The Villain: Versions of Me, #3

By Jennifer R. Jensen

After uprooting her life in a hasty exit, Harper has found herself clear across the country determined to give herself a fresh start.

But new beginnings take more than a new location when the battle she's fighting is from within.

As Harper concentrates on using Sarah's to do list to fix herself, she finds that her new life comes with reminders of her past, and how easy it is to fall back to the way she was.

And while her fight to become the best version of herself is in full swing; she will have to decide just exactly what—or who—she's willing to give up to have it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer R. Jensen
• Release date: Dec 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201158842

Jennifer R. Jensen

Jennifer R. Jensen is a fiction author who dove back into the world of writing in 2019. She had spent a decade away from her passion becoming a wife, mom, and advancing her career. With six independently published books and two novellas under her belt, she is beginning to expand her love and knowledge for writing into the world of traditional publishing. She is looking forward to the next big adventure in her writing career that will expand her knowledge on the publishing process, and take her creative works to the next level.

Book preview

Chapter One

[12:43 A.M. January 27 Subject: I’m sorry]

Serena—

I’m sorry I didn’t respond to any of your phone calls or texts over the last few weeks. And I’m sorry I haven’t sent this sooner. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. I still haven’t quite figured it out yet.

I know you’re angry and you have every right to be. If you don’t care about me anymore, I completely understand. But if you do, I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. 

I got a new phone and new number. I thought it was better that way. So, if you do want to talk, you can respond. Again, if you don’t, I understand.

Harper

––––––––

[1:27 P.M. January 28 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

I’m glad you’re okay.

––––––––

[9:12 P.M. February 3 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

Harper—

I’m sorry my last email was so short. Obviously, I’m upset. You lied to me. You used me. And then you left me to clean up your mess. The way you left so suddenly just made it feel like you didn’t care about us and how we felt.

––––––––

BUT—I’m happy that you’re good. Even though that sounds sarcastic, it’s not. I want you to find whatever it is you are looking for so that you can come home. 

I miss you.     

Serena

[6:08 P.M. February 6 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

Serena—

I’m sorry. I was selfish. But please know that it wasn’t my intention to lie or to make you feel that way. I really was planning on going wherever my mom had in mind. Things just changed. But I’m sorry you got sucked into all of it. That wasn’t my intention.

Hopefully things have settled down a bit for you. 

Also, how is Florida? 

I miss you too.

Harper

[6:20 P.M. February 6 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

I didn’t go back to Florida. My boss got someone to take my spot for me. Well, I flew back to get my stuff, but I’m back in Michigan now.

Serena

[6:25 P.M. February 6 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

What? Why? Because of me? I’m sorry. I know I keep saying that. I know it doesn’t change anything. But I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. 

Harper

[6:31 P.M. February 6 RE: Subject: I’m sorry]

It’s done and over with. It doesn’t matter. I’m heading out for the night. I hope you're still doing well. 

Serena

[2:02 A.M. February 7 Subject: Please read when ready]

Harper—

I wanted to get some things off my chest and I’m hoping that you are in a good place to hear them.

I’m sorry you felt that leaving was the answer. While I don’t understand or even know what was going through your mind for the past few months, I do understand that it is your life and you will do as you please.

While you were in the hospital, I told you we needed to start being honest with each other. So, here is my honesty. I miss you and I love you, but I also hate you. I hate that you left without a goodbye. I hate that you left me to pick up the pieces of the life you left behind. I know that wasn’t your intention nor my responsibility, but you hurt people when you left. We all loved you, we all sat by your side wishing you would wake up and be okay.

While I am grateful that you are, I can’t help but feel like this was a selfish act. I know you hate when people constantly ask if you are okay, but we do it because we care. Leaving like you did, it makes it look like you don’t care about us, or what we would go through without you. We were all blaming ourselves when you got brought in, which isn’t on you, I know you don’t blame us, but that’s how much we love you. You do something, and we take the blame.

I’m doing my best to keep an eye on Caleb (sorry if I’m not supposed to be mentioning him, I don’t know what the rules are right now). But I know you love him, and I know you worry. He’s okay right now. Hopefully we are through the worst of it. 

Anyway, I’m sorry I said I hated you. But we are being honest now, and hate is the best way I can describe how I’m feeling. However, even with that hate. I do still love you, I do still miss you, and I still want you to come home. But in the meantime, please keep checking in. I like knowing you are okay.

