Dalton,
I
loved you once. A love I thought irrevocable. A love I mistakenly believed
could transcend both time and circumstance. Under the influence of my
dimwitted, naïve, traitorous heart, I became intoxicated with what I now know
was simply a figment of my self-indulgent imagination. So drunk on the feeling,
I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. So foolishly enamored, I
blindly followed my heart into the depths of an emotion that would ravage
me.
Years
later, I know now what I wish I knew then. I am stronger. Smarter. Tougher. I
will not allow myself to be broken again.
I
loved you.
I
raged for you.
I
wept for you.
And
now, I’m letting you go.
Author’s
Note: Under the Influence is the journey
of two childhood friends that spans the course of five pivotal years in their
lives. It is a story about their discovery of true friendship as it blossoms
into first love, their experience of crucial sacrifice and ultimate betrayal,
and their endurance of agonizing heartbreak on the way to finding lasting
redemption.
EXCERPT:
Chapter 1
Dalton
I
am not a good person.
And
I don’t pretend to be.
There
may have been hope for me at one point but now, as I stare back at the hardened
face and vacant eyes in front of me, there’s no denying the truth. All hope for
me was lost years ago, stripped clean from my mind as they broke me. The life
I’m indebted to now is one packed with corruption and polluted with lies.
I try to breathe in deeply as
I rinse the freshly spilled blood from my hands, but the bitter pang of
disappointment begins to compress my entire chest. It seeps along the
previously etched grooves that line it, burning the hollow channels that were
created with each punch to my stomach and blow to my ribs.
I
rarely have these moments of weakness, when I wish I hadn’t allowed myself to
be drawn into the darkened path that is this life. But right now, I find myself
wishing that I had been strong enough to brave my childhood on my own. That I
had been able to fend off the monsters that lurked in dark rooms and reeked of
alcohol, able to protect myself from the multitude of broken bones and black eyes
inflicted by the hands of those who were supposed to fucking protect me.
But
I wasn’t. And now I’m stuck, hopelessly adhered to a life in which I have
chosen to forgo conscience for security.
Little
did I know the day I met Darius Roe, I would be making a deal with the devil.
That I would be forever bound to a life from which there is no escape.
Although I started out as his
lackey, I grew quickly—both physically and within the hierarchy of his
organization—to become his weapon. Not only his muscle, but a tool which has
many uses. His most prized possession.
And now here I am at eighteen
years of age, long since graduated from errand-boy. I watch the familiar
streaks of someone else’s blood swirling around yet another porcelain sink.
Someone who also made a deal with the devil but didn’t deliver on his end.
I
always deliver.
After
drying my hands, I curl my fingers over the lip of the sink and place my palms
flat on the cool ceramic surface, silently watching the reflection in the
mirror. Cold, dead eyes stare back at me.
Not a spark of life left in them.
Not
anymore.
In fact, the only bit of
humanity I permit myself is that of Spencer Locke. She’s the one thing, the one
person whose mere presence provides some sort of sense of relief from the
constant feeling of asphyxiation that encompasses me.
She
is my reprieve.
My
air.
Spencer
Locke is the one slice of happy I
have in this shit pie I call life. Darius Roe is a ruthless motherfucker.
The
two will never cross paths.
I
would, with absolutely no hesitation, lay down my life to make sure that never
happens. Spencer’s safety has been and will always be my concern—no, my
priority. And in order to assure that safety remains, she must never know the
real me. The cold, calculated, hardened criminal that I am. She will only know
the Dalton Greer I permit her to know.
Just
like everyone else that I come into contact with.
To
Rat, I’m the entertaining best friend. To Spencer, I’m the overprotective big
brother. And to Darius, I’m the lethal weapon.
None
of them truly know me.
Because the truth is, there’s
nothing more frightening in my world than those who know you—who really know
you. The ones who know your deepest, darkest secrets. The ones who know what
you’re going to do before you do it. The ones who know not only what buttons to
push when they seek your attention, but also the ones that can be used to
completely incapacitate you.
They
can be your strength.
But
they can also be your weakness.
And
just as a chameleon changes color to blend for protection, I’ve learned to
evolve into the person I need to be in order to survive the situation at hand,
all while keeping people at arm’s length.
Yet sometimes I can’t help
but wonder what my true
colors
would have been had I not been subjected to this life. I question what it would
be like to just let someone in, to tell them all of your unforgivable truths
and discover they still love you in return.
I find myself utterly
fascinated, awe-struck even, that there are people actually capable of truly
loving someone without wondering when and how they will be betrayed. However,
the knowledge of their existence also saddens me because the cold reality is, I
will never know that type of love. I will never know the freedom to just be
with someone, without pretense or fabrication, without the endless lies and
untruths.
Maybe
that’s why I keep holding onto Spencer when I know I shouldn’t. When all my
instincts scream for me to let her go, to cut those ties and just let her be.
I can’t.
I’m
too selfish.
Therefore,
I will plaster on my over-protective, big-brother face so that I can see her
again, just to get my fix on the relief she provides. And in turn, I will
continue the lies.
I
will continue telling myself the only
reason I insist on my frequent visitation is because I want to see to her
protection.
I
will continue convincing myself the things I say to her are merely pretenses which accompany my façade.
But
in this rare moment, I will also concede that like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her.
To
her innocence.
To
her kindness.
To
her ability to love…
To
all the things I wish I was capable of but have sacrificed in order to survive.
Because just seeing her
demonstrate those capabilities with me and willingly share them with others,
the knowledge that the ability to do so actually exists in a world outside of
mine somehow frees me—no matter how temporarily—from the chains that bind me
here, in this suffocating place.
Yes,
Spencer Locke is indeed my air.
I
just hope the immorality I’ve chosen to bury deep within my soul doesn’t one
day pollute her very essence.
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Author Bio:
L.B.
Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in
Biomedical Science. She has been a
practicing Chemist for the last 11 years.
She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every
chance she gets.
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