Shades Beneath (Shattered Souls Book 1) Read online

  To those who bury their dreams under heaps of ash; The hardest part of rebirth is believing you deserve it. I dedicate this book to you in hopes you find your first spark.

  Shades Beneath by Chrissy Jaye

  Copyright © 2019 by Chrissy Jaye

  All rights reserved. No part of this book 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 embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover: Vampari Designs

  Editing: TBR Editing & Design

  Formatting: Gina Writes Words: Author Services

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I looked on in growing horror at my reflection in the mirror. It couldn’t be real. It was some sort of twisted joke. Or, I was dreaming because this, this wasn’t real. Sure, I’d been dealt a few shitty cards in life, but things like this didn’t happen to normal people. Then again, I wasn’t like most people so maybe this was the universe’s way of smacking me back down into reality.

  Like I could forget I wasn’t normal.

  The longer I gaped at it, the less I could deny it. I was now the not-so-proud owner of a tattoo that sat in the middle of my lower back. A tramp stamp, of all things. She could have put it anywhere but chose the trashiest place she could think of. Nerves flared hot in the pit of my empty stomach. My mouth grew thick with saliva and I could feel the bile churning, growing worse by the second.

  My stomach gave a violent heave, hunching me over the sink. Every muscle in my torso tensed, as if they could somehow absorb the ink off my back and spew it out of my mouth. Nothing came up. No ink splashed into the marble bowl. When it was over, I hung onto the edge of the sink for a moment, collecting myself, uncertain if the feeling would return when I lifted my head.

  This. This was the worst thing that Bea had ever done to me. To us. Sharing your body with another personality was a challenge, but most days I managed it. It was sort of like living with a sister that you never saw and couldn’t argue with. In other ways, it was like hosting a parasite - one that served a purpose but also made you ill. I shuddered to think what it would be like to have more than one headmate. How did people like that coexist?

  For the most part, I was the one in control. Or at least I had been until about a year ago. I used to only get the occasional blackout and only during times of high stress. I’d wake up in strange places, either alone or with Mia. Now, I had spells several times a week. Instead of Bea taking an hour or two to do whatever she did, it turned into hours of missing time, sometimes days. I was living my life in almost a constant state of fear whether I would even come back. That she would take my life for her own.

  They tell you when you first start therapy that the point of it was to help you manage your life, to improve the quality of it. I was pretty sure I was getting close to rock bottom even though I’d been in therapy for years. It hadn’t always been this way. There was a time when Bea and I seemed to have an unspoken understanding with each other. Times where I’d needed to check out and she was there, like any good sister, to hold your hand through it. But those days were over. It had taken this moment to face the truth. Now that I had, the idea I’d been to cowardly to implement before seemed like my only option. It wasn’t much of a plan, but maybe it would give me what I needed most. Control.

  There would be a price though. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay. One that wouldn’t be worth it in the end.

  Then again, it could be the best decision I ever made.

  I lifted my head, ready to accept it and move forward. I couldn’t get rid of the tattoo without surgery and even if I could have it removed, I’d have to ask my aunt for the money. People would ask questions and the idea of explaining that my alternate personality did it seemed almost as lame as telling my teachers that my alter ego tore up my homework.

  That’s a true story, by the way. Bea had torn many assignments up and then left notes about historical inaccuracy in angry handwriting. And those were just the tame ways she made her displeasure known.

  My eyes raked up and down my body in the mirror, noting how dull the rest of me seemed in comparison to my new ink. My skin, usually robust with color, looked sickly pale, as if the life was bleeding out of me. Hazel eyes peered back at me with a hollow look and my dark hair was limp, hanging ragged around my thin face. It was the look of someone defeated, desperate, and hanging on by a thread. I wondered how no one else could see it but me.

  The tattoo, even though I’d not asked for it, was a work of art. One of my hands drifted down to caress the inked feathers that looked so life-like. It wasn’t in color, but the shading was breathtaking. The wings etched into my skin were tangled up in thorny vines which kept them from unfurling. The entire piece was softened by beautifully depicted rose blossoms that bloomed between the tightly wound vines, refusing to wither away no matter how hard the creeping tendrils tried to strangle them. In the center, the handle of a sword protruded, as if pinning the wings, crippling them further. As I ran my hand along the inked handle, it was almost like I could feel the leathered cording. If only I could grasp it and pull the whole piece free.

  That sickening feeling welled up inside me again as my mind filtered through each element. It was telling the story of my life and I wondered if Bea was somehow telling me she felt the same way I did – trapped, unable to fly away, but still persistent and hopeful. And the sword… like I’d been stabbed in the back.