Serena

[5:17 A.M. February 8 Re: Subject: Please read when ready]

Serena—

I hope this doesn’t wake you. I haven’t been able to sleep, I have been wanting to send you a lot more than I have been, but I just didn’t know how to say it. 

You are my best friend. Nothing that I did or thought of doing in that week you were back in Florida had anything to do with you. Or really with anyone. I was the broken piece. And before you get nervous about me sitting here writing to you all of my flaws out of a depression bubble that has burst, I’m not depressed. Not right now anyway.

I know how hard it has been to be my friend. I have only been gone a month, but things look a little less bleak where I am. I’m not saying I’m healed. I’m far from it. But it’s a start. 

You know what overwhelming feeling I have had for the past few weeks? Hope.

When was the last time I said that? I don’t remember a time when my stomach didn’t hurt from my anxiety, when my chest didn’t feel heavy as I waited for the other shoe to drop. And I realized since I’ve been here that it won't drop, because it already did. I died. 

And when I woke up nothing was different. No smell the roses type feeling came. No overwhelming sense of relief that I was able to stay on earth. I felt the same as I had before. I was right back where I had started. Please don’t mistake all of that as I didn’t love the people in my life. You know I loved you all very much. But I didn’t love myself. I didn’t love the person I was. 

And it was amazing that I got another shot at life, but it was still my life. Nothing had changed. How quick would I fall back into the same situations I seemed to always get myself into?

I understand that it can happen anywhere. Depression doesn’t just go away because I moved. Anxiety doesn’t disappear because I’m trying something new. But I can hope here. I can hope for things to be different.

You said that me leaving made you feel like I didn’t care about you guys. When really, it’s because I care, that I left. Not only could my life be different, but so could yours. I don’t need you worrying about me all the time, wondering if you should get on a plane for your job and that I’ll be okay while you're gone. Caleb shouldn’t have to think that committing me is the only way to keep me safe. 

I know I put all those thoughts into your heads. I thought my mom was overreacting to things, but I get it. I know what it looked like.

We are mentioning Caleb, or at least I’m okay with it. I left to give him time—to give us time to not be so messy. I don’t mean that in the sense of hope for us—well relationship wise anyway. I still love him. I will always love him. But we just can’t seem to get it right.

Please know that I love you also, and as of right now, I don’t know when I’m coming home. I have found a place to stay for the time being. I'm safe. I do really hope it doesn’t have to be like this forever, because I do love you and miss you too. 

Also, don’t feel bad about hating me. I would hate me too. 

Harper

Chapter Two

[4:08 P:M February 15th Subject: How was your Valentine's Day?]

Serena—

|

The cursor blinked while I stared at the screen.

Was I really writing to her about Valentine's Day? 

We hated the hallmark holiday. We always avoided it by watching horror movies and drinking wine. We had been each other's guaranteed dates every year. But I guess nothing was guaranteed in our friendship anymore.

I had still spent my Valentine's Day the way we always did, minus the wine as I had stopped drinking a couple weeks before. 

I shouldn’t have started again when I got to California, but the thoughts of everyone—of Caleb—kept my mind in a dark familiar place.

I glanced around my hotel room. 

Shards of broken glass appeared like a mirage on the floor. The silhouette of the guy I had picked up at the bar appeared across the room along with mine. They moved in tandem kissing each other, moving towards the bed.

I had tried to forget Caleb. To forget everyone back home. 

But like every other time. It hadn’t worked. I freaked out. I kicked the guy out of the bed. I cried.

The mirage from my spiral disappeared as my eyelids blinked it away.

I moved my laptop to the bed beside me. 

Stop trying to force a friendship you ended, The Voice said.

I hadn’t ended it. Or that wasn’t my intent anyway. But I was trying to use email as a looking glass into my former life to see what kind of chaos I had left behind. 

However, it wasn’t fair to them that I got to try and relieve my guilt that way. It wasn’t fair to California that I was hanging on so tightly to Michigan.

When I walked into the bathroom, I grabbed one of the folded-up washcloths and set it beside me.

I splashed water on my face and then rubbed the cleanser around my skin in a circular motion.

I took a deep breath as I continued with the gentle touch around my eyes, and then forehead. It was easy to note how much better I had been feeling in the last couple of days, but that had little to do with my new skin care routine.

My decision to stop drinking had come with consequences of their own. They were consequences that I had noticed before anytime I went a few days without drinking. But I had never put two and two together. I never stopped to consider that I consumed enough alcohol to warrant withdrawal ramifications. 

