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"I should probably state that I have a severe problem. I'm addicted to this rush, to this adoration that cloaks the emptiness inside."Share Tweet LinkedIn Embed pszr.co/xJAgO 819 views
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All Abigail wants is to escape the emptiness that resides within her. The loneliness has trapped her inside a vivid imaginary room and she can't find the key to get out. On average, 14 million people are diagnosed with depression and this year, Abigail Chase was the newest addition to the American statistic. ADORED is a young adult novel, complete at 52,000 words and divided into three parts. The tale brings insight on a 17 year old girl's journey of self discovery after her life crumbles in-between her fingers and she looses control of everything she cares for. Adored pulls you into the fictional town of Lanview in North Carolina, where Abigail gets her heart ripped from her chest, dies in the arms of fate, and is reborn again only to gain a new balance and optimism in life.
WHO WILL READ THIS?
In general, those who fear they are the only ones trapped within their everyday lives. Those who have felt loss and heart ache. Those who use a flashlight because they can't find the true light at the end of the tunnel.
However specifically, 13-18 year olds girls who do not have a perfect family or relationship and need a little optimism in life. Adored's audience love John Green's novels and will always find a way to fall asleep with words of love and wisdom.
Abigail Chase is fierce, intelligent, and understands the politics of surviving high school. Her powerful reputation begins to shatter as her family gets pulled apart after her father enters a coma. In shock from the sudden accident, she masks the pain in a new relationship and inevitably falls in love for the first time. Determined to regain control in her life, she breaks up with her first love and enters a period of atypical and situational depression. She returns to visiting her father in the hospital and befriends a charming English volunteer, Ralph, who gives her his wisdom, friendship, and questions the parts of herself she hides.
Her older brother Jack returns home, after months of absence, demanding the truth about what actually happened the night their father entered a coma. After the secrets were revealed to Jack and Abigail, their mother attempts to reassemble their broken pieces. Unfortunately, the family is presented with two deaths that cause Abigail to drown in the darkness of her mind. Her family attempts to aid in her recovery, but only her experience abroad, in France, does she find her new beginning and establishes a new optimism for life.
Promoting Adored will be the most enjoyable step of the publishing quest. My list consists of taking advantage of all my social media accounts, local book stores, high schools, libraries, and coffee shops. My favorite part of the adventure would be to embark on a national book tour. I would love to travel around the nation to expand Adored's accessibility and donate a handful of copies to teens who wouldn't be able to purchase it.
Despite the abrasion from the inside of my jacket pocket, I looked powerfully intact. The tip of my index finger and thumb had become warm and raw from the vigorous friction, but I still managed to walk away showing no visible signs of nervousness. I kept my eyes locked on the black door of my car, knowing whole-heartedly that once I entered my heart would collapse along with my body.
But I wasn't there yet, so I noticed everything.
I observed how the leaves looked a little brighter as they fell to the ground; softly adding to the scenery that would be engraved in my memory. I squinted a little less, allowing the obnoxious sun to penetrate every pore. I embraced each ray of sunlight that hit my forehead and neck. The short seconds of warmth on the back of my spine only eased the fact that his complexion lingered more than I would have liked, but not nearly enough in my heart. His taste coated my lips. His scent was a thick fog that I breathed roughly into my lungs. Each step that I took away from him I could feel a string trying to pull me back, but I had to continue. I knew that if I turned around his arms would still know how to embrace me. I knew his lips would still know the exact distance to mine when I would look up at him. I knew his hands would still effortlessly intertwine with mine, but I had to keep walking.
I should probably state that I have a severe problem. I'm addicted to this rush, to this adoration that cloaks the emptiness inside. To the magnificent bliss of the honeymoon stage and the way you both get butterflies at the thought of seeing each other. The way your whole body sends shock waves when you first come in contact with each other's skin. The way every smile and laugh makes your heart beat faster. How you feel rejuvenated every morning. How everything that you do holds a little more kindness. How your words hold a little more hope because being adored is probably the happiest you will ever feel. Being adored is completely and utterly different than being loved and I love that.
