Skin Deep: Dark Reflections, #1

By Donna Dull

Nobody understands what Bethany has to deal with on a daily basis.

Tormented by bullies about her large size, she worries how much more she can take. The feelings she has for her best friend Anderson don’t help, especially since he never noticed them. When her only friends start to bail as she needs them the most, she fears she might be drowning. A beautiful rival is determined to steal Anderson just as he seems to be noticing her, and Bethany doesn’t think she can compete.

Hope appears in the form of a new program at school, but just as she begins to believe her whole world is turned upside down by Anderson’s secret.

As the bullying escalates to the point that her life could be in danger, she learns that demons are real and after her. If she can’t rise above her own issues, the entire town will go to hell—literally.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SomeSharpWords
• Release date: Apr 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386413417

Book preview

Donna Dull

Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Sharp

Edited by Red Road Editing and Whetstone Editing

Cover formatting by Donna Dull of Sharp Covers

Interior by TE Formats

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Other books by Elizabeth Sharp

Natural Selection (Forces of Nature Book One)

Second Nature (Forces of Nature Book Two)

Better Nature (Forces of Nature Book Three)

Supernova

Skin Deep (Dark Reflections Book One)

Hidden Depths (Dark Reflections Book Two)

Deep Within (Dark Reflections Book Three)

Decayed Horizon

303 Red Dead Lane (with Jordan Deen and Melissa Davis)

Twisted Fairy Tales: An Anthology

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Bullying Statistics

Acknowledgememnts

About the Author

Other Books

To Christine

For being by my side, even when you’re so far away.

Just once in my life I wanted to fade into the crowd. Not be judged when I decided to have another cheeseburger or chose French fries instead of a salad. Kids can be cruel; any differences are singled out immediately. And wearing size eighteen jeans made me a common target in the halls of Ancient Oaks High School.

I would never be the stereotypical teenager. Standing just over five-and-a-half feet and weighing-in well into what my doctor assured me was obese on his BMI chart, I would never be one of the popular girls. I had long since accepted that. But acceptance didn’t ease the sting every time someone told me I had such a pretty face … if I’d just lose weight. If it was that simple, I would be as skinny as all the other girls. I dreaded going to school, trying to mingle with people I would never fit in with. In college, people would finally realize school wasn’t a fashion show and no one would judge you by perfect hair and whose name was sewn into your clothes. I would finally be free. But I still had most of my senior year to get through, first.

Grabbing my keys off the counter, I ran out the door to the shiny—well, rusty—chariot waiting for me in the driveway. Most parents in town got their kids shiny, new cars when they turned sixteen. Unfortunately, as a single dad, mine couldn’t afford one, so last year I’d been relegated to riding the bus. That summer I got a job at the movie theater and earned enough to buy my Ford Tempo. Maybe it was loud enough to drown out a 747 and the dirt and rust were the only things holding it together, but the Crapmobile got me from place to place without having to resort to the bus or, worse, my dad.

As I climbed into the cracked leather interior, I couldn’t help but wonder where yet another weekend had gone. I held my breakfast toast in my teeth, turning to back down the drive when my dad came running out of the house waving something at me. I hit the brakes, leaning across to roll down my passenger side window.

Don’t forget this, Bethany.

Dropping my toast on the passenger seat, I took the paper he handed me and groaned. The permission slip would transfer me out of regular PE, into a special program for fat kids. The school had mailed a letter home the previous week, saying they were concerned for my health and requesting my dad’s permission to enroll me in a healthy living program. Giving me an eager, I’m-doing-what’s-best-for-you smile, Dad had signed it as soon as he finished reading. I was certain it was going to have me doing sit ups and jumping jacks every day while the skinny minnies got to play badminton.

My dad gave me that smile again. I was certain he meant it to be reassuring, but I saw it as condescending. I just want you to be healthy, Bethy.

With a sigh, I pasted on a smile and nodded. I know, Dad. I’ll do my best. No matter how hard I fought, he wouldn’t stop using the childish nickname, but I wouldn’t accept that so easily. I guess it was better than Nymphadora or Renesmee.

With a happy wave, he stepped back as I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I pulled out of the driveway too fast, nearly taking out the mailbox with Watson spelled out in perfect white letters. I grumbled as I put the car into drive and headed down the street. He meant well, but Mom would never have signed the damn permission slip. My stomach knotted, thinking about her. She had suddenly left one day while I was at school when I was in sixth grade, leaving a note on the counter for me to go to my best friend Maggie McCormick’s house and play until Dad came to get me. We hadn’t seen or heard from her since. I’m not sure how hard he looked.

The Illinois Indian summer was clinging with a white-knuckled grip, but fall would soon be in full swing. The trees in Cyprus Lake were washed in vibrant hues of yellow, orange, and red, though they hadn’t started falling in earnest yet. Within a week, cold rains would strip the leaves and usher in the cold. Just in time for Halloween.

