Fluid Veracity

By CoCheil

Still reeling from the abrupt departure of the love of her life, for Mykal Brooklyn, life is fluid as she becomes the key witness in a murder trial. As she debates if she should lie or tell the truth as she knows it, doubts and distrust fill her heart and mind, clouding her judgment, and leaving her in a state of confusion. Her life is completely turned upside down when she begins to distrust her best friend, ex-boyfriend, current boyfriend, and father, and everything she has known as the truth becomes a lie as lies become everyone’s truth. Mykal must figure out where she stands as she faces some tough situations, some deadly decisions, and wonders, what exactly is the truth? Disturbing revelations shake the foundation of her reality as nothing less than her own sanity, peace of mind, and safety are at risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CoCheil
• Release date: May 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9780997488043

CoCheil

Nicole M Scott, (also known as CoCoa or CoCheil [pronounced Co-Shell]) is thirty seven years old, was born and raised in Dayton, OH, and lives with her nine year old daughter. She is the youngest of her mother’s three children, the middle of her father’s three children, the only daughter, and first girl on her mother’s side of the family. Nicole has been drawing since she was six years old, never had any formal art training other than regular public school art classes; she’s completely self-taught. Art has always been a great love and passion for her, and she loves every art form. She has her own online art gallery where she sells prints of her work (website below). Nicole is a multi-genre writer, has her own publishing company, Literary Masterpiece Publishing, and she is currently a graduate student obtaining her Master of Arts in Business Administration.www.cocheilartsgallery.com

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FOREWORD

"…Great read for adults."

A beautiful summer’s day, June 8th to be exact, and Mykal is moping in her house over the break-up of her true love, Nixon, almost two years ago. She should be over it, but it is the worse day because Nixon is marrying her cousin today! Enter Taranj, Mykal’s best friend since childhood, who is determined to get her out of the house and take her to a club. The only issue for Mykal is that it’s a gay club, and Mykal is a little homophobic, even if she won’t admit it. Yet, she clings to Taranj as a best friend, even to the point of other relationships, which makes people wonder about their relationship. Fluid Veracity is more about how relationships weave and evolve, that you can be a best friend and be there for someone, yet not be the same sexual orientation. Nicole M. Scott writes a modern tale of the working woman, with complicated family dynamics to deal with, still trying to find her own way in the world.

Fluid Veracity was at times a bit hard to follow, but having said that and now that I have read it through once, I think on a second reading it would not be nearly as hard to follow. Mykal truly believes that her lost love Nixon was her only chance at love, and when she finds Aaron, she finds a guy that loves her maybe a little too much. Preconceived notions, family dynamics, rumors, lies and half-truths all interact to turn what could be ordinary into something completely different. Author Nicole M. Scott uses the modern world as a backdrop for this novel, and it turns out to be something everyone can relate to in one way or another. Great read for adults.

Reviewed by Michelle Randall for Reader’s Favorite

PROLOGUE

Loud sirens faded in and out as I went in and out of consciousness. The voices sounded muffled, and I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. My eyes opened wide as I stared into the Paramedic’s face. His tanned complexion, steel grey eyes, and good looks should have had a calming effect on me as he revealed a false smirk; I noticed the nervousness in his eyes. My mother frantically yelled words I could not hear. Her normally mocha complexion appeared light caramel as her eyes moved here and there almost uncontrollably. The Paramedic placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth, and I could feel my heart struggling to beat in my chest; slow and weak. Tears drizzled from my eyes as I spoke silently to God, Please don’t let me die. Lord, I am begging you to please show mercy on me.

I cried tears of blood as the doors of the ambulance opened. The gurney I was strapped dropped out of the ambulance and rolled away as another set of doors miraculously opened. I was blinded by the abundance of hazy lights that gleamed from the ceiling of the emergency room. The Paramedics surrounded me, running me towards the nearest triage as I attempted to remain calm during this bumpy ride. Every sound was hollow and echoed as my gurney was wheeled into Triage number two. I was alarmed at the amount of people that ran to my aid; doctors, nurses, and others. I couldn’t count them if I tried; they kept moving about. My mother held my hand assuring me that I would make it through. She continuously told me to fight. She said, Fight baby. No matter what, fight.