I have been sober for a little over two weeks now. And yesterday was the first day I had woken up without a headache. Well, waking up implied that I slept, and I still wasn’t doing much of that since my arrival in California.

I wasn’t sure if my hands shaking was due to the lack of sleep, or the mild withdrawal symptoms google said I was having. But I assumed, like the nausea, that it could all be blamed on my years of pining for the resolution that alcohol always promised to bring.

My drive to begin the new life I had set out to make, led me to starting a routine. I spent my mornings eating breakfast at a coffee shop by my hotel. While there, I would talk with the waitress I had met, Vanessa—or Ness as she liked to be called. 

I also took advice from another part of Sarah’s fix Harper list, trying to find a hobby. That led me to take walks to the Studio City Branch Library. 

I had started visiting it after a few quiet and long evenings alone. I found out that when not having the stress of work and everyday life in the way, I was able to burn through books relatively quickly. It was a small escape from my escape. A way for me to have a little human interaction, even if it was just through the conversations I read on the pages. 

Ness helped with that too. She had seen to my hair being fixed by bringing me to a salon that was owned and operated by her ex, Tara. They had met when Ness had first moved to California from Washington. I was surprised at how well they still got along. Enough so that she only trusted Tara with her hair. 

But Ness reminded me of the two amazing friends I had left at home. She had Lizzy’s positivity and Serena’s confidence. Both of which weren’t surprising when I had learned she didn’t just work at the cafe but was an actress too.

Ness had accompanied me while Tara did my hair. So, I got quite an information dump about her and her life in California. Something I was thankful for since I had no desire to share my life's story. That was something I was going to need more time getting accustomed to.

Ness talked about a role she was currently up for and then talked about her artist boyfriend Austin. From the sound of their past, they had been together a while. Her face lit up when she talked about his passion for his work and how he encouraged hers. She likened them to a power couple and by the way she described it, it sounded like they really were.

***

There was a knock on my hotel door as I finished zipping up my dress. I had lost some weight since the last time I had worn one. The thought of my work Christmas party made me cringe.

I looked through the peephole and opened the door for Ness.

Though my self-confidence had been shot a long time ago, I felt like it was going to take an extra beating that night. Her beautiful blonde hair had beach waves that flowed past her shoulders and her blue dress matched her eyes. She was stunning.

Oh my god! You look amazing! she said to me with the biggest smile.

The sincerity in her tone caused my mind to shift and stop my inner voice before it even began. I smiled. Thank you, you look—wow.

Thanks! That’s exactly the reaction I was looking for, she said, with her face practically glowing. Sometimes producers make their ways to these things, and you never know who’s looking. Plus, Austin loves having me as arm candy.

Typically I would ask if that was a little offensive, but she seemed to love the limelight, it appeared she was getting just as much out of being his arm candy as he got having her as it.

I bought this dress specifically for tonight. I’ve been waiting months to wear it! she exclaimed.

Me too, I joked. Well except I bought it last week when you invited me, I said with a chuckle as I grabbed my purse. I’m excited to meet Austin, I added.

She smiled, but then it wavered. 

Yeah, so about Austin—don’t take it offensively if he, like, brushes you off or anything. He’s been under a lot of stress, and now with the LA Times reporter coming, he’s kind of in overdrive.

I nodded. That’s understandable.

Ness had built Austin up so much that I wondered if he could possibly even live up to the man she had described. At least telling me he may be rude showed he was at least a little human. 

***

When we got downstairs, a warm California breeze blew through. The warmth made me confused at the month we were in. 

Michigan was probably under a blizzard warning or something, and there I was in a cocktail dress, no coat, and comfortable.

Sorry, are you cold? she asked, turning back around.

I laughed. Not at all, just thinking about the fact it’s probably snowing back home.

Oh, yeah, you’ll adjust, he said with a laugh. I miss it sometimes, but then I can go outside in shorts and flip flops, and then I don’t miss it so much anymore.

My smile faded a little as she got into the driver’s side.

I sighed before getting into the car as well.

It wasn’t that I was missing the snow. It was more that I was missing the warm body that I would sleep next to on those cold nights.

***

As we drove into L.A. I stared in awe at the big city around me. Grand Rapids was nothing compared to what I was seeing there. 

The sun was setting just behind the skyscrapers as we moved slowly through traffic.

