What Doesn't Kill Us

By Stephanie Henry

As a child, Drew tried to protect his little sister from his belligerent parents. Through the screaming and arguing, a tragic accident occurs; one that will forever define Drew's life.  
 
When he meets Hailey years later, he never would have thought that their lives could ever be entwined.  
 
Despite their obvious differences, they form a life-changing bond. But on a trip to visit Hailey's dad, they unearth a fateful discovery that changes everything.  
 
Can they survive uncovering decade-old secrets and learning the truths of their pasts? Or will the aftermath of their discoveries break the bond they've been desperately clinging to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Henry
• Release date: Jul 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491095034

Book preview

WHAT DOESN’T KILL US

Copyright © 2013-2017 by Stephanie Henry.

Edited by Amy McNulty.

Cover designed by Christian Bentulan at Covers By Christian.

Formatting by Lyssa Chiavari at Key of Heart Designs.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distrusted, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical reviews and certain other non-commercial permitted by copyright law.

This novel is fiction. That means all of its content including: characters, names, places, and brands, are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional matter. Any similarities to actual people, living or dead, places or events are purely accidental.

For Brody:

Never let past mistakes drag you down. Take the lesson, but never give up on yourself. Learn, grow, and most of all… love.

Chapter One

D R E W

I lay under my bed where I feel safe. Although I barely fit anymore, it’s almost a tradition to slide underneath it when I hear my parents fighting. I feel like I’m four years old again. The blue carpet under me is itchy but I feel invisible here, almost like I don’t exist in this world. Amidst the yelling, I hear little footsteps running toward my room and without seeing her, I know that it’s Sissy. Knowing the routine, she crawls under my bed with me and I hold her tight as she trembles. Her yellow hair is styled into two small braids. Her hazel eyes search mine, seeking comfort.

Whenever Sissy gets scared she comes to me.

Shh, I tell her as she breathes heavily. Think about something good.

Kittens, she whispers.

Yeah, kittens, I tell her, straining to hear what our parents are arguing about this time.

You fucking whore. His voice is eerily calm.

No, she pleads, Jim, it was before us. We hadn’t even met yet. Mom’s voice is high pitched and I can imagine her scrunching her brows up. Reflecting the face Sissy makes when she doesn’t understand something.

You’re a liar. I can’t see him, but from the sound of his voice, his jaw must be tight and stiff, like he’s never unclenching his teeth as he speaks. The vein in his neck probably pulsing with his anger.

I’m telling the truth. You have to believe me. I never cheated on you. I would never do that to you. I can hear the desperation in her voice.

You’re nothing but a liar. Why should I believe anything you have to say? You’ve been lying to me for years, he shouts, getting angrier, his voice thicker and darker.

Still holding onto Sissy, I close my eyes and picture my parents in my head, imagining what they’re doing and what they’ll do next. My mother is somewhere in our small kitchen, probably next to the stove. She’s either cooking or just finishing up because I can smell the garlicky scent of spaghetti sauce. My father is walking from the kitchen to the living room and back. I can hear the stomping of his heavy boots on the hardwood floors. That’s the thing with small houses, you can hear everything from every room.

By the time my father comes home from work and places his coat on the rack, they’ve usually already begun their perpetual cycle. Sometimes its little things, like my father getting frustrated at having to move Sissy’s toys off the couch where he wants to relax. Other times it’s a little more serious, like arguing over how they’re going to come up with the money to pay the electric bill that month and blaming one another when it came to who spent more frivolously. They fight more often than what would be considered normal. But it’s always been our normal. This time it’s different though. I don’t know why it’s different because I don’t know the whole story. But the way in which they’re fighting—their voices, the lack of sarcasm, the yelling, then whispering, then yelling again, both of their voices shaky—it’s unnervingly different. It’s so much worse.

Sissy squeezes my thumb and I squeeze hers back, letting her know I’m still with her.

I’m sorry, Jim. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. Please, let’s just forget about it. My mother’s voice cracks at the end and then she starts to outright sob. It’s a heartwrenching sound.

I feel Sissy tense at the sound of our mother’s heartache.

"Forget about it? Are you fucking crazy? How am I supposed to just forget about it? I’ll never forgive you for this, Deb."

I hear a crash that sounds like glass shattering on the hard floor. My mother is crying even harder now. And then suddenly, I hear a thud from outside my door. I’m confused for a moment, but then I figure out that my father has just kicked in Sissy’s door across the hall. I hear him rummaging through her stuff and calling her name. Now I’m terrified and I can tell Sissy is too. I hold her tighter, the both of us still under my bed. She continues to shake as I whisper, telling her everything is okay, even though we both know it’s a lie. Watching over her comes naturally to me.