The doctors switched me from the gurney to the bed as my mother’s hand slowly broke away. I turned my head towards my mother, confused because I had no idea what was going on and how I wound up here. I searched silently for answers as I took a glimpse of the gurney. It was full of blood like something off of a gory horror film, only it was real life and not a movie. Panicking, I quickly examined myself; I was covered in blood. The blood was so dark it almost appeared black. With a pair of shears, the doctor cut the clothes from my body. He walked passed my mother as though she was invisible; she was a ghost to him. My eyes locked with my mother’s eyes as I noticed, for the first time, how worried she truly was. I could see my reflection in my mother’s dark brown eyes and the tears she desperately tried to prevent from escaping.

One of the doctors, a medical student I supposed, asked me for my name. The sound of his voice echoed like it continuously bounced off of a concave wall. I attempted to state my name but was unsure of what name I gave him because I could not hear myself speak. It was like someone tossed me into a black and white closed captioned movie without caption. Everything and everybody were moving in slow motion as I felt a painful pinch in the fold of my right arm. I blanked out then back in.

When I blanked out, I had a flash of a dark-skinned woman but couldn’t make out her facial features. She seemed possessed by the way her eyebrows grumbled and her nose flared. The white conjunctivas of her eyes were pink as she had the most hateful expression upon her face like a devil. She stood six inches away from my face violently yelling and screaming at me. I paused trying so hard to remember, Pow! The sound of a gunshot rang in my ears as it echoed. I remembered. I finally remembered. At this point, I remembered. I leaned up and screamed, Save my baby. Please save my baby. I am eight months pregnant. Please save my baby. Tears sprayed from my eyes as a bit of reality shed some light on this seemingly nightmarish mystery.

As I cried, panicking, the young doctor injected my I.V. with a clear solution. Almost instantaneously, I was a victim of the surrealism of my mind; trapped momentarily within a dream world. I was unable to distinguish reality from futility.

Was I dreaming? The ambulance ride, the memory of the angry woman, the pregnancy, and my mother finally expressing her emotions; was it real? Is this all in my head? I didn’t feel an inch of pain. How could I have forgotten about my baby? It felt like a nightmare, but was it?

CHAPTER ONE

I live in my own little world. But it’s okay, they know me here. – Edith Sitwell

Today was a beautiful day. The sun shined brilliantly without a cloud in the sky. The unmistakable sounds of the birds singing happily and the smell of the flowers in full bloom added to the beauty of the day. The children’s voices vividly displayed cheer and joy as I peered out of the window of my front screen door. Their joy enticed my nosy side, and I simply couldn’t resist poking my head outside the door to admire their happiness.

The blonde pigtails of my neighbor’s six year old granddaughter bounced up and down rhythmically in unison with her body. The basketball smacked the cement as Jeremy dribbled alongside of the calming effect of Mr. Richard’s sprinklers creating an outside orchestra. Across the street, Mrs. Welch waved at me as I hung out of my door. With a prepared false smile, I waved in return as Michael rode down the street on his blue bicycle, careful not to lean to the left side onto the broken training wheel. A huge part of me wanted to reveal the hidden six year old inside that I held captive most of the time, but I wasn’t in the mood to ruin or envy the happiness of others.

As I observed the joy of my neighbors, I wondered, why as adults we seem to lose that innocent joy. Children seemed so free and forgiving. They had a way of adjusting and making the best of any situation. Their resilience was breathtaking. Why do adults seem to lose that resilience? Why do adults allow the smallest things to cut us down to the bone? How could I reclaim that innocent heart of joy? I had never realized until now, I could learn a lot by paying attention to children.

Usually, on a day like this, my heart would be smiling inside because the temperature was perfect. It wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too cold. A day like this was considered paradise for most, but for me, it was the polar opposite of the emotion that haunted my soul. The luminosity of joy and happiness became a stranger to me two years ago; a dark bubble filled with shadows of a past I wished I could forget, better yet, erase.

A day like today was a wonderful day to go outside, but instead, I was home alone; reminiscent of the way I felt inside. Upon closing my screen door and pulling up the big door, I grabbed my journal from the shelf underneath my coffee table that had a permanent home in front of my soft, burgundy sofa. I sat on the sofa and wrote:

June 8th. It’s a beautiful day, and I am sitting here with nothing to do. It’s been two years since Nixon and I broke up, yet it feels like yesterday. He was the first man I have ever loved. Although, I’ve had many lovers, he was the first man I’ve ever made love to. He’s also the first man to ever break my heart. So, in a sense, he was my first everything. How we fell apart? I can’t explain. It isn’t registering within my heart. My mind simply won’t accept it. I used to wonder, Who do I have to be? What do I have to do to make him love me? There usually isn’t an answer that can satisfy my heart.