  What troubled me the most was that it didn’t hurt, like it had been there for years, already settled into my skin. Tattoos were supposed to hurt, or at least bleed if they were fresh and this had to be fresh. It wasn’t there last night before I went to bed. I would have noticed because of Mia’s obsession with mirrors. We had at least three in the bathroom, so she could check herself out at every angle. She was a bit vain like that, but it also meant that I couldn’t ever escape this room without passing judgment on my reflection.

  Phantom pain settled in my chest, throbbing along with the beat of my heart. I refused to give in to tears. Instead, I let them simmer underneath my skin, as if they were searing my blood. It didn’t matter that it was beautiful or that it felt right on my skin. Any empathy I’d shared with Bea vanished the second I realized what I was seeing in the reflective glass. It was just one more reminder of how different I was to other people.

  I grabbed my towel from the counter, slamming the doors of my heart closed, and tugged it around my body. Any thoughts of a shower were forgotten. I peeked down the hallway to make sure we didn’t have company. You never knew with Mia; it wouldn’t be the first time that I was accosted half naked in the hall by one of her surprise lovers.

  On my bed, I’d laid out my usual attire, a long-sleeved shirt with jeans and my favorite pair of gloves. I owned several pairs, but these were special, once worn by my mother. The outside of them were vintage la
ce with black lining and made me feel like a lady. They were a bit fancier than my other pairs, but I wanted my mother's strength more than anything today.

  Thankfully, it was almost winter and I could get away with wearing the gloves without getting strange looks. In summer, I had to suffer through people staring at them. I’m sure people thought I was some sort of germaphobe, but the truth was that touching other people made me uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with what I might catch from them.

  On a psychological level, according to my many shrinks, touching implied intimacy and trust, which was something I struggled with. Except I didn’t, not really. I liked people. I wanted a boyfriend or even other friends, but it was impossible when your body rebelled against it. I’d tried faking it when I was in my teens, but it made my anxiety worse. There were also occasions where my skin felt like it had caught fire if someone made direct contact. The burning sensation didn’t happen with everyone, but the pain was memorable and only made me want to avoid people more. It was easier to just cover every possible inch of skin I could and keep people at a distance.

  My current doctor referred to it as memory trauma. It was like flashbacks, only my brain couldn’t cope with it. Instead of giving me visions of the past, my body responded with physical pain to protect me from what I couldn’t remember. In all honesty, I tried not to think about it.

  I glanced at my phone to check the weather and felt myself smile for the first time since I woke up because it was going to snow—the first snowfall of the year. I peeked out of my bedroom curtains to find heavy clouds already spread across the sky. If I could get away with it later, I was going to drag Mia into the park after dinner. That is, if she wasn’t too angry with me after I told her my decision.

  “Hey,” Mia said from the doorway as if summoned by my thoughts. I jumped and had to stop myself from screaming aloud, nearly tripping over my own feet as I spun around, ready to defend myself, even as I recognized her voice.

  “Make a sound next time. For fucks sake, I almost died of fright,” I bit out at her, clutching a gloved hand to my chest. I had to close my eyes and focus on breathing for a second. My morning was already bad enough, I didn’t need to add a panic attack to the list. Mia knew better than to sneak up on me, but she had a knack for scaring the shit out of people, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Sometimes, I wondered if she was part cat.

  “Rough night, Aria?” She asked, concern seeping into her green eyes. Her golden curls bounced as she cocked her head and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. Then she leaned her hip against my door, crossing one long shapely leg in front of the other. Normally, her lips would have been slightly parted, in a perpetual state of surprised amusement. Instead, they pressed firmly closed, as if it took all her effort not to make me spill my guts. Inwardly, I sighed at the vision she presented. Mia was a gorgeous woman with all the right curves and classic features only seen on ancient statues.

  “Yeah, a bit,” I replied. “I don’t really want to talk about it now. I have an appointment this morning and then I’m going to hit the gym.” I needed to stave off the inquisition. I could tell from the small twitches of her nose that she wanted to have a serious talk. I just couldn’t deal with that right now. Not with what I was about to do. “I’ll tell you about it at dinner. Carol’s tonight, park after?”

  She shifted her eyes from my face to the window outside before wrinkling her nose. It was her no-way-in-hell face, which I knew was because I’d suggested the park. When I went to the park, it was usually to be alone, but when I invited Mia, it was always for a special occasion, such as the first snowfall of the year. I hadn’t meant the park to be a distraction, but she latched onto it. She detested snow but put up with it for me. I worked to clear my expression while she was distracted. I couldn’t do anything about how worn down I looked, but I could at least make it so she didn’t press me.

