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Book One





Nicole Marie Jardine

* * * * *


Nicole Marie jardine


Copyright © 2020 Nicole Marie Jardine

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Photo: FrinaArt

















for my William, no matter the

years and the miles that

have separated us

I am still

haunted by your



This burning, all consuming memory of a time, of a boy that stole my heart then vanished from my life. Why now, do I miss him so? Is he alive? I can’t think of that. Should I try to find him or should I just enjoy the memories while I wait for this re-emerging pain to fade away again.

I feel like I’m sinking into the past, into a time that went by so quickly but felt like a lifetime. A memory of another life, another me that I thought I would never lose and sadly I wish now that I could bring her back. She was young, naive and reckless. She was tiny but so full of life and adventure, she just didn’t know how to contain it. She fell for everything. She believed everyone. She believed in love.

I’ve heard in the past that teenagers don’t know what true love is. They are too young to know what love really feels like. They don’t have the experience, but that is so wrong. No one loves like the young. Every gasp of air for a girl in love is beautiful. Every thought is precious. Every touch from the boy she loves runs through her body like a lightning storm. His kiss is the sweetest dessert, his hands are her protection, his arms are her shield from the world. His voice is a lullaby. Teenagers feel love to their core, which is why a heartbreak feels like their world has just ended.



“Get out of my head!” my father yelled as he poured himself another shot. “You are dead to me,” he snarled as he threw it back. I stood stock still, afraid to move. He didn't seem to notice my presence and if he did, he chose to ignore it. Either way worked for me. I waited in the shadows for him to drink two more shots before picking up the unlabeled decanter and taking it with him down the hall. I watched him stumble into his den, slamming the door behind him.

I believed at the time that my father's drinking was a result of living through the nineteen seventies, following the free love and drugs era. I based this on the stories I heard from their friends. I could tell my mother experienced difficulties letting go of it. She kept everything that reminded her of those years. Thankfully she didn't still wear the clothes but she kept them in her closet. When I was younger I would sneak into her bedroom and dress up in them. I wore her bell bottom low rise jeans and her deep dark red crocheted poncho, with feathers and beads weaved into my braids. I considered wearing her crocheted bikini once but quickly realized it was just too skimpy for me. Sometimes I even wore my father's brown suede jacket with the fringe on the sleeves. I would spend hours looking through their old Polaroids, examining every detail. The women and the men wore their hair long and they always seemed to be smiling or laughing looking through their rose colored glasses. I usually looked a little too closely at my father's pictures. It always appeared to me that there was someone or something standing behind him. It must have just been the lighting or the camera angle but it just seemed odd to me that it was only his pictures that held this faded image.

I also began to realize that once the parties ended and the years passed a lot of their friends from these pictures later became yuppies or whatever but most of them still held onto their addictions. I assumed this was why my father told me once that he is possessed by a few demons and he needs to chase them down with hard liquor to quiet them. On the days when he appears to be losing the battle and their voices scream in his head I vanish. If you can't find me hiding in my bedroom then I'm out of the house, just walking the streets, hanging at the cafe or the arcade. Funny I know, an arcade, but it was a pretty popular place then. You’ll have to remember, back in 1988 we didn't have cell phones or the Internet. Music was bought and photos were developed.

I started to drink myself when it was offered to me at parties. I thought maybe I could try and drown my demons too. Eventually I started staying away from home on the weekends completely, avoiding any chance of running into him fighting his battles. My friends began to expect me over. I guess you could say I wasn't just hiding from my father, I was rebelling against my parents and their rules too. Not that they were perfect but they expected me to be.

I stopped going to church on Sundays,

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