Have you ever done everything you thought was right but still ended up with the short end of the stick? Have you ever been in love so deep you would curse your own mother out over him? I have, and now I’m sick to the dark creases of my soul. This broken heart is similar to a communicable disease. Everybody contracts it at least once in their lives and it keeps on spreading.

I don’t want to be miserable, but it’s difficult not to be when my love was meaningless; it was rejected like a horrible gift on Christmas. What’s the most upsetting is the fact that I gave my all, and my all wasn’t good enough. My soul has been shattered, and I can’t find all of the pieces to glue it back together. While I’m here stuck in a rut, he’s off marrying her not even thinking about me. Five years of my life and not once did he pop the question. After one year with her, all of a sudden, he wants to spend the rest of his days with someone? Inconceivable! I can’t fathom the reason why he invited me to his wedding. Is this some kind of cruel joke? How cold and thoughtless?

I am fully aware that it has been almost two years, and I should have moved on as well. It’s so hard to date when someone else has my heart. How can I share my heart? How can I make the love go away? How…

A light tapping was faintly audible from my front door that caused me to stop writing and wonder who was there. I closed my journal and returned it to its permanent home. The black ink pen in my right hand was tossed onto the coffee table as it rolled onto the carpeted floor. I yelled, Come in.

My best friend Taranj strode in with a large smile on her face, Damn girl, you sitting up in the dark while it’s a gorgeous day outside? Open these blinds and let some sunshine in. Look like you mourning. Taranj pulled the white vertical blinds open as sun light beamed into the living room.

I rubbed my eyes, Close them back. I don’t want to see the damn sun. That shit is bright. It hurts my eyes.

Taranj giggled, Too late. They open now. If you want them closed, you got to get up and close them. She plopped down beside me on the sofa.

Taranj sat so close to me our thighs touched. In irritation, I glared at her because I didn’t want to be bothered today. Taranj stared at me smirking in an attempt to lighten my mood. I ignored her gesture scooting away from her.

As I curled my legs underneath me, I sat on them. Taranj peered around my exceptionally clean house and frowned, You sitting up in here like somebody died. What’s up with you? You haven’t returned my phone calls or answered my emails.

At the floor, I diverted my attention because I desired to lie to Taranj, so she wouldn’t worry about me, but Taranj wasn’t that gullible. She knew me too well and didn’t appreciate being lied to. Instead of answering her question, I sat in silence trying to think of a response. As I sat in silence, Taranj pulled a cigarette from her pack. She gently placed the cigarette between her lips and returned the pack to the side pocket of her Capri pants.

I stared at the unlit menthol cigarette hanging from the tip of Taranj’s lips, You better not light that in here. Go outside if you want to smoke.

Boo on you. Booooo! She giggled, Only if you join me.

I don’t feel like going outside.

As she stood, You are coming outside to watch me smoke because I’m not going out there without you, and you know how I get when I’m having a nicotine fit. Taranj raised her right eyebrow.

Taranj got a bad, annoyingly irritating attitude when she craved a smoke. In avoidance of a potential confrontation, I decided to join her.

With my bottom lip pouted outwards, Okay. Let’s go. I stood.

Taranj motioned for me to go ahead of her, After you.

CHAPTER TWO

Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime. – Mineko Iwasaki

Outside, I sat on top of my glass patio table underneath the umbrella with my feet resting in the tan cushion of the chair. Taranj stood to my left in the grass near my propane barbeque grill that I had for over a year and never used. The smoke from Taranj’s cigarette slowly drifted into the atmosphere polluting our air. The satisfaction that cancer stick provided her seemed out of this world. Why do we humans enjoy killing ourselves? How was something so unhealthy so satisfying? While questioning myself, as if I truly knew the answer, I noticed Taranj’s white khaki Capri pants and those gold open toed heels. Sharp.

From what seemed like a distance, I heard Taranj consistently rambling on and on. Deep in thought, I inadvertently tuned out her conversation. I snapped back into reality to catch up with the middle of her conversation. She told me about a woman she worked with. Her name was Kylie. Taranj worked with her at the Steel Mill on Thirty Second Street. Ever since Taranj got that job last year, she’s been talking nonstop about her co-worker Kylie. The only words they ever exchanged were hi and bye, yet Taranj spoke of her as a distant friend. After an entire year working almost side by side, I’d think they would have said more to one another.

Taranj and I met when we were ten years old. She was the first and closest female friend I have ever had. She lived next door to my father. In adherence to the court order, I used to visit him every other weekend. Every other weekend, Taranj would sit on her porch waiting for us to pull up. She was the only girl in the neighborhood that would play with me. I was uncertain of the reason the other girls didn’t take to me because I did nothing wrong to any of them. At the same time, I didn’t care because I had Taranj to play with. We did everything together, including getting into trouble. We’d been best friends ever since.