  “Okay, I won’t push you, but we really do need to talk,” she said. Inwardly, I sagged in relief. “And yes, Carol’s. Duh. It’s cheat night!” With that last statement, she spun and headed down the hall. She had morning classes today, which I was grateful for. I was certain she would have insisted on walking me to my appointment and then try to dissect my session with Dr. Monroe afterward. Mia and Aunt Lauralin were incredibly nosy when it came to my therapy.

  “I want to start the medication,” I said in a rush to Dr. Monroe before I could chicken out. What I was asking for had been forbidden by my aunt, and Mia zealously defended her reasoning. I’d barely sat down before vomiting the words out. There was also the need to have another reason for being so nervous. The tattoo was still heavy on my mind and by talking about it, it would make it more permanent.

  “Notes from your previous doctor indicated that medication wasn’t an option you wanted,” Dr. Monroe said. Her head tilted slightly as she considered me, but otherwise, her face was a blank slate. It was one of the many reasons why I’d kept seeing her after the court order for my therapy ended. Too many had tried to empathize with me, but she didn’t. She remained neutral and calm. Another reason was because she was the first doctor I’d had who didn’t report to my aunt. The last one I’d had was court appointed after Bea got us arrested for breaking and entering. Luckily, according to the judicial system, I’m batshit crazy, so instead of jail, I got a shrink.

  Since I’d only been seventeen at the time, all my progress was reported to my aunt who threw a fit when he tried to put me on medications. In her eyes, I didn’t need them and anything I did need, she could handle with herbal remedies. The court assigned me to Dr. Monroe after that and my aunt’s meddling was halted when I turned of age.

  “It’s why I haven’t pushed for it,” she continued. “Has something happened since our last session to change your mind?”

  I had to admire her ability to sort through bullshit. I could tell by the tiniest bit of steel in her eyes that she knew something had happened, but she wasn’t going to push me. I’d either talk when I was ready, or I wouldn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; therapy had some major merits and helped me put things in perspective. It was just hard for me to admit out loud that things were bad. That my body betrayed me at every turn, forcing me to isolate myself.

  It was too difficult to explain the walking psychological disaster that was my life. Having anxiety and aphenphosmphobia - my phobia of being touched - was one thing, both easily explained. A split personality was completely different – it made me broken in a way that most people either couldn’t or wouldn’t bother with.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to spill everything, but I pulled it back in at the last second, shoving each word, each feeling, down until it mixed in with all my other undealt with shit. There was so much locked up in my emotional vault.

  Maybe part of me was afraid that if I said this one thing out loud, it would break the dam and the rest of it would spill out. To myself, I could admit anything. I had to, to survive as I was. But I knew the boiling point was close and I feared what damage it would inflict on those who only wanted the best for me.

  I was losing control of my life and it terrified me. Other people lived with similar conditions and co-existed their other personalities. And for a long time, I thought I was too. But this last year, it seemed worse than ever. I had to depend on Mia more because my panic attacks made it impossible for me to function some days. It meant that more and more of her time centered around my needs, preventing her from having her own life.

  At night, I had vivid nightmares that scared the hell out of me, even though I couldn’t remember half of them. Just that terrible, gripping fear that lingered in the dark. I’d gotten better at not waking up screaming.

  There was something else too. Something I hadn’t written down or told anyone. They wouldn’t have believed me. Dr. Monroe and my family would chalk it up to paranoia. It was the reason my panic attacks had increased. Probably the reason why Bea emerged more often too. And while I trusted Mia and my Aunt with almost everything, I didn’t want to
alarm them with my fear that someone was stalking me.

  There were times—always when I was alone—that I felt like I was being watched. I’d felt it almost my entire life, but I couldn’t deny that most of my blackouts occurred after experiencing it. At first, I thought it was just a tell, something that signified the shift between Bea and me. But then things got weirder —I’d seen something that I couldn’t explain. Or rather it was the lack of seeing something.

  There would be a blank spot in my recollections completely unlike a blackout. It was more like I had a perfect scene in my head but something in it was blurred beyond recognition. It made no sense because my memory was nearly eidetic. I could tell you every detail in a snapshot after only glancing at it. The same was true after scanning a room. But this… I just knew it was something my mind didn’t want me to know. Just like how I couldn’t remember a single detail about the night my parents were murdered—the night that shattered my mind and left me with Bea.

  I chewed my lip for a long moment, my gaze wandering all over the place. The worn leather of the couch, the ornate rug on the floor that had seen better days, the filing cabinets where Dr. Monroe kept everyone’s secrets locked away.

  “I just need a bit of normalcy back, nothing else is working anymore.”

  Dr. Monroe nodded thoughtfully at my statement and then turned the discussion toward how my last two weeks had been. She went over my dream and switch journal which detailed what I could remember from any dream I could recall, and also how and where I surfaced in my shared body. Medication didn’t come up again until at the end of our hour.