From the time that I was seven years old and they brought Sissy home from the hospital I have been taking care of her, protecting her from our irrational parents. Now at four years old, Sissy relies on me more than anyone else. As her older brother, I know that she is my only real responsibility.

We hear another thud, but this time it’s closer. It’s my door.

Sarah Elizabeth Delmont, answer me right now, my father booms.

Sissy looks at me with tears in her eyes, and I try to give her a comforting look. I fail. I can’t figure out for the life of me why my father is looking for her, and only her. What did she do to make him so upset? And how can I fix it?

Sarah, he yells, opening the closet door, I’m not playing. You get your ass over here right now!

He’s becoming more frustrated with every second that he can’t find her. I look at Sissy and slowly nod my head. I inch out first, and Sissy follows. My father catches a glimpse of us and pulls Sissy out the rest of the way. With his hand wrapped tightly on her small arm and his fingers digging hard into her skin, he drags her out of my room. I hastily follow behind, making sure that Sissy never leaves my sight. I’ve seen my father mad before, furious even, but right now he’s beyond enraged. He’s scary. His face is red and sweat is beading across his forehead. His usually neat hair is in disarray, sticking out around his ears.

Jim, you can’t just take her and leave, my mother warns. Her eyes are full of more unshed tears, her hand trembles as she holds it out, stretching to grab Sissy from his hold.

You wanna bet? he snaps back with a sinister grin on his face.

My mother turns and runs in the opposite direction. Fearing she’s giving in and allowing my father to take Sissy away with him, I jump in and try to stop him. I reach for his hand, trying to pull it off of Sissy’s arm, but he immediately pushes me straight to the ground. As I hit the floor, I notice my mother behind me.

Let her go, Jim, she demands with a gun pointed right at him.

He pauses, but only for a moment. What are you gonna do, Deb? You gonna shoot me? He smirks, not believing she’ll pull the trigger.

Sissy’s eyes are wide with fear, mirroring my own. I’m her big brother. I’m supposed to protect her, but right now I don’t know what to do.

"I said let her go. You’re not leaving here with my daughter."

"Your daughter? She’s my daughter. And I’m not leaving here without her." His voice is gruff and full of authority.

She walks toward him, demanding again that he let Sissy go. He chuckles a little, showing no fear of her or the gun in her hand. My mother’s arms are stretched all the way out with the gun aimed straight in my father’s face. Never letting go of Sissy’s arm, he stares down my mother, almost as if he’s daring her to pull the trigger. There’s a moment of silence that feels like an eternity. Then, almost as if it happens in slow motion, my mother falls to the ground, dropping the gun to the floor and sobbing heavily. Knelt over, she pleads with him not to take Sissy. Please, Jim, she heaves on a sobbing breath. Dark makeup streaks down her face, making her tears appear to be black.

Although I can’t make out all of her words over her loud cries, I’m able to decipher please, no, and don’t do this. I’m torn between reaching out and comforting my mom or trying to pull Sissy from my father’s grasp again. I’ve never seen my mother so upset… so broken.

My father looks angrier with every sob that comes from my mom’s pleading. With no warning, and with Sissy’s arm still in one hand, my father reaches down and hits my mother clear across her face with the back of his free hand. The force from the hit causes her to swing sideways down to the floor. Sissy lets out a shriek of horror, and without hesitation my father turns around and starts to walk out of our house, dragging Sissy along.

I start to panic. I have to do something. My chest grows tight and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. I have to stop him or I will never see my baby sister again. I don’t know how I know that, that he’ll take her away for good, but I just know it. I know with clear certainty that if he walks out the door, he won’t be back. There will be no making up between my parents after this fight. I have to save my sister, not only because I love her, but because protecting her is my only real job as her big brother. Before I can think it through, before I know exactly what I’m going to do, I reach for the gun with a shaky hand. I walk directly toward my father with it pointed at him and before he can open the door to leave, I pull the trigger. It takes me a minute to realize what I’ve done. As the confusion lifts from my mind, I calmly think that it’s over. I did what my mother had wanted to do, but couldn’t. I lower the gun and let it slip from my hands, and I cringe at the unnatural sound it makes when it hits the hard floor. I hear my mother gasp from behind me, but I don’t turn around. My eyes are fixated on my father, waiting for him to die. I know that sounds heartless. Maybe that’s what I am. But I couldn’t let him take Sissy. I just couldn’t. I had to protect her. He turns to Sissy, letting his hand slip off of her arm. But when he lets her go, she falls to the ground. Horror washes over me seeing the blood seeping through her shirt. Seeing the shocked and painful expression etched on her sweet face. No. This can’t be happening. I didn’t shoot my father. I feel sick to my stomach when I realize what I did. I shot my little sister.

