Pierced Love, p.1t. h. snyder
© 2013 t. h. snyder (Tiffany Snyder)
Published by t. h. snyder
First published in 2013. All rights reserved. This book is copyright. Apart from the fair purpose of private study, research or review as permitted by the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced without written permission.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold 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 and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Book Cover By Design: Kellie Dennis
I want to THANK the following people for their SUPPORT and ENCOURAGEMENT throughout this journey.
My family! You guys CHEER me on every day telling me how PROUD you are of my ACCOMPLISHMENT. I couldn't have done this without you Mom (Roberta), Angie, Dad and Mar.
To my two WONDERFUL kids, you are my world Raeghyn, and Mason. I love you both to infinity and beyond
My FANTASTIC writing BFF’s. I love you both for all the crazy ideas and stories that we’ve passed between one another. I need you both more than you will ever know Traci and Trisha. #thisishappening!!!
My BETA GIRLS! Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read my book. No matter how much we may struggle with feedback you’ve helped me make this story even better….love you Amy Conception, Jenn Diaz, Jennifer Maikis, Crystal Rearick, Barb Johnson, Christina Lynn Bise and Jamie Zishka.
The TALENTED and AMAZING, Kellie Dennis, who has once again created a masterpiece for my book cover….love you girl!
Ohhh, and this lady, geez. She stepped in right when I needed her as my editor. Thank you Rebecca Cartee, you are truly AWESOME.
Those AMAZING Indie Authors out there that inspired me to do something I never thought was possible. You showed me that with a little motivation and imagination anything is possible.
This woman came into my life a few weeks ago and has been by my side the entire time. Christine Stanley you are like a sister to me and I love you hard girl. No matter if it’s book related or I’m in need of shoulder to whine on…you are my go to girl!!!
When times got rough and I wanted to smash my head against the wall (don’t laugh, true story), I could always count on my SPICE GIRLS. Love y’all long time Kathy Coopmans, Karrie Puskas, Nikki Flannery, Heather Slayton and Yamara Martinez.
A special shout out to a few authors that I know and LOVE very much. Without your support and encouragement, I’d be lost. I love you Margaret McHeyzer, Joanne Schwelm, Trudy Stiles, Michelle Polk and Julie Morgan.
Sometimes the pain is too much; it’s overwhelming yet I don’t know how to change or make the pain go away.
Change isn’t something I’ve ever wanted until now.
I figured it wouldn’t make me happier.
Things wouldn’t be different with the kids at school, my parents or my brother and sister. So, what’s the point of changing?
There is no point. So why am I so confused on whether or not I should change who I am because of one person?
Even if that person makes me want to be a better daughter, sister, student, and maybe even human being it doesn’t mean that I should…right?
He had me thinking weird things from the start. Things that made we wonder if things could be different if I changed. And if I did, would I be worthy of the same things the rest of the world did?
He did this to me.
Not necessarily the first moment we met, but in just the short amount of time I’ve known him, he did this to me.
He pierced my soul with something stronger than the studs I have on my body. Worse than the pain of my tattoo, which my parents still don’t know that I have.
I’m somewhat unsettled, confused, and unsure but he seems to makes all that pain go away.
I thought that if, maybe, I just didn’t see him again things would go back to normal. I mean, it isn’t like we go to the same school or anything.
But man was I wrong.
Now thanks to Zeke and Allie, I see him all the time, but I don’t think he sees me the way that I see him.
Well, at least he won’t see me that way until I change.
And what the hell good would that do?
A small hand with hot pink nail polish waves in front of my face. I flinch from the closeness of the swaying arm and bat my lashes. Trying to regain my focus from my blurred moment of zoning, I sit back on the stool until I can finally see clearly.
Damn it! I was fading out again.
“Zar, snap out of it. Come on back to the land of the living, space cadet,” Zoe says.
My sister’s shrill voice and inconsiderate comment begin to make my pulse race and anger rage through my veins.
“I’m not a space cadet, Zoe. I’m just really tired,” I yell in my little sister’s direction.
Getting up from the breakfast bar in the kitchen, I slam my stool against the dark wooden frame. Great! Just great! This isn’t how I planned on starting what I feel is one of the worst days of my life.
From the corner of my eye, I see Zoe jump from the loud bang.
If she only knew the lack of sleep I’ve dealt with over the past few days.
No one knows, let alone understands, the stress that I’ve been under before to today.
It’s been almost unbearable.
I unclench my fists, which I didn’t realize were gripped so tightly to my side and put my breakfast dishes in the sink.
“Well, I was just wondering if you’re going to give me a ride to school today,” she says in a whisper.
Shit, I probably caught her off guard. I really need to lighten up a bit; but with all of this anxiety building up about school today, I feel like I’m going to blow.
