Here is a little bit of a novel I am working on right now. I know there is some work that needs to be done. I mean, writing is re-writing, right? The title is still a working title that may end up be changed.
The audience is towards young adults around the ages or 16 through 20.
Tide.
1.
No one ever sees the scars, the ones inside only visible when you look closely enough. The only way to escape these scars is to document them onto paper. With the words I intertwine pieces of myself, and a little bit of other people. I lace in lies, love, trust, hate, and in the end it is hard to tell if this is really letting me escape these scars or if they are pulling me in closer.
They tell about events of love, relapse, hope, anger, helplessness, recovery, and damage. The documents weep like a small negated child wanting to be touched. They are so precisely accurate that anyone who reads them would know every emotion, smell, and picture that these scars has infused into my skin. Like all lies and trust, it is imperfect and doesn't tell the entire story. How can someone tell the entire story when it also involves other people?
These documents are never mine.
These documents remind me of what I have lost, either it be my childhood or someone I love, or just a small picture.
But the documents are only reflections of my scars. Like all scars some heal quickly and some never truly heal. The ones that never truly heal you try to hide them away from your vision. You don't really hide them away from the prying eyes of others, but more away from yourself. Hoping that one day you will forget where you hid them. You hope you will never have to deal with them again.
Yet, eventually they will show up. The sad part is that most likely they will show up when your guards are down.
Sometimes there are people around you to help you heal. You learn that you can lean on them and trust them. But how can you learn to do that when you only have yourself? You don't know any other way.
Unless maybe you trust someone enough to let them in…
Were shall I start? Not at the beginning…
2.
A ghostly voice trickled through the water as I came up from its depths. The sound seemed so far away. I know that this is what the voices from hell must sound like to God, so unmemorable. I was too far gone to react to this voice. The constant tug of the current was drowning my body like the alcohol was drowning out my thoughts.
I don't want to die. I just want to forget everything. I want to quite feeling all these unnerving emotions that race through my body. And that is exactly what I am doing. The whiskey in my body and the water that is consuming me is taking me far away from all these unwanted feelings.
I like it here, floating unchained in this cold, dark world. It was here that all the yelling voices that screamed in my head every waking moment, shouting insults and uncertainties were gone. They were swallowed by the swirling blue green mass of water.
It was just me here. It was quiet, calm, still. The outside world couldn't reach me here. I was safe.
If the blazing in my lungs wasn't so intense, I would even consider staying here forever. But my chest was starting to feel like it was going to burst and I knew my eyes were burning in the salty water.
Against my better judgment I opened my eyes to the darkness. The salt water was only continuing its slow torture. It was not only quiet here; it was beautiful, calm, peaceful, and serene. I wanted to stay here forever in this sanctuary where nothing could hurt me, where her voice didn't haunt me. It was where I could be free of the darkness that threatened to swallow me, much like what the water was doing now. I was being consumed.
My body forced a gush of bubbles out of my mouth. I could feel it tickle my nose as it rose up towards the surface of the water. I have heard that drowning was an easy death, but also very painful. I wonder which is worse; continuing to live the way I was, so close but never actually having her, and with the knowledge of my insufficiency…or just letting go, to take that one last deep breath and free myself.
Who would weep for me, anyway?
I pondered hard and long on this one small thought. I released more air out of my tiny body and enjoyed the lessening of the pressure in my chest.
This game that has been played between Tatum and I had proven to be too much. The pushing of each other away and then pulling the other back was beginning to get tiring. It also began to hurt physically.
I can free the both of us from this masochistic cycle.
More tiny bubbles joined the ones that had already reached the surface and popped.
Just a little further and that'll be it.
My primal instinct to panic at the lack of air was fighting with my craving to take a deep breath and greet the end on my own terms. My body desperately wanted to breathe while my mind needed that silence. I pushed the last of the air from my lungs and waited a few seconds, trying to gather the audacity to open my mouth and gulp. My head was getting fuzzy, my eyes were blurry, and my heart was pounding agonizingly in my ears. That calm that I just experienced was being erased.
I squeezed my eyes shut trying to concentrate on my version of peace. My vision had started to go grey while my body decided to quickly shut down. I was fading away and I took the last step by opening my mouth.
That pestering voice suddenly got closer. The water was bringing the voice closer to my ears. The sound was faded out and muffled.
"Harlow," I heard the barely audible sound. Like a child who has been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I sprung out of the water gasping for air that my body so desperately craved.
I heard rapid splashing and felt movement in the dark water. I felt warm arms encircle my body, pulling me as close to their body as humanly possible. The cool water was crashing into the both of us as she held me close to her warm body.
