Beautiful Undoing Read online

  Beautiful Undoing

  The Beautiful Series – Serial #1

  Scarlett Jade

  Camille Taylor can’t move on from the tragic accident that took her family from her. It’s been six months and she wonders if she’s losing her mind. What girl really has an angel who comes to her in her dreams and talks to her? She does, apparently. When she decides to move forward in her life, she meets the enigmatic Sarah, who seems to know a whole lot more about her situation than she’s willing to share. Her future depends on finding out who her mystery man is and why he’s willing to break all the rules of Heaven to be by her side.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  1st Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2015 © Scarlett Jade

  Published by Love Kissed Books

  http://lovekissedbooks.com

  Cover by Love Kissed Books

  © Valua Vitaly – dollarphotoclub.com – Portrait of a sexy muscular young man

  © Christos Georghiou – dollarphotoclub.com – Eagle or Angel wings

  Chapter One

  The sky was cerulean. Not just blue, but this glorious, perfect robin's egg blue, shot through with cotton candy soft white clouds. The sun lent a golden glimmer to the world, as if offering perfect rose tinted glasses. Everything just looked better. Waves of sapphire and turquoise crashed into the sand that glimmered with diamonds. This is how it always starts... Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the wind against her skin, bringing goosebumps up along her arms. Then he was there. He simply appeared, just like he always did.

  “Hello, Camille.” His greeting was effortless and warm. He sat down in the sand beside her, stretching his legs out and curling his toes in the sugary sand. She could feel the heat radiating off of his tanned skin, just as sure as she could feel the sun's rays on her face. He turned to look at her, his dark eyes melting any resistance she’d ever had. His beautiful lips tipped up, but only on one corner, a dimple digging into the gorgeous skin there. A part of her longed to touch him there, to kiss him there. But she wouldn't dare. She never did.

  “You’re still here.” It wasn't a question. She nodded sadly. He smiled again, that time completely, stunning her with his beauty. “How much longer will you wait for me?” He touched her hand, his fingertip warm and feather soft. She shivered helplessly.

  “I don't know,” she whispered weakly. It was an honest answer.

  He shook his head and murmured, “You can't wait on me forever.” His eyes penetrated her, digging into her secrets. A part of her wanted to bare everything to him, right down to her bones. The feeling unnerved her.

  She took in a shaky breath. “Why not? I like this fantasy world.”

  He smiled and stroked the top of her hand with one fingertip. “Because you can't, even though I'd love nothing more.” His darkened, if that was possible. Is there a color past black? No, I’m pretty sure black is the absence of color. He scooted closer so their arms touched. She shivered involuntarily at the heat along her side. He never touched her that much. He always kept his distance.

  “Why not? Because you can't isn't a valid reason. I don't like being told what I can and can't do.” She knew she was pouting and couldn't stop the look on her face.

  He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes darkening further in their intensity. Her tongue slipped out before she could stop it to wet her lips and it happened to graze his thumb. He pulled back and grinned, the chain he always wore with a cross on it jingling as he moved. “Because I'm no good for you.”

  Her breath hitched. So much for calm, cool, and collected. “But why? What if I want this anyway?”

  He ran a hand through his sun streaked brown hair. “Because, Camille, you don't even know me.” He brooded, and his petulant face begged to be kissed.

  “But I want to. I want to know everything. I wish you’d just stay with me, just once.” She knew he would leave her. He always did.

  He turned his eyes on her again, and they shimmered so brightly that her eyes crossed, his pupils were barely distinguishable in the sunlight. “I'd love nothing more, Camille. One day I’ll come to you. It will be just like this.” He held his hand out, gesturing to the beach and the water. “And when I do, you'll finally be ready for me, and I'll be ready for you. Until then, you have to do everything in your power to live to the fullest. I want that for you. I want you to experience... everything.” He breathed.

  “I've experienced enough. And I know what I want. I want you to stay with me and this dream play out for once. I don't understand why you leave me every time.” She whispered, grabbing his wrist, begging him to stay.

  He eased up from the sand, pulling her up with him. “Cami, you know I'd love nothing more.” He touched her face, his fingers tangling in her soft dark hair. She quivered in anticipation.

  “Please, stay with me.” Desperation seeped into her voice.

  “It's not time yet, Camille.” He leaned in slowly. Her eyes crossed again from focusing on his mouth. He would stop, just like he always did. He always left her wanting. His mouth stopped a fraction of an inch from hers. She could feel the tickle of his breath and the rasp of his soft lower lip as he whispered, “Promise me you'll go experience life.”

  “I... I promise.” She choked out. But what if I don't want to?

  He leaned back slowly and smiled, stunning her again. “Goodbye, Camille.” Just as soon as he had appeared, he was gone, a puff of salty breeze the only sign he'd ever been there.

