Lie Awake

By Sy. Holmes

Yasmine Everett is only sixteen years old when she's diagnosed with selective amnesia. On top of a straining relationship with her dad, she has to deal with being a social pariah at her high school. Amid these struggles, Yasmine begins to experience a euphoric feeling she refers to as 'drifting.' But when a sinister figure visit

• Language: English
• Publisher: House LeBella
• Release date: Oct 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985067217

Book preview

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LIE AWAKE

SY. HOLMES

Lie Awake is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Sy. Holmes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2021 by Sy. Holmes

Published by House LeBella, LLC

Printed in the United States of America

Visit our website at www.syholmes.com

First Edition

For my Queen,

Because you believed when I didn’t, and trusted without reason.

And To my Princesses,

I’ll anchor you through every storm.

LIE AWAKE

la vie en rose

CHAPTER ONE

Sixteen years old.

That was the only age I’d ever been—at least, from what I could remember.

I used to wonder why, out of all humanity, I was chosen to be deprived of something so insignificant yet irreplaceable. My dad always said if I tried hard enough, they’d come back to me, but just like the memories I couldn’t recall, I found it better to forget any advice he’d been willing to share.

He barely fought to keep my mom from leaving, which kept us in a continuous cycle repeating over and over. I’d scream, "Mom walked away from you, not us! while he volleyed with, She left the both of us because she couldn’t handle it. She wasn’t strong enough!"

That was Dad’s mantra for anything he considered adversity: Be strong. You’re stronger than this. Push through.

After Mom left, it created an irreversible fault line between Dad and me. It was a gap with such depth and distance I didn’t know if it could ever be crossed. Instead, we made it work because of need, not want. That was crystal clear.

Out of everything I was unsure of, the one thing I could place all my chips on were my best friends, Liv and Trey.

The perfect picture-painting moment happened on the first day of high school in Ms. Wreathly’s homeroom. She asked everyone to share their favorite memory from summer break.

The new school year began the day after Memorial Day, and my birthday rested on August 27. The problem was I couldn’t recall anything past the previous eight days.

I stood in the middle of class, floundering like she’d asked me how Newton’s Laws were essential to proving the Big Bang. The entire class echoed with laughter as if it were a cruel joke, and I missed the punchline.

I stood there, stunned, as they all laughed—every mouth burst with cackles, snickers, and howls, except for three.

Liv stood up and yelled, Shut up, assholes!

"Excuse me, young lady?" Ms. Wreathly said, shocked by her outburst.

I’m sorry, Liv said, seeming sincere before turning to the class, "but I said shut—up—ass—holes." A cool smirk grew on her face.

Ms. Wreathly’s face transformed from a hue of salmon pink to brick red, but before she could get a word out, the class leader, Preston Parks, stood.

Watch your mouth, Olivia! We all know how your summer went considering—

Trey struck Preston like a bolt of lightning, and with such precise motion, Preston never saw it coming.

None of us did.

I thought you were on the track team, Pres, Trey quipped. I expected you to be quicker than that.

Picture painted.

In all actuality, I was just like every sixteen-year-old girl who didn’t fit in, with friends who might’ve been just as space-cased as me. The only difference was they still had their memories.

They didn’t experience the drifting either.

What are you thinking?

Waking up, I wasn’t sure if those words were something I’d imagined or if my dreams had a life of their own. Honestly, I couldn’t tell anymore.

My recollections had become more and more difficult to decipher. The drift normally left me in a constant stupor, trying to take hold of my mind like a name on the tip of the tongue. I felt like I was slowly creeping up the edge of a cliff on Mt. Memory. Every step brought me closer to the precipice, yet I could never make it, the goal just out of reach.

Nowadays, I’m just sitting at the bottom of the mountain, memories floating so far above me like clouds.

Getting ready for school was a routine I’d perfected over the past few months. Astonishingly, I couldn’t remember my tenth birthday, yet I knew exactly what each morning would be comprised of.

The alarm would sound at 6:30 a.m.—the sun beaming into my room through peach curtains that failed to break the brightness. I walked over to my nightstand and played music from a vintage jukebox disc player my mom apparently bought me for Christmas. Another memory that escaped me.