Asher Braun lasted 6 months and 2 weeks. That is the most any guy has ever lasted. For a while I
really thought he was the one. I caved into that childish illusion that people were actually born to find just one other soul and that soul would forever want them, and only them. I thought that it was possible to find someone that thought not just the world, but the universe, about my heart. A person that was more than a prince with unlimited grande white mochas and lemon pound cakes.
A person that was perfect for me.
After all that's what I've always been told I was going to find. I had already prepared myself for the breakup around the 3 month mark, thinking that maybe it'll last one more. Then I found myself thinking long term and didn't even realize that the 6th month had arrived. I was never good with dates in general. However, when I looked at the calendar to volunteer at my high school I remembered the date of our anniversary.
It was then that it was obvious that I had let my guard down. However, giving him all of my heart was so effortless that I didn't even realize that I had fallen so hard. I was oblivious to the fact that I started forming that 7 letter word - forever. After I realized this, I started going through everything in detail; the bad, the good, but mostly the bad. The way every time he did something that bothered me I made an excuse for him. The way I went around my schedule just to be with him. The way my day wasn't complete unless he was next to me. It took me 2 weeks to realize his effect on me. Then, when I came to the realization that I had allowed myself to actually love someone, I couldn't take it. I was petrified of the vulnerability that being in love brought. For the first time in my life I thought of someone else above myself – so I did what had to be done.
I broke up with him, but that wasn't even the worst part.
The worst part was that it barely fazed him when I desired a breakup. There was no pain in his eyes, no remorse. He didn't ask why, he didn't ask if there was somebody else, there was just silence. Silence and acceptance. The part I don't love is what comes after the honeymoon stage.
The way one person becomes more attached than the other, the heightened emotions begin to drop when one side realizes that the other is not a photo shopped celebrity, the illusion of perfection that tied both parties together slowly shatters, but you've gone so deep that you don't know if you want to accept it, if you should even accept it, or how you would even end it. He was indifferent when I broke up with him because deep down there was a relief. That gesture clearly placed us on the correct sides of the line. If that wasn't proof enough then me piling ridiculously girly breakup items into my shopping cart was. I found myself within the aisles of the town grocery store softly bawling within my soul.
All that lay before me could have easily been posted under #single or #typicalbreakup. As I came to a stop in the middle of the frozen foods section and stared inside my cart I couldn't even comprehend how I came to have all of the items. This was all new to me, I've never experienced this. Whenever I would break up with someone, somebody else was already in line. This was the first time I had ever cried over a guy. So yes, when I stared at the two buckets of ice cream, I couldn't understand why I was craving them both. I didn't recall passing the fuzzy socks aisle or the romantic book section where the cover was basically a beefy man trying way too hard to be attractive. The embarrassment and self-loathing was somewhat tolerable since the grocery store was mostly empty. But deep down I knew there was no excuse to my situation.
How did I let myself get to this point?
The few strangers that walked past me had no idea what I was experiencing and even though I should give all the credit to my waterproof mascara, I liked to think it was because my ego was large enough to trick everyone.
How did he do this to me?
Between aisles 3 and 6 I came to the conclusion that it was only mandatory to blame him. He did all of this to me. I was tricked into becoming like every other teenage girl who fell in love with the façade of her lover. I was swept off my feet by the way his dark hair was slicked back like a young Johnny Depp and how his gray eyes were so genuine, kind, and honest with me. His hands - a bit rough from all the wood projects he would do in his garage - knew exactly how to calm me and make me feel safe. I became infatuated with his strong family values and the way he was always spending time with his family.
When do you hear that nowadays?
I can't even remember the last time I sat down with my mother. My dad was still in a coma, forgotten in one of the hospital rooms, and my older brother Jack was about to graduate college. I just had Loren. Bossy, talkative Loren Lauder. She was an artist of her own, always composing music and writing lyrics. She cultivated the elegance of Lana Del Rey, the drive of Tina Fey, and had something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on. She was always in the latest fashion, dressed head to toe in names that I couldn't pronounce. Her natural dark blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her chartreuse eyes always sharp. She was, without a doubt, the best companion for my unique personality.
