Skipping Rocks: Part I

By Irina Morando

Ill Stand by you, Ill stand by you, wont let nobody hurt you
I shake my head and think of her and how this journey all started. Im traveling on the open road because someone I know told me I should, it would be good for me. I sigh, I do that a lot. I suck in the nicotine from the cigarette I hold. How I love the way it travels through my body, my veins and bloodstream and is able to calm me. I should quit but unlike other things I used to do, its legal, and keeps me sane in this day and moment.
Everybody has a story, a past, a present, and future they one day hope to have. Sometimes when I drive I look to the person right of me, and wonder what their story is. Is there happiness in it? Is their pain and heartache that someone caused them? Have they cried in the last hour thinking about it? Sometimes I think of my story. Someone once told me, Nothing you tell me, confess to me, will make me love you any less
I have many confessions, I have secrets that creep up on me in my dreams, that want to come to surface and be released, be freed from the demons that shackle them. I am here turning the key to release them to the world, I am here to tell my storymake my move.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483696584

Irina Morando

Irina Morando, a new inspiring author born November 25, 1987 in Moldova, Russia. Being adopted at age four becoming an American citizen, residing in Roanoke, Virginia. Irina graduated from Roanoke Catholic High School with honors. Her dream was further compelling to her due to being hit head-on by a drunk driver in her senior year of high school, only being seventeen, while attending Roanoke Catholic School, losing grips of her goals of being a professional athlete as a result of being a Varsity Captain of Basketball, soccer and softball. Her injuries forever hindered her of reaching her goal of playing professionally, Nevertheless only opened the access to her true dreams of becoming an inspiring author telling her story to help other teens, adolescents and adults through her captivating work of Skipping Rocks Part I. Look forward to her further writing of Skipping Rocks Part II and III.

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Copyright © 2013 by Irina Morando.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Rev. date: 10/04/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

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

Dedicated to

Dr. Klaire Mundy . . . You will never be forgotten

PROLOGUE

I ’ll Stand by you, I’ll stand by you, won’t let nobody hurt you

I shake my head and think of her and how this journey all started. I’m traveling on the open road because someone I know told me I should, it would be good for me. I sigh, I do that a lot. I suck in the nicotine from the cigarette I hold. How I love the way it travels through my body, my veins and bloodstream and is able to calm me. I should quit but unlike other things I used to do, its legal, and keeps me sane in this day and moment.

Everybody has a story, a past, a present, and future they one day hope to have. Sometimes when I drive I look to the person right of me, and wonder what their story is. Is there happiness in it? Is their pain and heartache that someone caused them? Have they cried in the last hour thinking about it? Sometimes I think of my story. Someone once told me, Nothing you tell me, confess to me, will make me love you any less

I have many confessions, I have secrets that creep up on me in my dreams, that want to come to surface and be released, be freed from the demons that shackle them. I am here turning the key to release them to the world, I am here to tell my story… make my move.

CHAPTER ONE

S omeone hurt you badly, you have such anger in your eyes

My head lifted, I couldn’t believe it, it’s a fucking miracle. This woman, Dr. Thorne, who I barely knew said the word, or two that I have wanted all the people closest to me to notice. From that point on, this woman intrigued me. I smile and think to myself, wow, and I hate therapists’. I always thought to myself, therapists’ just think they know everything about any person they set their eyes upon, and think they can figure everyone out. A part of me started to like her though, she saw inside of me, but not all of me, and all I did was sit there in that office. I initially saw her for an eating disorder I developed. My dad called to make me an appointment, to try and get me out of the rut of darkness I was in. I didn’t want to talk, to think, have someone help me look inside myself, and wonder why food was the enemy. I learned real quickly that food wasn’t the enemy. It was myself and the control I lost. It wasn’t myself I blamed though. You know how they say You can’t hate someone who is dead? I even heard it in a song once, and I always tell myself, Yes, you fucking can, and I fucking do. I blamed someone I told myself that ruined my life. Who erupted all my anger and resentment built deep inside me. Why every day since I have added a brick to the wall I was building around my heart, my already guarded heart.