It was a five-disc player identical to a regular jukebox except in size, and it didn’t play vinyl records; it could only play one song.

Mom’s favorite, La Vie en Rose.

Yasmine, can you— I could barely hear Dad screaming from outside my bedroom door. You don’t have to play it so loud! Can you turn it down?

My footsteps were the only thing louder than the music. It’s the song, I said with a definite tone. If it were any other song, you wouldn’t have the slightest problem, right?

Seriously, Yasmine? he said, sounding annoyed. Give it a rest already. I love the song just as much as you and your mother do, but do you have to play it so loud?

I unlocked the door, opening it just enough for our eyes to connect. You want me to stop playing it because it reminds you of her and how weak you were—

Yasmine Lyvette Everett, I’ve allowed you to have your time for grief, he cut me off, pushing the door open completely, "because I understand you’re hurting. But what I will not allow is for you to continue to throw verbal jabs at me. Your mother left us. You and me. She wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t bear the storm."

And we’d arrived at the beginning of the cycle, yet again. Be strong. You’re stronger than this. Push through, I mocked. You’ve been blabbering the same pep talk since before I could remember. At this point, they’re just words… nothing more.

He stared at me attentively, but at a loss for words, knowing there wouldn’t be a victory in this battle.

Can I finish getting ready?

Even in moments like this… He sighed. I’m sorry if you think I’m weak, but nothing is more important to me than you. We are stronger—

We were stronger with Mom. The words took flight faster than I could grab them. They formed into an arrow that hit with pinpoint accuracy.

Have a wonderful day, Yasmine, he finally said, defeated, then closed the door.

He deserved it, I thought to myself. Regardless of how many times I tried to intercept the idea from forming in my mind, I knew it wasn’t the case at all. Maybe it never was.

Unfortunately, my morning routine also consisted of breaking my dad down. Even though I was afraid eventually there wouldn’t be any more of him left—I couldn’t seem to replace the rage I had for his belief in everyone but himself.

My room showed ten years of how much he believed in me.

The right wall had a shelf with a pair of figure skates in pristine condition. Under the shelf were two tennis rackets hanging on a sturdy hook with webbing fully intact and not a single sight of wear or tear on the handles.

Sitting next to the vintage CD player was a Bluetooth WIFI-capable karaoke machine, which I had no idea how to operate. My inability to recall things was definitely not to blame there. Then there was the personalized moleskin notebook—sitting on the nightstand, leaning against a galaxy-covered comforter. The cherry on top was the easel with a canvas that’d grayed from neglect.

I opened the book only to gaze at page after page of nothing but randomness— a doodle here, random words there. I rubbed my finger over the gold engraving on the back of the moleskin: May the words you write inspire and the poetry connect.

Connect.

So simple, yet… impossible.

I felt it.

Its presence.

Its euphoria.

I called the feeling drifting because of its unpredictability and the sensation that accompanied it. It came and went in waves like a casual acquaintance. The lucidity of a dream without the utilization of sleep.

I saw myself fixated on the word.

Connect.

I reached out for it but failed at each attempt as if injected with anesthesia. It was the synonym and antonym of sleep paralysis.

Earth to Yaz. Can you come back to us?

I was pulled out by a voice not only vibrant but vicious in my defense. I turned to see a face I couldn’t imagine never remembering.

Liv was beauty in its purest form. A molecule of foundation or a tinge of lipstick had never graced her face. Liv’s beauty didn’t need enhancing; it was better in its raw form. Her hair was untamed but created a form of its own, accentuating her features exactly—her crest smile, button nose, radiant eyes, and toffee skin. And what activated this beauty was her ignorance of it. If she was aware, she never spoke about it.

Yaz to Earth, I replied. "I’ve seen the vastness of space and realized that anything is better than homeroom with Wretchly."

After Trey punched Preston in the face, Ms. Wreathly ordered him and Liv to report to the principal, Mr. Warrington. When he asked Liv and Trey what happened, Liv simply replied, Wretchly wouldn’t help Yaz, so we did.