"Oh… God… Harlow!" I heard the raspy voice that was mixed with my pounding heartbeat. I was too wasted to really think of anything coherent let alone say anything. I just held on to the warm body, seeking that instant comfort that it returned back to me.
This is what we do, I suppose. We open up our arms wide.
We hold on tight.
~
3.
The rhythmic thunder of the waves crashing against the rocks relaxes the tense muscles in my body and sobers me up. The hot Hawaiian air mixed with the radiant heat coming from the body laying halfway on top of me makes sweat drip drop off my skin. I could feel my body tense as I felt soft fingers drag across my back lightly in small swirling circles. I tighten my hold onto her neck, afraid that if I let go I would still be in the drowning safety of the ocean.
"Baby, are you okay?" She said in a tired worry filled voice.
When had we crossed the imaginary line into intimateness? I guess we both were always intimate. I know for a fact we were never friends. We almost undoubtedly masqueraded as friends, but there has always been more to this illicit relationship.
I don't answer, only breathed lightly on her exposed shoulder. The skin was silky warm against my lips. She thinks I am asleep. She doesn't want to wake me. This is the only time I let her see me relaxed and peaceful. In reality this is the only time I am relaxed…in her arms. The world isn't trying to fuck me over.
The beam of the moon bleeds through the open window of her room. I can smell the salt from the ocean, or maybe from my skin. I don't know which is more poignant. I watch through my long black lashes as the moon hits her sweat coated skin making it glisten. I run my sweaty hand over her dark brown locks which make her hold onto me tighter. She knows that right now I need this. It is not long after this intimate moment passes that I close my eyes. We both want the security of the other so bad that we hurt.
The silence between the both of us has been uncomforting. Bright light beams from her eyes looked like broken glass or a broken heart that needs to be fixed. Suddenly, I realize that it was only a reflection of what she is seeing in my eyes. Her eyes were stronger than mine. I know she had witnessed a lot in her life, maybe more than I, but I wear my beating crimson heart on my sleeve making it much easier for it to be damage.
I sit up in the soft bed, my back making a popping noise, like a firecracker. I look at her, wild eyed. I don't know how to make this better. I don't know what to say. I feel like I am an out looker in all of this and I can't comprehend what really is happening. It is like I am a bewildered and lost child looking for someone to explain what is going on, what is happening, and how I can make it better. I am not looking to fix things, which would be asking too much. I am just trying to make this situation better.
She touches my face softly with smooth hands from where she is laying next to me. She is lying on her side with the sheets around her waist. I can see that the gray tank top she has on has risen up sometime during the night to show her stomach.
She asks in a consoling voice, "What are you thinking?" Her voice is raspy and hoarse from the lack of using it while she slept. I looked over at her. Half of her face was pushed into the pillow and her brown locks were creating a halo above her head. She looks beautiful, like an angel.
What was I thinking?
What if she found out that I am not the person I say I am? What if she leaves me when I tell her the truth? What if she won't love me? There where too many negative thoughts surfacing in my head. I remember writing once that you can train your brain to think. Either you train it to be positive or you train it to be negative, most of the time you can't train it both. I tried to pull off the positive thing, it didn't work. How can you be positive when you have so many negative things happen in your life?
I took a deep breath and turned my back to her. I pushed myself to the edge of the bed, and let my feet dangle over the edge.
I must have looked like a small neglected child. The sliding glass door in front of me displayed cloudiness and angry waves of water.
Isn't it a sad way to wake up? The ocean, an angry woman, livid because her life is suddenly shifted to something she rather not have. She was mad because I didn't die in her arms last night. She will cry fat tears in the next hour I bet.
This is the best day for surfing.
I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. She was there for me, trying to consol me, but for how long? I felt the bed shift a little as she set up and scooted over to me. She straddled my body from behind. Her legs fell next to mine and arms encircled my waist. She gingerly laid her head on my shoulder, her chest pressed against my back. The feeling of security falls through me, even though I tried my hardest to deny myself of it. The concrete walls I put up around my heart were slowly being chiseled away by her. The blood began leaking from the tiny holes.
What is this relationship turning into?
"Harlow?" Her breath tickles my ear like tiny cream colored moths. I can fell her heart beating softly against my back. Her heart beat was firm, profound, and melodious. The gentle pitter patter of it relaxes my body. I focus on matching each of our breaths so maybe my heart could beat with such gentleness. I fail miserably; my heart beats oddly and fast. There is hardness in my heartbeat, a rapid uneven beating, gentleness is no where to be found.
"Huh?" I say softly with a course voice scratching my throat with long claws.
"What are you thinking?" Her lips were rested on the outside of my ear.
I don't know how to reply to her soothing voice. Before I could consider a good response, my body answers for me, "I'm thinking what if you found out that I'm not who I really am."