“$132.23," stated the cashier. My eyes focused on the numbers on the screen.
“Breakups are expensive," I mumbled under my breath.
“They sure are, kid." She nodded in agreement and she gave me a slight smile. I was the typical teenager at that moment. I sighed as I realized I had spent all of my last paycheck and some on a stupid breakup. I only worked once a week at the local smoothie bar in the town square, but it helped for situations like these. Despite being in an upper class family, my father was the first to require me to obtain a job. Being people friendly and the daughter of the university professor, I got hired on the spot.
My black Audi TT still sparkled in the cloudy afternoon. The bothersome sun was finally trapped behind large gray clouds and I sighed, relieved that the weather finally began to mirror an ounce of the storm that was brewing inside my heart. My shopping cart made that annoying drone that all shopping carts make when you push it across parking concrete. I threw the plastic bags in the truck of my car and quickly maneuvered my light brown hair into a perfect messy bun, removing all the loose strands from my face. I was very aware of my irritability and it didn't help that I could mentally play out what people were going to say about me.
It wasn't a secret. I was well aware half of the junior class was waiting for the day Abigail Chase had her heart broken. Okay, a little more than half, but still, I broke up with him. I was meant to have no fear of tomorrow because he wasn't the first boy I had broken up with. I knew how the next few weeks were going to play out. He was probably going to be late to class due to his fear of seeing me in the hallway. He would take the east staircase instead of the center because he knew I met Loren between 1st and 2nd. He would result to skipping lunch and just head to the library or sit outside with the rest of the soccer team.
This was going to be a breeze.
However, deep inside of me I knew that lie would take days before I would start believing it, and
tomorrow was Monday.
Nigel, an ugly dog, entered the living room to the sight of his temporary caretaker cuddled up with
several blankets, a spoon shoved deep in the ice cream bucket, and one hand inside the junk food bag. His shaggy, long white coat dragged against the dirt outside, which only meant my white fuzzy socks would look brown in less than five seconds. He was too short to jump on the couch, so he would wiggle everywhere he went, walking slightly crooked and yapping annoyingly around the
coffee table. Nigel's owners, Mr. and Mrs. Wells, were both over 80 and sat outside on their porch from noon to the early evening as Anne, their nurse, watched over them and fed them. This being said, they only adopted Nigel because they couldn't see or hear very well because the poor dog was extremely unattractive in every way. Anne had driven Mr. and Mrs. Wells a few towns out
to visit their granddaughter after she delivered their first great grandchild. Under any normal circumstances my stiff mother would have declined instantly, however, since it was a somewhat touching situation she accepted and put me in charge of the ugly dog. My mother had removed all life from our home and, if it was legal, I was sure she would have removed me as well. Our cat, Lady, somehow ran away a few weeks after my father entered the hospital from his accident. When my older brother Jack came to visit he couldn't take the house being so empty and quiet
that he bought us 2 birds. The day I decided what to name them, they were gone. Even if Nigel would have been my last pick for a companion, he was a companion nonetheless.
“Don't I look fabulous Nigel?" He had stopped wobbling around the coffee table and stared at me
awkwardly. “Come mope with me…Sit."
“Don't listen to Abigail, Nigel," said a tired voice in the far corner of the kitchen. My mother walked
past the couch in her sweaty gym clothes and didn't even notice my disgusting display. Her mind too occupied with other things to notice or even glance over at my swollen eyes and broken heart. She kept her head low and her dark hair loose from running as she walked up the stairs. My eyes glanced down at her bare ring finger, secretly hoping I would see a ring.
Her wedding ring was placed on the corner of my father's office table like the first flower that would be placed on his coffin. On the other side of the double glass doors, you could see a thin coat of dust around not just the ring, but all of his belongings. The office was locked from the outside, the key still intact in the keyhole, but never touched or removed. The leather key chain around it would
slightly move every time the air vent would come on, but my mother never felt inclined to walk down that corridor and remove it. My mother's office was situated on the opposite side of the house, so his office remained as is.