They were suspended for two weeks.

So, how long are you going to stand there staring at the back of that notebook? Liv asked.

Sorry, I just got into another fight with my dad. I must’ve drifted off trying to get my mind off of it, you know?

Sheesh! Again, Yaz? You’ve got to stop being so hard on him. She plopped down, lounging back on the bed. He only wants the best for you. Besides me and Trey, he’s the only one who doesn’t treat you like you’re terminally ill. Apparently, my silence did its job because she continued on without my commentary.

Well, is an hour enough for you to get over yourself, at least?

An hour? It couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes since my dad walked away. I dashed to the vanity where my cell phone was charging and checked the time.

7:45 a.m.

It had been an entire hour.

I’d experienced the drifting before, but there had never been a loss of time. Had I just been standing there?

"I guess that means you’re not over it?" Liv deadpanned.

Yea—yeah. Um, I was just thinking over something, I muttered, shaking my head before reassembling myself. Let’s go. You know how Trey goes berserk if he’s waiting longer than a minute.

We headed downstairs, found my dad sitting at the kitchen table, face buried in his hands. I wanted to apologize and say something ordinary like, Have a good day, but I couldn’t talk myself into it.

See ya, Mr. E, Liv said.

You have a great day, Olivia, he said as he lifted his head, trying to sound chipper.

He didn’t acknowledge me, not even a glance, so I continued past the kitchen to the front door without saying a word.

Trey and I always carpooled to school with Liv and her mom. She drove a hazy gray Mercury Villager, which she liked to call the staple vehicle for soccer moms, even though none of us were on the soccer team. For some reason, I was usually the one riding shotgun.

Television sitcoms would sometimes have the perfect mother who’d be best friends with her kids and their friends, and she’d invite them to stay for dinner any time they’d visit. That was Liv’s mom, Ms. Gardner. The day after it happened, she never asked what caused it, if I was seeking attention, or if I wanted to talk about it. She simply replied, It’ll all come back to you, dear. Don’t you worry one bit.

Pure—awesomeness.

The only flaw Ms. G had was she and Dad saw eye-to-eye when it came to my mom walking out on us—him. She walked out on him.

Ms. G had said nothing to me directly, but I’d overheard their conversation one day. Dad had invited Ms. G and Liv to stay for dinner when she was dropping me off from after-school intramurals, and I may have been eavesdropping. Liv and I were upstairs in my room watching a movie and came to a revelation: we were frauds because we hadn’t ordered pizza yet. I went downstairs to ask Dad if I could order online with the debit card he got me. A highly monitored and limited debit card, may I add. I had just entered the living room when I heard Ms. G say Mom’s name.

Lianna.

Months had passed since I’d heard her name spoken. I felt paralyzed.

I knew how much Yasmine’s condition was weighing on Lianna, but I never expected her to leave, Ms. G said, slowly spinning a cup of coffee on the living room table. I can’t imagine how hard this must be, but at least Yaz has you staying strong for her.

Ha. I remembered thinking she must not see the dad I saw. The dad I saw barely raised his voice or pleaded for my mom to stay. Why hadn’t he screamed, Please don’t leave! We need you here to make it through this. Instead, he’d said, If you can’t handle this, maybe it’s better if you go. It’d come out nonchalantly as if it really didn’t matter if she were gone. Yasmine doesn’t remember the past fifteen years, but she isn’t gone. She still remembers us, her friends, family. She’s still our Yasmine. If this is too much for you, then I’ll be enough for her.

And then Mom was gone.

Good morning, Yasmine. Where are we headed this morning?

Ms. G’s morning greeting was also part of the daily routine. She joked about being a chauffeur for A-list celebrities when we were barely making the D-list in the high school jungle. Well, Alfred, I think we can expect the usual today, I said in my best, which was a horrible, yuppie voice. A scenic route through Westview to pick up Sir Trey, a slight detour to Double D’s for an English breakfast, then we’ll finish with a tour of the luxurious Crestmont High School.

She laughed. Sticking to what you know. I like your style, ma’am.