I was seventeen, had honors and played on Varsity sports at an outstanding high school. It was September 9th, of 2005. I was headed to that outstanding school. I remember that morning, because the night before my dad and I argued and he didn’t come out in the morning like he usually did to make coffee and cook me eggs like he loved to do. He always told me, Sasha, eggs are good for you, and not fattening, so don’t worry about that. Then he’d walk me to the door and make sure I got in the car okay, he’d wave good-bye and wink at me, I loved that too. Ever since I was a little girl my dad would wink at me, and I’d always wink back. Even when he’d ask if we were still buddies after punishing me and I was still pissed, I’d always wink back. But that morning I just left. I stopped at a BP gas station to get an energy drink, and a diet one at that. I driving and do not even remember what I was thinking about. Then like thunder clashing with lighting, I saw an avalanche of darkness.

Where am I

You’re in a hospital Ms. Morazzo. You’ve been in a horrible car accident.

Was it my fault? (I always thought things were).

No, it was not your fault Ms. Morazzo, your parents have been contacted Ms. Morazzo, now that you are fully awake and aware, they should be here soon.

I couldn’t move my left leg, my left arm was bandaged, and of course had a damn neck brace on. God, I hate these things, it’s funny how a doctor will put one on you for even a damn fender bender. I see the ugly blue hospital gown, and cringed. So many thoughts. What the fuck happened? It was a blur though, I couldn’t remember anything. I look around the room and see balloons, get well cards and I miss you’s. So I thought, maybe it really wasn’t my fault. I sigh, no, it probably was, because that was how I always thought of myself. A man in crutches came in, he said he was glad I was okay… alive. While I was trying to figure out who the hell he was, he added that he was in the truck with the man that hit me head on. I asked if the driver was okay, he looked down. No, he’s dead, he died I hope you get better. Just like that he turned and walked out the door, I never even got his name. Dead, oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph himself I thought, did I kill someone? How could I live with that, how could anyone?

Hey Kiddo hearing the voice of my dad brought a smile to my face, it would always form when he called me that. He grabbed my hand and I see my mom, who is already crying, (Yes, she is the cry on sight very emotional type.) My dad explains to me what happened on that morning when my life took a three sixty turn for the worse and changed it forever. He explained the phone call he received from the pastor that was driving behind me. It was said they didn’t know if I would live. I was airlifted to the hospital because a man in a white truck fell asleep and swerved into my lane and hit me head on. His wife was in the car asleep in his lap and in the backseat, so was his co-worker I met earlier. He said I had a rod in my left femur, that the battery from my Ford Explorer went threw my windshield and the acid landed on my left arm and some of my face and below my chin. I saw my face and felt the tears coming. I never really thought I was a pretty girl, but after seeing my face and the scars forming on the left cheek and under my chin made me think it was now a hundred percent fact to me that I would never be a pretty girl. My dad told me I even got acid in my eyes. I suddenly remembered. I did wake once and thought I was blind, started screaming and clawing at my eyes. The women, the nurse told me not to touch the bandages or scratch at them.

I was overwhelmed, I was in excruciating pain, I saw a clicker, and pressed it, I didn’t know what it was making me feel this way, this sudden feeling of a bliss and warmth running threw me. I laid my head back and saw what I wanted, a needing to see at the time, darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

I came back to reality, back to being in her office, on that small but cozy couch. Sometimes I lose myself in a fantasy world I wish I was in. I give in a little bit, since the woman did in fact intrigue me, and tell Dr. Thorne a little about myself, but not all. I like parts of me to be hidden, be mysterious from the world. I start to tell her about my childhood and my twin sister, Alexandria, but I always called her Alex. We were adopted from Moldova, Russia at age four in a half. We were in an Orphanage, where the people just wanted to keep you silent with the needles they held. I remember the playground at the Orphanage and the carousel I used to play with Alex on, the deep color of red it had to it.

It was 1996, Alex and I were playing hide and seek, we were eight and inseparable. We even shared a room. At night I would tell her, "I’ll give you