Chapter Two

D R E W

Six years later...

Drew! Get your ass in gear! my dad yells, hitting my door open with the palm of his hand.

Shit. Power must have gone out in the storm last night, I realize as I glance over at my alarm clock that is now blinking in red 12:00 A.M. I’m up, I answer back, jumping out of bed in a daze.

Bus will be here in two minutes! he bellows.

I run into the messy bathroom down the hall and begin brushing my teeth with one hand and splashing water on my face with the other. I run back into my room. I’m not even sure what time it is since my bedroom clock isn’t working. I jump into some jeans and search for a clean t-shirt through the heaps of clothes on my bedroom floor. I hear the bus drive off. Shit.

It’s the last day of school, which means final exams. If I’m not there by eight o’clock, they’ll shut me out of the classroom, forcing me to take a zero on my first test of the day. I run down the hall and turn to my father, who’s sitting at the kitchen table in his uniform, leisurely drinking a cup of coffee.

C-Can I get a ride? I stutter asking.

He just laughs and goes back to drinking his coffee. I don’t know why I even asked.

So I start jogging to school. It’s unusually humid for the beginning of June and by the time I reach the school, four miles from my house, I can feel the sweat pouring down my back. I make it with literally one minute to spare.

Sweaty and out of breath, I take my seat. I awkwardly sit with my head down because I can feel people staring at me and it’s extremely uncomfortable. I should be used to it by now, but it’s never an easy thing to accept. The teacher hands out the exams and pencils. She begins to explain how to fill in the circles on the answer sheet and tells us that we have exactly one hour and fifteen minutes to finish the exam. I’m done in forty minutes, but I pretend not to be because I don’t like to hand my test in first. After two people have gone up to pass theirs in, I follow suit. Mrs. Akers explains that anyone who’s finished should go into the room next door, so as to not disturb the other students who are still concentrating. For fifteen minutes I sit in a room that quickly begins to fill up with students who are gabbing about parties, sports, hook-ups, and new juicy rumors. Who’s supposedly pregnant, who was caught drinking, what their summer plans entail. I don’t talk to anyone because I’ve never cared enough to make friends, or even engage in small talk with them. To be honest, they’ve never cared enough to make friends with me either. They ignore me just as easily as I tune them out. I sit by myself and wait for the bell to ring so I can make my way down to my next class to take my next exam.

When school lets out, I choose to walk home. I figure it’s better than sitting on a bus full of kids who have no interest in me. And now that there’s no rush, I actually enjoy the trek back, taking in the town and its scenery. When I finally walk into my house, the first thing I see is the first thing I’ve seen for the past six years: the note on the table.

When my mother left six years ago, she just took off. It was two weeks after my sister died. There were no sad goodbyes, no waving to her as she drove off, no promises that she’d be back to visit. She just simply took off in the middle of the day. When I came home from school, all that was left of her was the note she wrote and one single perfume bottle she had probably forgotten to pack. The note was short and said everything it needed to say:

I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be here. I can’t move on and pretend like everything is all right when it’s not. That night, you said that you couldn’t just forgive and forget. Well, I can’t either. How am I supposed to forget that our daughter is dead? How do you expect me to continue a life with you? How am I supposed to forgive? I just want to forget about the last twelve years of my life. I wish they had never happened.

The thing is, I expected that from my father. I thought that he would have left, just like he was going to that night. I never thought my mom would leave. No, that’s not true. I did think she might leave. I just never thought she would leave me. But that night changed everything. She couldn’t forgive me for shooting Sissy. That I was sure of. She wanted to run as far away from me as possible, and that’s what she did. And I don’t blame her. She wished I had never been born and I can’t say that I disagree with her. Most days I wish for it too.

My father left that note on the table for a month before I dared to throw it out. I crinkled it in my hand and walked over to the trash can. My father jumped up off the couch, raced over to me, and grabbed my hand in his. He squeezed my fist hard, squinted his eyes, and with immense anger in his voice said, Don’t you dare. You flatten that note and put it back where it belongs. You need to understand the consequences of your actions. You did this. Now live with it.

My father and I have never really gotten along. In fact, I’m sure he hates me. Again, I don’t blame him. Not now. Not after that night. He knows I tried to kill him. He’s well aware my target was him, not Sissy. And yet, he hasn’t left me. He may be an asshole most of the time, but I’m grateful that he stayed, because, well, he’s all I got, even if he isn’t much of a father.

