guy I saw great potential with, friends I enjoyed spending time with, a loving family who all live nearby, financially self-sufficient. I even had my own fucking car. On paper, my life was perfect, until it wasn’t. Until the day hope became nothing except a wish.
I fought so hard to get everything in life, but the idea of having to fight each day for something so far from my original vision was just too hard. The world never tells you that you can’t have it all. My parents, just like every other child’s parents, used to tell me that I can do anything I set my mind to, but they were wrong. There are some things you just can’t do.
Sometimes in life, through no fault of your own, you have to take a path you never saw coming. You have to leave the path covered in hearts, rainbows, and sunshine, to walk down the dark, dreary lane, hoping the whole time that it will get better. After all, nobody can see what the road looks like ahead. But, for me, I knew the life I’d envisaged for myself was gone. I just didn’t know how I should feel about this new life, and the new options that were in front of me.
Last week my life changed forever. I stopped being the Emmaleigh Wayward I had always known, and I had to figure out what this new me looked like. Sadly, as each day passed, I stopped searching for that better version of me, for that better life. I pushed away everyone that ever cared about me, and the only hope I dared to have is that it would all be over soon.
I like to remember the days from before, when I didn’t know what life would bring, and I just thought my body was failing me. I remember laughing to myself, joking about why it was always me that seemed to have no luck. I never saw this new life coming, but now I can’t stop wondering if my life will ever be the same again.
They say everyone has one good story in them, and this is mine. This is the story of how my life turned dark, and how I became encapsulated by the darkness, in a position I never thought I would be in. Until a bright bolt of electricity zapped me back to life, and helped me to see that small bit of light in the darkness. Hope.
CHAPTERONE
EMMALEIGH
EMMALEIGH
I know this probably seems like a stupid message, but I just wanted to clear something up. I really did want to meet you and go on a date. When I said I couldn’t go because I broke my foot, that wasn’t an elaborate cop-out. A way to get out of meeting you. It’s the truth. I have loved talking to you, and think we could get on just as well in person. But I know you are dating someone else now, so I wish you all the best. Was nice talking to you, Carlos.
Fuck. Could I sound any lamer?
Without thinking too much about it, I press send. I don’t normally send such desperate, pathetic sounding messages. But at the present moment, my life literally can’t get any shittier.
It’s three in the morning. I’m sitting in a bathroom that screams ‘owned by a guy’ while his cum dribbles down my legs.
I wish I had some incredible sex story to share, that I could tell you all about how he had magic fingers that he knew how to use, but it was nothing compared to his dick. That I saw stars and couldn’t catch my breath as I came so many bloody times.
Ha. I fucking wish. Let me tell you what really happened. I was stupid, and I made the mistake I kept telling myself I needed to stop making.
Drew, the guy who I can hear snoring from two rooms away while I cower in his bathroom, is one of those people that looks fucking gorgeous. He exudes bad boy, with tattoos on top of his lean muscles and a perfectly sculpted face to match. His short, spiky black hair, that admittedly featured far too much gel, and the cocky smirk, round off that bad boy vibe. They were the idealistic things I focused on when I stupidly hoped—there’s that word again!—that I could change him. So I ignored the fact he wore tracksuit bottoms everywhere, smoked roll-ups, which I fucking hated, and he didn’t want any kind of sexual activity to take place while he was watching reality TV. They are just the everyday issues. The other ones were even worse. Still, I ignored all this, and the shit times I’d had before with him, hoping that this time would be different. That maybe, just once, I will be the one to cure the bad boy.
Newsflash… I’m not that girl. Then Drew took his dickish behaviour even further and I think back to the beginning of the evening, wondering how the hell I got myself in this position.
“Emmaleigh, I need to ask you something, and I expect you to be honest. Are you dating anyone else?” asks Drew, and instantly my mind travels to the texts I had been sending Carlos, whose real name is Lee… It’s a long story! We had been texting a lot, but we never met. We had been talking about it, until I went and broke my stupid fucking foot with my clumsy, off-the-chart bad balance. I think he thought I was blowing him off, as so many people who meet on dating apps do, but that wasn’t the case here, and it hurt that he didn’t see that. He went on a date with someone else, and he likes her, which is why he messaged me this morning to let me know we couldn’t talk anymore. I haven’t been able to reply yet.
How do you tell the guy you had started to fall for over a damn dating app, it’s okay if he moves on? It’s not okay. Out of all the guys I’ve talked to on this shitty app, he was the only one I could ever hold a conversation with, who asked me about my day, and who didn’t send me a dick pic—winner in my book.
Instead, I found myself back here, sitting on Drew’s shitty old couch, wondering how much further I can stoop.
We had been seeing each other off and on for the last few months. Nothing serious, just the odd hang out and hook up. Other than the first time we met, we’ve never even been on a real date, and to be honest, that’s okay. We have zero in common, and I don’t think I could stand a date with him.
I can already hear the judgement. If this guy’s such an ass, why are you still meeting him? Worse than that, why are you still fucking him?
And the honest answer is so fucking depressing to admit. I’m using him to make up for my shitty, low self-esteem. He’s hot, and I’m in a place right now where I hate everything about me. I can’t even tell you how often I feel like my body fails me. I’m exhausted all the time. Sometimes, for no reason, I can’t feel my leg, or my vision will go blurry. Doctors say I’m just stressed, but I can’t help worrying it’s something more.
The more my body fails me for no reason at all, the more depressed I get. So, when this hot guy started showing an interest in me, I jumped on it. I ignored the fact we have nothing in common. He’s dull as dish-water, and he wouldn’t know a clitoris if it whacked him around the head. Still, I keep showing up at his apartment late at night so that nobody can see me making another big mistake.
Tonight I’m probably the lowest I’ve been in a while. I know you shouldn’t get your hopes up with guys you meet on a dating website, but I honestly thought Lee was different. I thought we had great potential. And even now, as I’m sitting on another guy’s sofa, all I can think about is him. But when Drew asks me if I’m seeing anyone else, I can answer honestly. If I’d arranged to meet Lee, I would have told Drew right away. I don’t believe in leading two guys on, or dating two people at once—even though I’m definitely not dating Drew. I still only sleep with one person at a time.