We headed down Arbor Street for three minutes before we made it to Westview Shore, Trey’s neighborhood, and our neighboring subdivision. Our neighborhoods were both built by the same contractors and almost looked identical. Both surrounded a lake that had a fountain in the center. The ranch houses had a double-wide window for the living room and two singles for the bedrooms. The two-story homes had an arched window where the steps led to the top floor. In addition, they all had two-car garages and a porch with a flower bed in front of it. The only thing they’d thought to change was the color aesthetics of the outside décor because it apparently set them apart.

Trey’s house sat in the middle of the furthest cul-de-sac, which suited his personality—one that craved being the center of attention. It was hard to tell if Trey worked to be in front of the crowd or if his personality just attracted others like a gravitational pull. Appearance-wise, you probably wouldn’t give him a second glance. Liv and I told him he’d be pretty hot if he made the slightest effort about his appearance, but Trey had always been the wind-faring type: not caring what others thought but caring enough not to want to fit in. We knew him well, though, and had seen the side that others didn’t get to see too often, if ever.

As we turned into the cul-de-sac, we could see Trey lounging back on the hood of his mom’s 2019 Honda Civic. He had on Carrera shades to block out the sun; presumably, he didn’t get the memo that sunglasses weren’t necessary on an overcast day.

Ms. G navigated the perimeter of the cul-de-sac, stopping with the passenger side toward Trey. I rolled my window down and cleared my throat. Sir Trey, your valiant steed has arrived, I said, trying not to laugh as I leaned out the window. Trey lay there, unmoving. At first, I thought he might’ve been asleep. Sir, have you had a sleeping curse cast on you?

Still nothing.

Hey, loser, my mom doesn’t have all day, Liv said, squeezing herself into the window I was already occupying. Hurry up before we start charging you by the minute. Trey must have devolved into a statue. His neighbor’s door opened, and there was Carly Hammonds and her brother, Logan, heading out for the bus stop.

He’s probably sleeping. Go give him a nudge, Ms. G said.

Uh-uh, I know what’s better than a nudge, Liv said as we made eye contact and spoke telepathically.

TRACY! we both screamed in unison.

Trey sat up with the speed of a gazelle. He moved so fast it threw the shades from his face. He pulled the AirPods from his ears and looked directly at Carly. She shook her head, smiled, and continued to walk with her brother. Trey made his way toward the van, slowly picking up the specs like we hadn’t bothered him, but his face wasn’t in agreement. When he lifted his eyes toward us, we could see the frustration, and we welcomed it.

"Not cool, ladies! he said, closing the sliding door. You know how much I—"

Tuh-tuh-tuuuhhh, Liv interrupted. Manners first, ‘woe is me’ second.

Morning, Ms. G, Trey said, inspecting his glasses for any damage.

Good morning, Tra—Trey, Mrs. G said, glancing at Trey in the rearview mirror, trying her best not to laugh.

Count your blessings. There aren’t any scrapes on the frame or lenses, Trey muttered. "I mean seriously. In front of Carly? Of all people."

Shouldn’t your dream girl know your real name, Loverboy? Liv replied.

Carly grew up with the three of us and was the unofficial extension of our trio. Despite Trey’s greatest efforts, it was obvious he had a huge crush on her. And although we gave him hell about it, Liv and I liked Carly for him. From what Trey and Liv told me, she never stared at me like a walking disease as everyone else did, and that added to the brownie points.

Remember when I said everyone in class laughed at me on the first day of school in homeroom? Everyone but three. The third person wasn’t me; it was Carly. She may not have been the venomous tongue or the lightning fist that disrupted the comedy show, but at least she didn’t add to it. Apparently, her parents could be the poster couple for what marriage should not be. I’d never heard Carly talk about them, and I’d only met her parents once since I lost my memories. Liv, Trey, and I were hanging out in front of Trey’s house when Mr. Hammonds returned home in a black Ram pickup truck. It had a ladder attached with lanyards, twine, and rope hanging from the side. Mrs. Hammonds stepped out onto the porch, waiting for him to make his way into the house. She and Carly had the same mannerisms and persona—quiet, meek, and timid. That was the Carly I knew. Well, at least for the past couple of months.