I felt her face expression change against my back. She pulled herself even closer to me. As if this was signaling that she was interested in what I had to say, and that whatever it is she would always be close. The warmth of her body was even more distracting. This was something I was acclimatized with. I wasn't used to the closeness of a body. The way her body, her touch, make me calm the thundering ocean inside me.
She shakes her head lightly against my shoulder. The whispering of her voice didn't hide the anger, "I will never leave you." She was almost certainly irritated that I didn't trust her to stay with me. She was livid at my distrust in her.
Her promise has so many meanings. I have known her to never break any promised. She was always good at that, keeping her word. But don't people mess up sometimes? This could be her turn to disappoint.
Promises are made to be broken.
I don't reply to this promise, too afraid to let my hopes get high. I remember the promises that were made to me as a child. Almost every promise was thrown back into my face and trampled on. The promises were as little as 'I'll be on time to pick you up' to as big as 'Everything is going to be alright'. I was born out of disappointment. I used to believe a lot of people, and look where I ended up.
She sighs. The way her breasts crush into my back made me lean into her embrace. The feeling was so normal, yet so unfamiliar. If I was a different person, a more trusting person, I would turn around and hold her to me. I would never let go. I wouldn't be afraid.
"Why did you try to kill yourself last night?" Tatum's voice was a little wavering. I could hear the sadness woven into the calm. I looked down at the olive colored arms folded around my waist. I wanted so bad to touch them, to feel the warmth that I was denying myself. I remember the water that surrounded me only hours ago. Water has so many meanings in so many views. I see the water as a way of reaching lucidity. It brings your body to stillness and silence. Water drew out all the worries and misgivings. So, would I really think of dying when I am in water? Maybe Tatum is my water. If so, there is water water everywhere and not enough to drink.
I am punishing myself.
Her breath tickles my ear, "Harlow."
It brings me composure to hear her use my name with such ease. My head clears of the fog a little bit and I say the only thing that makes a little sense to me. "I was sick of the feeling."
"What feeling?" Tatum asks bemused.
"The falling feeling," I say hollowly.
I know that feeling of constantly falling. It is as if you are climbing a mountain with someone, and they are ten feet ahead of you and they have the rope you are tied to. You trust that person with your life. Then suddenly they let go of that rope and you begin tumbling down the mountain. You don't hit the rocks, you just continue to fall. You never stop, or reach the ground.
The warmth of her arms untangles themselves from my waist. She ran them slowly across my ribs and rested them on the side of my thighs. She is millimeters away from actually touching them. It made a strong tingling sensation appear on the skin next to her hands. She tentatively pressed her lips into the skin behind my ear, making a shiver slide down my back. I wanted her hands back on me, but I didn't say anything.
Remember you are punishing yourself?
"Tate?" I asked in a short breath, to my dismay it sounded more like a moan. I held my head straight so I could look at the fat drops of rain beginning to fall on to the white sandy beach outside the door. The tide became a little more violent. It was going to seek revenge today, and the surfers on all the beaches were going to feel the rage.
"Mmm?" She asked, the vibration from her throat was tickling my neck.
"W-w-what's going on…between us?" My stomach began to clench. It was becoming a little painful. This is the question that was going to hurt the most. Asking this question meant that I have surrendered to her and I would give her my trust. Asking this question has put me out onto a line. I was better off going surfing today in that angry ocean than asking this question.
She moved her head back to rest lightly on my shoulder, her arms still at my side's taunting me. She whispered into my ear, the sound was like the music of her heart beat. "Harlow, what do you want?"
What do I want?
The question took me by surprised. I was usually the one at that end of the question. Asking and pleasing others. So, this was a first for me.
What do I want?
I wanted to look into her russet colored eyes. I choose against it, it was easier to speak the truth when I didn't have distractions. I knew already that her eyes held a softness that I needed. I knew what I wanted. It is very simple to obtain, but it would be hard to keep. I speak a little louder than our whispers that we had exchange. "I want to be safe."
It was quiet and a little bit of confusion was coming from Tatum.
I added, "I don't want to be hurt."
She brought a hand up to move some of the reddish brown curls that feel into my face away. It was such a tender notion. It gave me hope and I feared hope. Hope meant either two things; contentment or disappointment. She said strongly, "I will never deliberately hurt you."
To my surprise a smile curled slowly onto my lips. I found myself feeling positive that maybe things would work. I am such a naïve little girl. I reach up for her hand that rested on my hair and grasped it into mine. Sometimes saying words just complicate matters, so I didn't say anything. In fact, there was no need for words. It was a mutual conclusion.
. What is your target audience? Reading your prologue, I think of a depressed, suicidal teenager, but your characters seem older than this. 
Harshmellow