I pulled into Maggie’s driveway, honking the horn less than a second before she came stomping out of her door. She brushed her wild red curls back into a ponytail, mumbling as she settled her bag on her shoulders. Nobody asked your opinion, asshat. She slid into the car, slamming her door harder than necessary. I winced, worried it might fall off.

Pulling back into the street, I aimed the car toward school. You and Shane getting into again?

Maggie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and pressing farther back into the seat. I knew that look. My best friend and her stepdad got along about as well as a cat and a dog, which would be normal except for the fact that Shane was physical with the petite girl and her mom, as well as her younger sister. Even though the cops were called to the Bangor-McCormick home twice in less than a year, Mrs. Bangor still hadn’t kicked him out. I shook my head, playing along as if I had no idea what was going on. I steered the subject to safer waters, like Cassie Miller’s new nose and Chelsie Bryant’s revolving boyfriends. Chelsie could be a tender subject, given her brief stint as our best friend, but I had a feeling I harbored far more resentment over that than Maggie did. By the time we pulled into the school parking lot, her mood improved to the point she even smiled a time or two. I adjusted my vibrant shrug as we got out of the car and headed into the school building.

Maggie settled into step beside me, her hands tucked in her backpack straps. So I had another dream.

I rolled my eyes. Maggie had been having psychic visions for about a year now. The problem was not a single one of her dreams had come true. I was skeptical at first; eventually, I became downright sick of it.

I saw red glowing eyes watching as your mom stood over your father’s lifeless body.

My nostrils flared as I locked my teeth together. Of all the topics she could have latched onto, she chose the worst. "That’s ridiculous, Maggie. And you’re not psychic."

Maggie sulked, looking away as we entered the school. Tears glinted in her eyes as she headed to her locker without saying goodbye. Shaking my head, I made my way to my own.

I twisted the combination on Ol’ Reliable, the only locker in the entire school that stuck. When I’d asked for a new one my freshman year, they’d moved me to the tiny closet hallway near the choir room on the third floor, as far away from any of my classes as they could possibly move me without putting it in a parking lot. The fight to get my original locker back had dashed any hope for a door that wasn’t so finicky. I was envious of schools elsewhere in the country, where locker assignments changed every year, but everyone in Ancient Oaks kept theirs all four years.

I hung my backpack on the hook, since bags weren’t allowed in class. I slid my cell phone into the pencil pouch in my binder, making sure it was on silent before sliding the little plastic zipper shut. I’d have to make sure none of my teachers saw it, but that wouldn’t be too hard. No one looked too closely at the fat girl.

I found my way to the first class of the day, setting my Spanish essay on Señora Nelson’s desk. My customary desk, in the middle of the row closest to the window, sat empty as always. Flipping through my Spanish book, I waited for class to start.

Kill me now. Anderson Davis sat in the desk to my right, tossing his black curls out of his eyes. I don’t understand why he even bothered pulling them back into a ponytail most of the time.

I had no idea why Anderson was still friends with me. Sure we’d known each other since we were in utero, but he got hot and I—well … didn’t. Despite our moms being friends, we were disinterested in each other most of our childhood. In seventh grade, we were paired together to dissect a frog in science class. I’d been on the brink of organizing a riot to get out of going anywhere near the dead amphibian when Anderson went to town. I scribbled everything down so eloquently the teacher gave us extra credit and declared us lab partners. By the time the year was over, we were pretty well inseparable. We were still thick as thieves, as my mom used to say, though he’d gotten more closed off and moody. It wasn’t that he’d drawn away; he just wasn’t sharing everything with me anymore. Perhaps it was inevitable when your best friend was a guy.

I gave him a wink. Didn’t do the homework again?

He shrugged, giving me his patented cocky grin. Well, you do it well enough for both of us.

You can’t keep waiting for me to bail you out all the time, Andy.

A grin spread across his lips, but it was tinged with sadness. Yeah, but we don’t have to start today. His eyes dropped and the corners of his mouth pulled down. I gave him a suspicious look, but before I had a chance to ferret out the source of his melancholy, Señora Nelson walked in.

The game’s afoot, Watson, he whispered.

I rolled my eyes. The Sherlock jokes never got old with him. Thank you, Mr. Anderson, I said in my best Matrix impersonation to date. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

By the time class was over, I forgot all about his odd reaction. I headed to my next class on the opposite side of the campus from the foreign language department. Ancient Oaks was an ancient school and had outgrown itself multiple times. All the new additions made traveling in a straight line impossible. My trip across campus required three steps up, six left turns, two rights, and one switch back. I went up two separate flights of stairs and down three.

I made it through the door seconds before the tardy bell rang. A groan nearly escaped as I saw the only empty seat was the one right next to Chelsie Bryant. Former best friend, current head cheerleader, and paragon of everything I wasn’t; she was the most perfect specimen to ever walk the halls of Ancient Oaks. Her blonde hair fell down her back in curls like the girls on the Victoria Secret runway. She was wearing high-waisted black skinny jeans and a blousy white top with large black stars. A long, black-beaded necklace shone in the sunlight falling through the window. Our friendship seemed like a dim memory, from what seemed like decades ago. We’d been inseparable for about a year; I think I slept at her house more often than I slept in my own. But when popularity came knocking, she closed the door in Maggie’s and my faces.

