Cover Re ~ Reveal & Giveaway
Beautiful
Failure
by
by
Mariah
Cole
 |
Release
date:
December 16, 2013
|
~
Synopsis ~
If you're looking for a
heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy
who changes her life— a sob story with pretty metaphors and a
million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read
another word of this.
I'm not that type of girl.
My name is Emerald Anderson
and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore
year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a
fully functioning relationship in my life.
I wish I could say that I
had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald—You're
great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My
grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words
to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful
nothing."
She was right.
As I decide to start my life
over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and
one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep
the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away.
He's the first man who's
ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I
am, but he's wasting his time.
I'm not broken. I don't need
to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure.
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~ Prologue
~
My
mother was a whore.
Her
name was Leah Isabelle Anderson—“Leah Belle” for short, and she was one of New
Jersey’s most sought after escorts.
With
deep green eyes that could take any man’s breath away, and skin so porcelain
and smooth that it looked too perfect to touch, she was breathtakingly
beautiful. Often compared to a supermodel, her raven black hair fell past her
shoulders, and her naturally long eyelashes were always coifed to
perfection.
Growing
up, I had no idea what she did with the men who picked her up in their shiny
and expensive cars—the men who wore thousand dollar suits and patted me on the
head while saying, “Your mom is really something special.”
In
a way, these strangers became the closest thing I had to a family since I never
knew my father: Her regulars, Christian and William, sent me gifts every
Christmas. Arnie bought me my first bike, Steve taught me how to change a tire,
and her most ruthless suitor—Vincent, took me shopping for designer clothes
once a month.
Leah
Belle—she never ever let me call her
“mom,” wasn’t exactly a mother to me;
she was more like an older friend. An older
‘I’ll-be-there-when-it’s-convenient’ friend.
She
missed every elementary school play, every middle school writing competition,
and never gave a damn about my grades. At first, the involuntary loneliness
bothered me, but after I created an army of invisible friends and easily
accessible fantasies, I came to terms with her neglect and happily accepted any
attention she was willing to give me.
When
I became a teenager, she started to hang around me more often—promising that
she would do better, promising that she would make sure that “from here on out,
[we’d] be best friends.” Since she’d
run away from her parents after having me at sixteen, she made a point to never
lecture or discipline me. She did however, teach me three very important
lessons:
1.)
“Always put tons of effort into the way you look. You need to be beautiful on
the outside, no matter how fucked up you are on the inside. If you ever feel
sad or depressed, suck that shit up and add more mascara.”
2.)
“Don’t make friends. Make sponsors.
If you can’t get anything out of someone or use them for a specific purpose,
kick that person out of your life ASAP.”
3.)
“Beauty wins over brains every time. Your body will always be your most
important asset. Remember that.”
For
my fourteenth birthday, she poured me my first shot and offered me a short line
of coke, saying, “Welcome to life, Em!”
I
shook my head at the coke—I’d read about the effects, but I happily took the
red shot glass from her hand.
“To
the best fuckin’ daughter in the world!” She lifted her glass in the air,
waiting for me to do the same, and then she ordered me to toss it back.
The
initial burning sensation was painful—disgusting, but in the years to come,
that bitterness tasted better and better, and I looked forward to the two of us
drinking together. It was the only time that she gave me her undivided
attention.
In
those moments, I would tell her about another writing competition I’d won or
how I’d received more early college scholarships. When it was her turn, she
would tell me about “turning tricks” like other parents told their kids about a
day at the office.
“I
can’t tell you how weak Ben’s dick was today,” she’d say. “I mean, I feel like
I should be charging him double for
the weak ass fucks he puts me through.”
“You
don’t enjoy it with him? Ever?” I’d
ask.
“No.
Never with him. But he’s a sponsor, I’m getting his money, and that’s all that
matters. I just lie there, scratch his back, and say ‘Harder… Harder’ to make
him think I’m into it until—”
“Until
he cums?”
“Yep.”
She’d pass me a cigarette before sighing. “With him and a few others, I usually
have to take a few shots beforehand to numb my mind. With the really good ones,
all I have to do is relax. Sex can be fucking incredible when it’s done right…”
One
particular Friday, after she let one of her regulars take me shopping for a
Chanel bag, I unlocked the door to our home and saw droplets of blood all over
the floor.
“Leah?”
I set my shopping bag down. “Did you get another nose bleed?”
No
answer.
I
headed into the kitchen, looking for her usual remedies—hot tea and Q tips, but
she wasn’t there.
“You
here?” I walked around our living room and checked all the rooms upstairs.
Confused, I pulled out my cell phone and called her.
No
answer again.
I
shrugged and opened a bottle of vodka, tossing back a few shots. I figured
she’d left with one of her sponsors for a quickie and would be back by the time
our favorite show started.
I
decided to take a shower before it came on and headed into the downstairs bathroom.
The
second I hit the lights, my heart fell out of my chest.
I
wanted to believe that what I was seeing was simply a sick joke by my
imagination—a twisted fantasy I’d snap out of in seconds.
Pale
and blue, Leah’s body lay lifeless in our tub. Her left arm was dangling over
the edge, and the small velvet bag where she kept her cocaine was dangling from
her fingertips.
Scattered
across the floor were hundreds of prescription pills and empty orange bottles
that bore the names of strangers. On the vanity, there was an empty syringe and
a folded note that read “For my Em…”
Trembling,
I rushed to her side and pressed my finger against her neck, hoping for a
pulse.
Nothing.
I
tilted her head back and tried to breathe life into her—pressing her chest with
my hands every few seconds, but it was no use.
She
was gone.
I
sank down to the floor in tears—cursing her, hating her, for doing this to me. To us.
I
had no friends to call, no family either, so in my numb and dazed state I
somehow managed to call 9-1-1. While the operator attempted to calm me down by
asking me to take deep breaths, I walked over to the vanity and unfolded Leah’s
last note:
Em,
I know you’re
confused right now, but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so
fucking much… You were the only thing that made my life worth living, and I
wish I was strong enough to keep that in mind…
I’m not.
I’m tired of
living a lie and I haven’t been happy in a very long time… I just can’t take it
anymore…
I’ve fucked up a
lot of things in my life, but the biggest regret I have is the way I raised
you…I’m so sorry… This is going to be hard for you to believe—especially since
I’m gone, but I need you to forget all that shit I taught you. Right now.
Fuck using your
looks to get what you want. Go to college and do some good shit with your life,
like write or something. You’re a good writer, you’re very smart, and you need
to use your brain to get ahead. Can you promise to do that for me, Em?
Then again…It’s
probably too late and I’m willing to bet that you’ll end up just like me: A
beautiful nothing…
It won’t be your
fault though. It’ll be—
I
stopped reading and flushed that note down the toilet. Her last words were
clearly written out of sadness and they were only compounding my pain.
As
far as I was concerned, Leah had raised me the best she could and she was far
from a “beautiful nothing” in my eyes. In fact, I cherished every single thing
she’d taught me.
Even
though I was beyond hurt that she’d selfishly left me all alone, I was
determined to remember her at her best and for everything she was to me:
My
mother.
My
best friend.
My
role model.
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Links to Buy ~
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About the Author ~
Mariah
Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots please!), New Adult author, and an
incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she’s an avid reader of
indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike.
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Connect with Mariah ~
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A Rafflecopter Giveaway ~
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