I walk past the note, trying to fool myself into thinking that I no longer notice it. The truth is, it hurts no less than the first time I read it. Most days I gravitate to it, not that I need the reminder of what I did and what I lost. Feeling unwanted and abandoned by your mother has got to be one of the worst feelings anyone could ever feel. Then again, being hated by your own father is a pretty close second. The worst feeling though, the one that cuts to the bone is knowing that I’m the one responsible for the death of Sissy.

I run upstairs to take a quick shower, and then I head over to Anna’s house. Anna is our elderly neighbor, whom I became close with when I was nine years old.

My mother had taken me and Sissy shopping with her. She had us wait in a certain area while she tried on clothes in a dressing room. When she was done, I watched her walk right out of the store, leaving us forgotten and behind. I yelled, but she didn’t hear me amongst the busyness of the store. I tried to chase after her but couldn’t keep up with Sissy in my arms. I was nine and Sissy was only two. When I realized that I couldn’t catch up to her, a sting of panic burned in my stomach. I searched the store for someone who could help. Luckily, a well-dressed middle-aged woman noticed my panic-stricken face. When I told her what had happened, she brought us over to the store manager, who let us into his office to call our mother. She didn’t answer. I felt a mixture of pure fear, rejection, and abandonment. And although I literally felt sick to my stomach, I ached more for Sissy, who had started crying again once she’d sensed my elevating anxiety. The man who managed the store asked me, Son, do you have any other family members I could call? If not, I will have to notify social services. His voice was sympathetic, but his face clearly showed he’d rather be doing anything but dealing with us.

We didn’t have any family, other than our dad. Not wanting to call him, I told the manager that I could call our neighbor. Anna Lopez is her name sir but I don’t know her number, I informed him."

He paused for a moment and then pulled out a phone book. It didn’t take him long to find her number and get her on the line. I was grateful.

Anna came right over to pick us up. She was a generous old lady who would often invite me in for milk and cookies and buy my sister little pink outfits. She dressed in floral dresses with matching little sweaters, always pastel in color. I think she liked us to visit because she didn’t have any kids of her own. My father had always hated her. He called her a ‘foreigner’ who should go back to where she came from. But he hated her even more after that day; the day I decided to call her instead of him. I don’t know why it mattered to him, but it clearly did. All I knew on that panic-stricken day was that I had to find some way to get Sissy and me home safely. If I had called my father, we would have gotten home, but I didn’t know how he’d react and I didn’t want to take that risk. Ever since that day, Anna has, in a way, taken me under her wing. And six years ago, after the worst night of my life, she helped me more than anyone. Her home was like a secret hideaway for me. She let me hang out there, away from my father, and she talked to me like I was important. She helped me through the hardest time of my life and I will always be grateful to her.

I open the front door to the old faded yellow ranch because Anna never leaves it locked and she gives me a hard time if I knock. Her house always smells comforting, like something is continuously baking in the oven. There’s floral wallpaper everywhere, only varying in color from room to room. In all the years I’ve known her, her house has never changed. Not one piece of furniture, not one curtain or wall painting. There have been a few things added over the years, but nothing major enough to make a big impact on the overall appearance. It’s comforting, actually, to have that consistency in something. Her house feels more like home to me than my own. I peek my head into her kitchen and call out to her in order to make sure she’s home.

Yes, dear. C’mon in, she calls out, I’ve just made a great big bowl of fruit salad. I just think it’s the perfect summer snack, don’t you?

She has a thing about always offering me food. If I turn something down, she’ll offer

Reviews for What Doesn't Kill Us

[arlenadean · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Title: What Doesn't Kill UsAuthor: Stephanie HenryPublisher: S.H.Reviewed By: Arlena DeanRating: FiveReview:"What Doesn't Kill Us" by Stephanie HenryMy Thoughts....This YA romance storyline was a very good one. This author gives the reader quite a interesting story about Andrew [Drew] and Hailey. I liked how this author brought these two together with them both having had something in their lives that was troubling. For each one the trouble was with their fathers. The story will be one that will keep your attention all the way through to the endbecause each character had something going on. For Drew all I can say is that this poor kid really had it bad with what he had to endure from that father [abuse & pain] and for Hailey well it seems like her life was falling apart with what all had happened to her relationship with her father. I don't want to spoil it so I will say you will have to pick up this well written read to find out what this story is all about. The big question to be answered is will Hailey and Drew find love and happiness in the end?I am sure when you get into the read the reader will find it one good read. I don't want to leave out the secondary character for they really presented some very interesting thoughts that gave this read one you will not want to put the read down until the end. Be prepared for a excellent read with many twist and turns that will have you saying I didn't see that coming! I will say I enjoyed this authors writing style and I would recommend this novel as a good read.