  Her eyes flicked open and tears ran down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her middle and sobbed. She knew he wouldn't come back. He'd never said goodbye before. There was a finality to that word. Goodbye. She'd dragged it out now for months and as punishment, he’d simply come less often. When he first came to see her, it was every night. Then when she didn't obey and start branching her life out and digging out of the pit of misery, he spread it to twice a week. She didn't want to live, so he started coming once a week. She didn't obey his pleas to live. He hadn't been to see her in a month and she knew... he wouldn't be back, not anymore.

  Maybe he'd decided she was too damaged and couldn't be saved. Maybe he was right. What hurt the most was that he was the man of her dreams, someone that made life worth living and she didn't even know his name. All the times they’d met in her dreams, she’d never asked. Now it was too late. It was foolish to believe a dream man could be real, but she’d hoped he could be.

  And what, you’d ride off happily into the sunset? Get real.

  She woke to the dawn filtering in between the wooden slats of her mini blinds. She groaned and touched her throat, wincing at the pain. Crying made her throat ache, even though she cried every night in her dreams. One would think she'd be used to it by now, but she never was. Pushing herself up from her pillow, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and grimaced as her toes touched the cold wooden floor. She shivered and pushed her wild dark hair out of her face. A lump settled in the pit of her stomach. Today she had to see the psychiatrist the doctor recommended again. They’d been seeing ea
ch other periodically, but she’d put her off now for two weeks, feeling sorry for herself. She’d done nothing but lolled around and watched terrible movies in bed since he'd left. No amount of wishing had brought him back. Just like her parents. They hadn’t come back either. No matter how hard she prayed.

  Forcing herself up from sitting, she padded across the floor to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was an oil slick and her hair wasn't much better. She couldn't remember the last time she’d showered. She just didn't care. But today, she would care, even if it was just a little. She had to. He obviously wasn't coming back and she enjoyed the delirious happiness he brought when he came. She was addicted, so getting herself together was in order. Maybe then he’d come back.

  She pulled her pajamas off, wincing at the smell of her armpits. She looked at the laundry basket and carefully balanced the pajamas on the pile of clothes that spilled out of it. I really will do laundry at some point.

  Stepping into the shower, she shivered as she waited for the water to warm up. It seemed to always take forever in her house. She stepped under the spray and let the water beat down on her shoulders. It had been six months today. Six months since her parents died in a terrible car crash. They were picking her up from college and bringing her home for Christmas. Dad wore an incredibly embarrassing Christmas sweater that had a flashing red light for Rudolph's nose. He insisted on everyone drinking hot cocoa he’d brought in a Thermos and singing Christmas carols the whole way home. Mom had been laughing at his rendition of Frosty the Snowman, which sounded a lot like a bad Elvis impersonator. He loved Christmas. He had always made it special for us. Her eyes squeezed closed at the memory. He was driving with one hand, holding his cup of cocoa in the other and was looking at Mom with a twinkle in his eye when they'd hit the patch of black ice. By the time he was able to react, it was just too late. “He was going too fast,” the police said. “He wasn't paying attention,” they said. She could still remember the feel of hot cocoa splashing all over her. She turned the water temperature down to stop the memories. But the memories didn't stop. They never did, no matter what.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to block out the next thoughts that flashed through her mind. She could still see the wreckage. She could smell the blood in the air, the brake fluid and oil dripping from the engine. Her father's face was decimated, he'd hit the steering wheel so hard. His airbag didn't deploy. Turned out there was a recall and he'd been meaning to get it fixed for months. His brain hemorrhaged and he'd died in minutes. Doctors told her it was a blessing he probably didn't feel much; the impact took care of that. What a blessing.

  Mom was coherent for a few minutes after impact, but a tree branch had gone through the windshield and speared her in the chest. Camille vaguely remembered that she’d unbuckled herself and pressed both hands to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood pouring out of her mother. Mom begged her to take care of herself. Told her that she loved her and whispered goodbye. She'd never be able to shake the sight of her mother's eyes glassing over as she took her last breath. That was when she screamed uncontrollably. First responders said that's how they found her, screaming for every breath she took until she could scream no more. She hadn't been able to talk for days after the accident. There she'd sat in the back of the SUV, alive while her parents had died. They told her it was a miracle she was alive, she had walked away with only cuts and bruises. It’d been a miracle she hadn't gotten frostbite either, in the sub zero temperatures. The doctors couldn't explain that one. And she guessed, for someone else, it would be a miracle to be alive. But her parents had been her only family left. She was alone in the world. The only thing keeping her sane was a man in her dreams. Pathetic! She slapped her hand against the green tile of the shower. The dull ache that radiated up her hand helped with the deep numbness in her chest.

  After the accident, a few of her friends from college had come by, bringing snacks and movies, but they had never really cared, only talking about the latest boy of the moment and wanting her to come back and get back to her “real life.” Finally she screamed at them, “My real life died. Don't you get that?” They never came back. She was too damaged and psychotic. That’s what everyone whispered behind her back. No one understood loss in that magnitude. No one cared, either. No one but him.