I turn to look her in the eyes and stare with a glare. I let out a quiet laugh and roll my eyes.
My teenage little sister, now a prima donna, is too good to ride to school with my parents and would rather risk driving in with me.
But why the hell would she rather drive with me, no one ever wants to be caught dead with me…the freak.
“Yea, that’s fine I guess. Go up and get changed and meet me out in the bug. Don’t take forever either, I can’t be late.”
“What do you mean go get changed? I wear this stuff all the time, its trendy, Zar,” she says doing a twirl in the middle of the kitchen.
I look at my sister from head to toe. She’s wearing black shoes, pink leggings with a frilly black skirt and a pink and black checkered shirt. I shake my head.
“Fine, then let’s go,” I reply, while picking up my messenger tote and keys from the counter.
“You should talk. You dress like the grim reaper. I don’t think you have a splash of color anywhere in your closet.”
“What the hell, shut up Zoe! If you want a ride, you’ll shut the hell up now!” I yell at her as my emotions begin to bring bile to my throat.
No, no, no…not now. I’m not even out the door and I’m getting comments on my god damn clothing.
I give her another death glare and reach for the last sip of my juice.
“Fine, fine I’ll be quiet,” she whispers again while grabbing her book bag.
I may dress in a different style than the majority of the teenage world, but who cares…I sure as hell could give a shit.
Following my little sister out the door and into the garage, I shake m
My family lives in a wealthy area of Des Moines, Iowa and our development is surrounded by gates and security cameras.
I wouldn’t say that my family is rich, more like we’re fortunate to have the things we do because both my parents are cardiac surgeons. I’m the middle child of the family and as black of a sheep as they come. In fact, last weekend I went downtown and got my first tattoo. I haven’t had the guts to tell my parents yet. Not like it’s anything rebellious or anything, just a simple heart with my initials in the center. Being the middle child isn’t all that bad. I have a brother Zeke, who is six years older than me and a sister Zoe, who is six years younger than me.
Growing up, we were raised by both parents, but I was the unorthodox child who turned against the whole prissy, preppy ways of the family. Once I hit junior high school, I was treated differently by my peers in school and everything just seemed to change from that point forward.
I’ve always been an academic scholar and I never paid much attention to the in…or the out crowd for that matter. That may have been my downfall, but no matter what, I still do my own thing and work my ass off to get the best grades possible.
I’m not risking my future to encourage the respect of my peers. The sooner I can graduate from high school, the better.
I’ve done pretty damn well for myself, I must say. I’ll be graduating this year and moving onto Iowa State, with what I hope is a full academic scholarship. Even though my family can afford to send me to college anywhere; I still want to do this on my own.
I pull up to the local junior high school and stop behind the line of cars. Zoe is bouncing in the seat next to me. anxious for me to pull up to the curb.
Looking over in her direction, I see she has a huge grin on her face. I know that she’s excited to start school this year, but I worry she’ll run into the same issues I did at her age. I know it’s not my job to protect her, but I want to hide her from the pain and anxiety I face every day.
I’m glad I can drop her off here, but who’s going to take her home? I guess I should figure this out now before she jolts out of the car.
“So…am I supposed to pick you up after school or what?” I ask, looking back over in her direction.
“Yeah that’s fine, just swing around the front of the building again. I’ll watch for you,” she replies getting ready to reach for the door handle.
“Ok, I’ll pick you up right here after I leave school,” I say motioning for her to get out of the car.
“Thanks Zar, see you later,” she replies and, with that, she jumps out of the car and walks her way up toward the school.
I briefly watch her as she walks toward the tall brick building. The same building that started it all and caused the fear and panic that’s running through my body right now.
I just hope she doesn’t have to go through that pain as well.
As I pull away, I try to think back to my first day of junior high, but I can’t. I think I’ve drowned out the memories of seventh grade. Either that or I’ve chosen to forget them.
Now it’s my turn to face the hell that awaits me when I get to school. This is my last year. I can’t wait until I can get the hell away from all of this; it’s almost become too much to bear.
I drive through town and look at all the shops, the people walking along the sidewalks and the places I’ll never miss once I leave town.
I’m stopped at a red light and take a moment to people watch. I see men, women and couples holding hands, smiling and laughing. They make it look so easy to be happy, but for some of us it’s a little bit more difficult. I don’t know if they can see the pain I feel or if they just see the darkness that consumes me.
One day, I want to look happy like they do but I fear the changes I may need to make to fit in with the rest of the world.
I hear the car behind me honk the horn and I glance in the rearview mirror.
The blaring sound sets my heart into frenzy from the noise of the horn. I quickly push onto the gas pedal and head straight toward the last place on earth I want to be right now.