I was like damn. She should not have done that, Taranj stated while walking towards me biting down on her bottom lip.

She stood in front of me nudging me to scoot over so she could sit. I acknowledged and slid over. Taranj turned to me and said, What’s wrong?

I mumbled, I have a lot on my mind right now.

"Hmm…It’s about Nixon isn’t it?

As I glanced up at the sky then at the ground, I cracked my knuckles, I don’t understand. I responded with profound hurt within my soul.

Taranj blurted, It’s not meant for you to understand.

I stared up at Taranj as my eyebrows grimaced, What?

You can’t keep asking yourself questions you have no answers for. You’ll drive yourself crazy doing that. Nixon is old news. He is your past so leave him there. You can do so much better than that loser.

He must not be too much of a loser when he’s getting married today. Apparently, she saw something good in him.

There’s a little good in every person. That doesn’t make us good people. He’s a loser who’s marrying a loser. He’s gone cheat on her too. Marriage doesn’t tame a cheating heart. I don’t know what you thought. You need to learn to let go. Taranj wiped the sweat from her forehead.

My nose flared as my eyes pierced Taranj’s soul. My eyebrows frowned as I shouted, He is marrying my fucking cousin! I think I have the right to be upset. I feel so betrayed, and I can’t shake this feeling. My cousin is marrying my man, and they had to nerve to invite me to the fucking wedding. I want to blow up the damn church I promise you. That is how torn I am inside.

I screamed at Taranj because deep inside I knew she was right. I realized I should have let go a long time ago. I should have forgiven them and been the bigger person. If I forgave, I would have no room in my soul for hatred and other negative emotions.

Taranj pulled out another cigarette, I know you are hurting but life goes on. There is a life for you without Nixon. You have more life to live without him. Let the dog be a dog. You can’t force a stray to come home.

The gloss of my eyes glistened as I stared at Taranj, struggling not to release any tears. Taranj spoke a truth that was too real for me to hear at this moment. My voice trembled as I said, Tell that to my heart.

Taranj placed her arm around my shoulder giving me a half hug. She knew how I felt about hugs and gooey displays of affection and respected my feelings. A tear almost escaped from the creases of my eyes as I cleared my throat. I turned away from Taranj and quickly caught my tears before they drizzled down my face. Taranj lit her cigarette. She took a puff, You know what? Fuck this moping shit. Put on some clothes and go to the club with me. See, if a good time can’t put a smile back on that face. Loud music and you love to dance? Come on. Let’s go cut a rug. A couple of drinks, and you’ll forget about him at least for the moment.

Without thinking, I turned to her and blurted, Hell nah! I slyly pulled away from her.

Taranj leaned away from me as her perfectly arched eyebrows crumbled, So you homophobic now?

I slid down from the table as my slippers made contact with the smoldering cement. I silently thanked God the breeze was cool or this would had been an uncomfortably humid day. I defended myself, You know better than that.

Taranj frowned as she pinched her lips together. Due to the brilliance of the sun, her chocolate complexion turned fudge. Taranj’s stare pierced my core as I apologized, I’m sorry if I offended you.

Taranj consistently pierced my core with her disapproving stare as guilt arisen within me. Taranj smirked, I’m not accepting your apology until you go out with me.

I quickly thought, Don’t hold your breath. I was such a terrible friend. Taranj had attended every single heterosexual club in this city with me; getting harassed by men who didn’t seem to take no for an answer. She did not want to dance. She did not want a drink. She did not want their phone number. Torture for her, I could only imagine if the tables were turned. Taranj bent over backwards for me. The least I could do was go out with her. I should be able to stretch a little bit for her. After all, everything shouldn’t always be centered on me and what I wanted.

Damn it, I said.

Taranj smiled.

I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to wallow in my despair. Why can’t I just mope?

CHAPTER THREE

Alcohol may be man’s worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy. – Frank Sinatra

It was a quarter past twelve in the morning. The beautiful starry night was almost magical if only I had someone special with me. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat of Taranj’s deep red-purple SUV. I couldn’t stand purple but it was Taranj’s favorite color. In my opinion, Taranj may-as-well had gotten a picture of Barney painted on the hood. What sensible adult would drive around in a car or truck painted in this shade of purple? Only Taranj; a colorful vehicle to match her personality.

One thing I loved about the truck was