  She shuddered and fought the bile pulsating in back in her throat. Her psychiatrist said she had PTSD and hopefully it would pass. “Just take antidepressants.” They made her feel worse, so she didn't fill the scripts anymore. It was getting better. She felt that truth, deep in her bones. She was tired of standing still and living in the past. Her dream man had helped with that. Maybe he was her guardian angel or some trapped soul. That was the only explanation she had for him. Maybe she'd tell Miss Hoity Toity Psychiatrist that when she saw her today. Maybe not. She'd probably push more drugs at her, telling her she was finally losing it. Maybe I am.

  Bathing quickly as the water cooled further, she turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and realized she had no clean towels. “Great!” she muttered under her breath. She found a towel that hadn't been abused too badly and dried herself. Standing naked in front of the mirror, she looked at her body. She'd lost at least twenty pounds since...Well. Then. She turned to the side and frowned. Okay, maybe thirty. She'd definitely lost her freshman fifteen and was bordering on the tiniest she'd been since puberty. She hated being this thin, it made her look barely sixteen, and she was twenty-one now. She’d actually missed her birthday in April. It wasn't like she had friends to go out with anymore, and she had never been the type to get wasted, especially not now. Now all she wanted was to be safe. Getting drunk wasn’t being safe.

  I need to shop for some normal clothes. Maybe I'll go into a store after my appointment, she told herself, and actually meant it that time. I wonder what he would like me to wear... or not wear... Shaking herself out of her fantasy land, she found sweatpants that were clean and had a drawstring and a T-shirt that didn't quite look like a tent. It fit, but was just a little too short. She had nothing else really to wear that was clean. She brushed her long hair out as it dried. Tying it back in a ponytail, she slipped flip flops on at the door, grabbed her purse and keys, and left the house.

  She'd gotten the house after her parents died and a half million dollar life insurance policy. She was pretty much set for life, the lawyers told her, as long as she didn't get too crazy with the money. So she didn't. She hadn't bought anything except maybe food since they died, that and the rattletrap old Buick. It was the ancestor of granny cars, baby blue with cracked pleather seats inside. It ran. It was cheap. She didn't want to spend what she felt was blood money. It was something she was working on getting over. Really. One step at a time. Her parents would want her to take care of herself.

  She opened the door of the Buick and it squealed in protest. “Too bad, we’re going out,” she muttered. Pulling the door closed, the car cried in protest at that too. Jamming the key in the ignition, she started the car. She would be late. just like usual. Her psychiatrist would push her glasses down her nose and give her a look that made her feel like she was back in elementary school.

  Throwing the car in reverse, she backed down the driveway and carefully into the street. She drove five miles below the speed limit. Her seat belt was strapped down so tight she couldn't wiggle, even if she wanted to. She rolled into the psychiatrist's parking lot only two minutes late, her own personal record. Good job, Camille! She patted herself on the back mentally. Putting the car into park, she killed the engine and jumped out of the car, trotting to the door and opening it with a smile. Today is gonna be a good day. I'm determined to make it that way.

  ***

  Today is gonna suck. Her psychiatrist, JoAnna DeGraw, gave her a nasty look already. “You’re late again, Camille.” She sighed; that sigh telling Camille she was ten kinds of a horrible person.

  “I'm barely late and it's better than last week. I showered AND shaved.” She shifted
in the seat, feeling every bit like a naughty kid. “That has to count for something, right?” Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

  Joanna glared at her as though she was a pile of poop she'd scraped off her shoe. “Camille.” She sighed deeply. “You aren't making progress like I thought you'd be. We’re at the six month mark. I thought you'd be through more stages of grief. You bathed, and that’s great, it's good to see you caring about your appearance in some ways, but here you sit wearing a shirt that is at least a size too small and pants that are about to fall off. This doesn't say much to me about you caring about your appearance or making progress.” She tapped her pen against her desk. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Camille slumped in the uncomfortable chair and grumbled. “But I feel like I'm making progress today. Right now.”

  Joanna’s eyebrow rose. “Do you? Tell me about it.” Her pen poised above the stupid yellow legal pad she always kept. It sat on her ugly veneer desk which had no other decoration beyond a stapler and computer monitor.

  Camille took a breath and for a split second thought about not telling the psychiatrist about him. She threw caution to the wind and blurted, “I have been having these... Dreams,” she said slowly. “They’ve been coming since the night my parents died. It is always the same. It's like someone took the saturation of all the colors in the world and magnified them by a million times. I've never seen anything more beautiful. There’s a man there. He tells me to keep moving. To push myself out of bed. Out of the house. I promised him I would, and I plan to keep my promise, even though I’ve been dragging my feet about it for a while now.” She leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m going to get a few new clothes today. Clothes that fit, even though I don't want to spend the money and I might even do laundry. Like I said, I feel like there’s progress. I feel like I'm right there, so close on the edge of something and it feels good, really good.”