I pull into the lower section of the school parking lot. Luckily, it’s still pretty empty and I can find a spot right up front. This will be helpful at the end of the day when I need to get in my car and get out before the rest of the school lets out from last period.
The past few years I’ve hidden for a reason. I’m one of the first in the building and make it a point to be one of the first to get out. The less attention that’s on me the better in my opinion and I can guarantee the haters feel the same way.
I get out of my black Volkswagen Beetle, courtesy of my parents, and walk up to the school building.
There’s a cool breeze in the air and my jet black hair whips around my pale face. Once I’m inside the building I take a moment to catch my breath. My heart is pounding and the level of anxiety rising in my chest has me winded. Yes, this is the first day of my senior year, but it’s also the first day of stepping one foot into hell. I know what’s going to happen, it’s my life and I’ve lived with the hate of my fellow classmates for the past five years.
I need to stay focused and make it to my locker before the swarms of students come into the school. The faster I can get to my locker and to homeroom, the quicker I can play invisible until the first bell rings.
As I enter the classroom that will be my homeroom for the year, I notice the room is still empty. I fidget in my seat waiting for the other students to find their way to an empty desk. Bile begins to burn the back of my throat and I hate that I feel sick. I need to steady my breathing before someone comes in and a panic attack consumes me.
I look down at my wrist and twist the delicate bracelet that sits on my left arm. Taking slow deep breaths, I feel my body begin to relax and my heart rate slow down. I situate myself in my chair and pull out my schedule for the year.
This is going to be a challenging two semesters for me with the classes I’ve chosen. Since I’m one of the top students in my class, I decided it’s best to push myself this last year and take on a few college prep courses. Not only will this look good for my application to Iowa State, but it will also help me get a jump start when I walk on campus next fall.
I look up and see a few people start to enter the room. Quickly I turn my gaze from them and back to the paper in my hands. I can see that the paper is shaking and my nerves are heading right back to where they were when I first sat down. I do my best to calm down, but the more people that come into the room the worse I feel.
The comments are already starting and I’m doing my best to block them out.
“She’s back for more; thank god it’s our last year,” a girl says.
“Yeah, I heard her parents sent her away for the summer because she’s too much of an embarrassment,” another girl replies.
“How is it possible she’s related to Zeke Evans, he’s a legend and she’s….a freak,” a guy chimes in.
“Who knows, maybe she’s adopted. I sure as hell wouldn’t want her as a sister,” the other girl replies.
As much as I try not to hear what they’re saying, I can’t. It’s as though the walls are closing in on me and there’s no room to escape. I can feel their eyes on me and the panic builds. Before I know it, I break out in a sweat and the bile is back in my throat.
I do my best to take my mind off of the situation and work on the breathing exercises I read about online. I begin to stare off into space until I feel calm and suddenly I’m snapped back to reality by the sound of the bell and Mrs. Davis standing in front of me.
“Zar, are you okay?” She asks placing her hand on mine for comfort.
I look up into her dull brown eyes and nod. In this moment I can’t even speak. I hate feeling like this. I don’t want them to make me feel like this anymore. I just want to get out of here and for all this pain to stop
Excusing myself from my seat, I give Mrs. Davis a small smile and leave the classroom. Now that I’m already behind a few minutes for my first class I try my best to walk quickly through the halls. I hear their voices, the laughs and feel the bodies shove against me. I’m so used to their behavior, but it still stings to the core.
I make it to first period calculus and sit in the back right corner of the classroom. This is going to be an easy class for me so I don’t feel the need to sit up close. Math has always come effortlessly for me and this class is AP, which means it will count toward a few college credits.
The teacher begins the class by passing out our five pound text books and has us turn to an assignment in the first chapter. I glance down at the ten problems we are supposed to work on during the next forty-five minutes and smile to myself. This class is going to be a cake walk for me. This gives me hope to enjoy one thing about senior year.
The beginning to my first day in hell seems to be going by better than I thought it would. The only big drawback now is lunch period and the fear of everyone staring as I look for a place to sit. Since it’s somewhat of a warm day, I decide to sit outside under the giant birch tree with my apple and bottled water.
I look through some of the reading material I’ve received throughout the morning and can only wonder what possessed me to take on so many AP classes. This will be a year full of challenges, but I know it will be so worth it once I graduate.
The bell rings and it’s now time to move into my fun filled afternoon of classes. I stand up from the roots of the tree and brush off my black skirt and checkered tights. Making my way into the brick building, I focus on my destination and not the comments that surround me.
“Here comes grim,” a guy says with a laugh.
“Don’t get too close, she’ll pull you into the dark side,” another guy says.
“Dude I bet she’d be hot if she took off that shit,” the first guy comments while shoving his elbow into my back.
Pierced Love by t. h. snyder / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes