Bloom: Loving Lies, #2

By Lynn Hammond

Bloom

Bloom’s life has been a series of struggles. After her mother’s suicide, when she was just a little girl, she spends her entire life with a father who is ashamed of her looks and hates her. At sixteen she finds out her looks are due to PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome), and she might never have a child of her own.

When tragedy hits and her father is sent to jail, she’s left living with a brother she had no clue existed. And here she is, at twenty, about to start college, with no friends, a life of insecurities, and the prospect of being sterile.

One day, she finds herself literally falling in the arms of a hot guy. Owen is his name. Oh, she remembers seeing him at the events her father hosted at their house. But she was never allowed to attend. Her appearance was too repulsive. But Owen said hello to her anyway.

Despite how sweet he is, Bloom has more important things to worry about, like starting college, finishing her injection treatment, and hopefully finding some friends. Until, that first day of college, she sees Owen standing off in the distance with another girl.

She never wanted a boyfriend.

Until Now.

Will she be brave and try?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynn Hammond
• Release date: Mar 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386379126

Book preview

PRESENT DAY

Bloom

B LOOM, IT’S TIME to go. Come on! We’re running late for your appointment with Dr. Ansley, Jamison, my sister-in-law, hollers through my door.

I glance down at the sink and wince at the amount of hair littering the white porcelain.

Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

I dab concealer on my face. The doctor says acne is a common symptom of Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, POCS for short, but I can’t imagine going out like this.

When I look at myself, I see ugly. One hundred and fifty pounds, pimples on my jaw, and hair loss. I was diagnosed at age sixteen, when dad took me to the doctor because I was growing facial hair. Now, at twenty, the side effects have become so bad I can hardly recognize myself.

Some people might look at me and think I’m lazy, just eat a lot, or just don’t exercise. I’ve struggled with

L Y N N H A M M O N D

my weight since middle school. I work out every day, but you can’t really tell. This is one reason I keep to myself and don’t talk to anyone. I did approach a cute boy, one day during track, but he turned around to talk to his friend and made fun of me because of the acne on my face.

I thought joining track in school would help me make friends on top of getting some exercise, but no one wanted to talk to me. My own father would tease me every day about how fat I was and that I would never get a boyfriend looking that way. I decided to withdraw from everyone and hide myself in a shell that I thought was safe.

I wipe away a single tear and pull myself together. My father is in prison now, and his hurtful words can no longer hurt me. After bending down and sliding my make-up bag under the sink, I head downstairs for my doctor’s appointment.

John is sitting in the Jeep with Laney, my pet bearded dragon that he got me as a joke for my eighteenth birthday.

I walk towards the car and see that Laney has her purple Rapunzel dress on and her little Barbie doll sunglasses. She shows me her dark beard, indicating her authority over the front seat.

I lean in through the open window and point my finger at my brother.

Laney is now bobbing her head at me, warning me not to get closer.

She called shotgun, and I couldn’t tell her no. You and Jamison have to ride in the back, John says.

I shake my head and get into the back seat. We’re heading to the hospital to discuss options for surgery if the injections don’t work. I remember being put on every kind of birth control at age thirteen. But none of them have helped my menstrual cycle at all, and we had a scare, one time, about a blood clot in my leg. Jamison helped schedule my appointment with a great GYN. The doctor did some blood word and found the hormone levels were off the charts, so she wants to start with hormone injections. There is a fifty-fifty chance the hormone injections will not work. If they don’t, the next option available will be an ovary transplant.

WE RIDE IN silence. I just sit back close my eyes and pray that it works.

When I went to see my father in prison to tell him about my symptoms, the surgery, everything we’ve learned, when I tried to explain this was what had been affecting me my whole life, his reaction was,

Nothing can fix ugly.

That’s the last time I went to visit him. John and Jamison are my family now, and I thank God every

L Y N N H A M M O N D

day for blessing me with them.

I shake my head to knock out the negativity and focus on what will happen at the hospital and the next steps in this process. I am determined to get better. I reach down into my bag, grab my computer, and watch the marathon going on in Dallas, TX. That’s the one good thing to come out of me joining track in school. I may not have made any friends, but I learned I really liked to run. I like to watch the runner’s muscles. I also like to see their faces when they try their hardest to make it.

When I run, I feel like a rock star; everyone is cheering you on. I love to feel the air hit me in the face and watch the different surroundings. Once the doctor gives me the okay to start running again, I am going to tackle my first 5K PCOS challenge, in Atlanta, GA. This will be my first actual run since I was in middle school.

Hey, we are here, Jamison says, touching my arm and dragging me back to reality.

I take a deep breath as we walk towards the entrance of Bayside OBGYN. We stop before entering, and John and Jamison squish me in a big bear hug. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest, and I have sweaty palms. I try to be on the positive side of this new course of action, but every time I get my hopes up that something will work, it doesn’t. If this doesn’t happen, my biggest fear is that I’ll need a hysterectomy. It’s far-fetched, but I have read articles of teens having it done. I really want to have children one day when I find Mr. Right.

I grab Laney and hand her to John. I place my hands in theirs and continue to walk through the sliding doors, toward the second floor, and toward the answer that will decide the rest of my life.

1

I

MOVED IN with John one month after my father was sent to prison. I can’t believe that was 4 years

ago already. It feels like a completely different lifetime.

As we sit in the waiting room until my name is called, I think back to that eventful year. The State sent me to stay with a foster family until all legal matters were done. Considering I was only sixteen and I had to stay with a family member, I realized there was no choice in the matter. John is, after all, family, even if he’s only my half brother and I had never met him before that day when he learned the truth about his father.

I was glad to be with family instead of in a foster home. I had heard the stories of how kids in foster homes end up being tossed from one family to another, and I was terrified of that happening to me. At the same time, the shock and fear of moving in with a stranger, even though he was my brother, made my stomach tighten up in knots. My mind was working overtime, driving me crazy. And I was fearing I would have a panic attack, and he would change his mind, thinking I was crazy.

The anxiety attacks started when I was six years old, right after my mother committed suicide. My hands start to shake when I remember entering her bedroom to tell her about making a friend in school.

I can still see myself walking toward her side of the bed, and she is lying on her right side, looking straight toward the bathroom. I sat down on the floor and held her left hand, which was hanging off the bed. She looked so pale. I touched her face, and it was ice cold. Even as young as I was, I can still remember the feeling of dread that came over me. Even then, I knew something was very wrong.

I started to push her and yell, Wake up, momma.

She lay there, not moving at all and with her eyes glazed over.

I started to jump on the bed and sing, "Five little monkey jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head."

Just as I was about to jump on her, my father came in and told me to shut up. I jumped off the bed and ran over to him, crying.

His words are still clear as day. Bloom, why are you jumping on the bed, and why is your mother letting you do this? He walked over to the side of the bed and froze.

Leave, and go straight to your room. Don’t come out until I tell you to.

He pushed me out of the door and shut it behind me. I heard him on his phone, calling for an ambulance.

Shocked and confused, I lay down in my bed, holding on to my teddy bear, hopping momma will be okay. I heard the door open, and dad peeked his head in, and from the look in his eyes, I knew she wasn’t be coming back to us.

What am I going to do without her?

He sat down on the bed and patted his leg. I crawled up on his lap and snuggled to his chest. For my dad to show any comfort to me, it had to be bad. That was the first and last time he tried to be nice to me, and it was only to say the most hurtful words he’s ever said to me.

"Your mom has gone to heaven. She’s been