I slid into the desk as Mrs. Slooth called the class to order. No matter how I tried to focus on her discussion of the Bill of Rights, my attention kept drifting across the aisle to Chelsie. Jealousy burned in my stomach. I wanted her perfect body; to be able to prance around in skin-tight jeans and have the boys drooling. She didn’t have hair that looked like a Brillo pad without tons of time with the straight iron each morning. Hers always looked so effortlessly perfect, with ringlets falling in a bedhead Victoria would covet for her little secrets. And her face was gorgeous with hardly any makeup at all. I wasn’t certain when acidic jealousy replaced hot rage, but it ate at me. Oh boy, did I covet my neighbor’s body. Just not in the biblical sense.

Repressing a sigh, I suffered through the remainder of class. As the bell rang, I attempted to bolt from my chair when Chelsie’s sweet voice called my name. I turned around, dreading whatever she was going to say. She just held out a cell phone I recognized as my own.

I think this is yours.

Chelsie Bryant was talking to me? She hadn’t said two words to me since we were eight years old and now she just wanted to chat like old friends? What should I do? I simply nodded, grabbing the phone without asking how it had fallen out of my pouch. I mumbled a thank you before snapping around to head out the door. My eyes widened as Chelsie fell into step beside me.

I know we haven’t spoken in a long time, but I don’t see why we can’t have a civil conversation once in a while, Bethany. I don’t remember the last time we really talked. She hitched her purse—which looked suspiciously like a book bag—higher on her shoulder.

I stopped in the center of the hallway, staring at her in disbelief. Someone slammed into my shoulder, but I paid them no mind. It was probably about the time you decided you were better than us.

She gave me a beauty queen smile, which was more condescending than kind. Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry I treated you like that. But—

I’m not smart, you know. I didn’t make eye contact as I interrupted, just stared straight ahead as I walked stiffly down the hall.

Her lips pursed and her eyes furrowed. I didn’t say you were.

I turned to face her, clutching my books tightly to my chest. Look, if you’re looking for someone to do your homework or cheat off during the tests, I’m not smart. You’ll have to find someone else.

Chelsie just blinked at me, then shook her head. I was just trying to have a conversation. I thought maybe since we were so close once, we could hang out.

Just because I’m not smart doesn’t mean I’m dumb. When the prettiest girl in school decides to talk to the fattest, she wants something. Now what is it? The guy you have your hooks in have an ugly friend who needs a date? Do you need someone to cover for you with your parents? Just tell me what you want and I’ll consider it. Save the sugar.

Chelsie’s eyes closed to mere slits. You know what? I thought I was talking to an old friend. Just forget it. She turned on her heel and stalked away. I watched her go, my mind whirling.

I couldn’t help but wonder how this would come back to bite me in the ass. I glanced at Chelsie one last time before heading to my locker to dump the first two books before heading off to English.

I plunked my tray down across from Anderson, plopping into my seat and dropping my head to the table next to it.

Uh-oh, what happened?

I glanced up, blinking back tears. I couldn’t tell him; it was too embarrassing. Besides, last time I’d cried to him, about the stupid thudding sound effects Brad Gilbert—quarterback and all-around jerk—made as I walked past, Anderson was suspended for three days for slugging the buffoon. I straightened up, scrubbing a hand across my eyes. Nothing. I’m just being overdramatic. I picked up my fork and stabbed a limp green bean. Holding it in front of my face, I frowned and contemplated every detail as if it held all the answers in the universe.

Anderson gave me a hard look. Bethany Watson, I’ve known you your entire life and you never get this worked up about nothing.

My mouth opened in another denial but I was interrupted when Maggie plopped down to my left. Oh my god, Beth, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe someone did that. Are you okay?

I stabbed her with my eyes, willing her to shut up.

Anderson leaned toward her, his gaze flicking back and forth between us. What happened?

I dropped pretense and blatantly shook my head no, urging her not to tell him. But Maggie just shoved her smartphone in his face, my Facebook page glaring with its obscene image. Someone had posted a Photoshopped picture of my head on a ridiculously obese woman with a pig snout where my nose should have been. I couldn’t tell who created it because the profile was fake. Ida Mann used some generic cartoon character as their icon, but I had no doubt it was created by someone at the school. My head fell forward on the table again.

Who would do that? Anderson’s voice dripped with disgust. His hand reached out and stroked my hair. I doubt anyone’s seen it, Bethany.

At that moment, as if to prove him wrong, a couple of brain-damaged morons walked past snorting like a pig. My appetite gone, I swept my tray off the table and threw it on the return counter before heading out the door. I had no idea where I was going or why, but I couldn’t stay and watch the entire student body laugh at me. I hit the doors to the parking lot without slowing when someone called my name in an authoritative voice.

Miss Watson, where do you think you’re going?

I closed my eyes before forcing a smile and facing the vice-principal. Mr. Green was a typical bureaucrat on a power trip. He