"She knows a name, just not the one I don’t want everyone to know, Trey said, now checking to see if the shades still sit properly on his face. There’s a reason teachers provide forms to parents with a block that says, ‘preferred name.’ It’s to help their children avoid the pain and suffering that comes along with naming them after a girl."

You’re such a spaz, I said. For someone who doesn’t care what others think, you’re kinda giving me the impression that you do.

Loverboy cares all right, Liv said, snatching the sunglasses from him and putting them on. It doesn’t matter how carefree you might be. She leaned closer to Trey’s cheek. "No one forgets about their first… kiss." She gave him a quick raspberry on the cheek.

That’s disgusting, Liv! Trey shouted.

Olivia Bay, what is wrong with you! Ms. G exclaimed. That’s the type of mess that got your behind in detention last week. You better get yourself together before I do it for you.

Yes, Ms. G was pure awesomeness. But she was still a mom.

I got detention because Mr. Warrington is a sad, horny man who probably hasn’t gotten laid in—

The car nudged forward, then came to an abrupt halt right before we exited Trey’s neighborhood. Ms. G slipped the gear into park and turned to face Liv. "You better watch that mouth of yours, little girl! I’m definitely not the one. Try me if you want to," Ms. G said, waiting for a response. She turned back to the wheel and pulled the gear back into drive.

Lost your damn mind, she whispered, but we could all hear it clearly.

Silence accompanied us as Ms. G continued driving. She only broke the silence to order our usual breakfast from Dunkin’ Donuts: three sweet maple bacon croissant sandwiches, hash browns, and orange juices.

Eating my hash browns, I stared out the window at all the places I might have visited but couldn’t remember. A montage of what was but wouldn’t be anymore. Restaurants I may have eaten at, clothing stores I could have shopped at, and even movie theaters I might have snuck into. Places I knew with memories I couldn’t place.

I’m sorry.

I turned to Liv, knowing I just heard her speak, but she was staring out into the town too as if she hadn’t spoken a word. She glanced at me, befuddled, then turned back out at the Eden Creek scenery.

I am so sorry.

I slid myself to the edge of my seat, away from Liv as if she were about to attack. I was looking at her the whole time, and her lips didn’t move once, but I heard her. I was sure of it.

Then it found me. The drifting tangled me in its web and dragged me away. I felt the dichotomy between my heart and my mind. My heart panicked, racing to keep me present; my mind embraced the euphoria, telling me it was okay to release.

Suddenly, I heard a song that made my choice simple: La Vie en Rose.

I eased into the melody and began to drift.

cobras

CHAPTER TWO

I’M HERE. CAN YOU HEAR ME…?

Yasmine? Yasmine, we’re here, I heard Ms. G say, but I was still disoriented from the drift. It felt like a hangover personified or a quarterback waking up from a Hulk-sized linebacker confiscating his breath. Is everything okay, Yasmine?

Yeah, I’m— I paused for a quick recalibration. I-I’m fine. Just got a little lost in my thoughts. I peered out the window and realized I had not only lost myself but time as well. We were sitting in front of Crestmont already. I stared as everyone strolled in, barely registering that Trey and Liv were already outside waiting on me. Liv pointed at the non-existent watch on her wrist, crossing her arms in impatience. Trey wasn’t even paying attention: just leaning on the flagpole with his AirPods in and Carreras on.

Did they say anything to me before they got out of the van? What had I been doing this entire time? No one appeared worried—so had anyone noticed?

Hey, I’d love to tell the school you’ll be absent today so we can have a lady’s day out, but I don’t think your dad would approve of that.

No, seriously, I’m fine, I said, not sure if I was trying to convince myself or her. Thanks, Ms. G. Have a good day.

You too, she said with a gentle smile. And keep Olivia out of detention for me, please. She’s always been a little rowdy, but nowadays, I feel like I’m losing touch with her.

Have you tried talking to her? I asked.

There’s no talking to her lately. She sighed. "Not about anything personal, at least. We used to talk about any and everything, but it’s been months, and I feel