I noticed that she stopped asking if there were any messages for her from the doctor's office. There was a minimal amount of conversation or interest for a conversation between us. The things she did ask me were about college. She would cook dinner here and there. A plate would be left
on top of the stove for me as she would bring her food to her bedroom. I realized several months ago that I spent more time with my teachers than my own mother and that was just something I had to accept. The only pre-accident ritual that remained was sitting on the couch once a week, in silence, to laugh at a new episode of our favorite show.
As I heard her bedroom door shut, my attention returned to the television while my vision transformed, again, into an underwater fish lens. My mouth was filled with a large spoonful of chocolate ice cream and my finger continuously tapped the remote control in hopes of finding something more romantic than White Girls because the embarrassment of bawling my eyes through that was something I couldn't live with.
My phone lit up with a picture of Loren's effortless duck face and I contemplated if I had the energy
to accept her call.
“Yeesss," I answered sullenly.
“How long have you been crying?" she asked sharply.
“You don't have allergies, Abigail."
“Can you just believe my lies and move on?"
“What did you get at the grocery store? Allergy medication?" she asked sarcastically.
“I got my mom groceries," I lied as I filled my mouth again with a spoon of ice cream.
“I can taste the ice cream that's in your mouth."
“LEAVE ME ALONE!" I screamed throwing myself on the opposite side of the sofa. “Seriously, Loren."
“Just come over, we can do a session so you can get it out of your system." I moaned and groaned annoyingly until I agreed. “Fine," I said sharply. “I'll text you when I leave."
Just as I placed my phone down, my mother walked down the stairs in a medium length navy blue dress. Her hair was up and sparkly jewels covered her neck and ears. At the bottom of the stairs she placed her heels down and stepped into them graciously. Makeup transformed her into a lively human being.
“Will you be staying in?" she inquired casually as she walked over to the mirror and admired herself. My mother was the mother everyone knew about in the neighborhood. Her smile and
energy captured all who met her. Her voice was an advocate for all things that made one happy. She would speak of the strangest things, but one couldn't help but give her all the attention. Mr. and Mrs. Wells loved her dearly - like a child. They would always comment on how heavenly her laugh was and how sweetly she would speak to them. My mother used to be able to enter a room and seconds later fill it with genuine laughter. She was an extraordinary mother, lawyer, and woman. That is, until the accident. She transformed into this different person all together. She gave up practicing law and bought a small space on the edge of town and transformed it into a garden shop.
The only problem with her garden shop was the art gallery next door, which was owned by Jason Cain, an unaccomplished artist who sold art and held parties for up and coming artists. I had never met him, but I researched him after I saw one of his texts on my mother's phone. He was never married and all his family lived out west in California. He loved literature, red wine, and he had a fascination with my mother. There would be flowers delivered to her door randomly. She would
receive letters and books wrapped in extremely decorative silk paper, however he would never sign his name. I would always ask who they were from but her reply was always the same. “They didn't leave a signature." There were some days when the flowers arrived before my mother did and I would throw them away. I unwrapped some of her other packages and didn't understand why he was sending her books and poetry. It frustrated me even more as my heart ached at the
thought of her with another man while my hospitalized father remained in a coma and unaware of her actions.
“I'm going over to Loren's for a bit," I finally spit out as she looked over at me and then glanced quickly around the living room. “I'll be home after dinner," she said quickly.
“Obviously," I murmured. She paused halfway out the door as she heard my remark, said nothing, and just as quickly as she paused she returned to exiting out the door.
Hey everyone, just wanted to let you all know that last week I received the proof edition! It was marvelous! The cover was pixelated, so ...
I'm thrilled to announce I will be self publishing ADORED. I will be receiving the proof copy September 19-21 and then send it officially ...
Today ended my campaign! Thank you so much for everyone who has preordered and shared my page!
By next week I will know when Adored ...