Pop music blared through the speakers. Ness sang along, swaying her body to the rhythm. She picked up my arm and waved it around in an attempt to get me to dance too. I gave a side smile and did a little dance move. She laughed and launch herself into the chorus.

She’s too bubbly to be hanging out with you, The Voice said.

A nervous feeling crept into my stomach. An old familiar boulder rested firmly on my chest. 

You’re going to mess up her life like you messed up Lizzy’s, The Voice continued.

I sighed. 

I had said yes to Ness’ invite, doing what I could to take Sarah’s list seriously. But now, I was feeling the urge to drink the nerves and derogatory thoughts away.

I shook my head and then took a deep breath. 

I was okay. I could do it. I didn’t need alcohol. I didn’t need to silence the voice or numb the feelings.

The music stopped.

Vanessa speaking, Ness said into her phone, pulling me from my thoughts. Great! she continued. Great, yes—wonderful. I’ll be there Monday. 

She hung up the phone. I got a call back! I’m going there Monday after work. 

Her smile lit up her already glowing face. 

Congratulations, I said, hoping my true excitement for her showed.

***

When we arrived at the art show, Ness tried to snag a quick photo of the two of us for Instagram, but I successfully dodged it. We walked to the front of the line and Ness kissed the cheek of the guy out front before he let us through.

Perks of being the girlfriend, no waiting outside, she said with a smile.

Before she opened the door to the main area, she put her hand on my arm.

"So, I’m not supposed to tell people ahead of time about the theme for the art show. He says that shock value and all that is part of the whole experience—the raw emotion it brings to people." 

I nodded, but my stomach knotted by her description.

But Austin’s work is a little—edgy.

I nodded again.

So, I just kind of wanted you to prepare yourself, she continued with a smile. But they are really beautiful pieces of art. He has a real talent for capturing real emotions in his paintings.

I’ll be fine, I finally answered, trying to reassure her—and myself.

Oh also, don’t mention my call back. I’ll tell him tomorrow. I want this night to be about him.

I smiled. Of course.

Ness grinned and opened the door for the both of us.

When we stepped into the gallery it was much bigger than it had appeared from the outside. A theme that seemed to be forming for the places I had seen so far in California. It was probably the high ceilings, and the beautiful hanging lights that really opened it up.

We were handed a pamphlet as we walked a little further in. 

Violence in all forms by Austin Merotti, I read quietly to myself.

I swallowed a small lump.

Austin! Ness exclaimed. She pulled on my arm and I followed behind her.

Babe! Finally! he said, greeting her with a kiss.

Austin, this is Harper.

Nice to finally meet you Harper, he said, extending his hand to me.

I shook it, doing my best to look like I belonged in a place, and around people, who were as elegant as they seemed to be and look.

I’m glad you were able to make it, he stated.

Me too. I’m excited to see your work.

He smiled politely. Well I hope you still say that after you have seen it.

Ness nudged him playfully with her elbow. I already gave her a little warning.

Austin! I heard a man call from behind us.

Sorry babe, work calls. Don’t go too far okay? I’m sure the reporter will want a picture. 

He kissed her on the lips again before walking away.

He seems really sweet, I said with a smile.

He is. Now let's go see what he’s been up to. He’s been hiding his latest ones from me.

We came to the first painting. The colors on the canvas showed two men fighting. Or two men that had been fighting, as one lay lifeless on the ground. It was outside a bar—the glowing neon blue and red sign told me that. The ripples in the puddles next to the deceased man indicated it was raining. A detail that some how made the picture all the sadder, and even more so, realistic.

We stood for a minute looking it over, seeing the brutality that erupted on the canvas before moving on to the next one. It was about half my size and depicted what I assume was meant to be a woman—possibly the mother—beating her child. The painting looked like it was from the view of the child. The angle showed the height difference, as the rage burned in the woman’s eyes. The red on the painting suggested more than yelling was taking place.

This was one of his earlier pieces, Ness began. I think he was eighteen or nineteen when he did it, she added with a sober look. 

Does he paint from experience? I asked, hoping the question wasn’t too intrusive.

No, he says the pictures just come to him, like a flash in something he sees or hears triggers an emotional connection and he just has to paint the scene.

We strolled along to the next one, a few others following shortly behind. 

The painting depicted a cat that had been shot. The picture really did grab your attention, it was so lifelike—I felt my skin become littered with goosebumps. The cat reminded me of a stray I had found with my uncle Sam when I was around six years old. My mother wouldn’t let me keep it, so my uncle Sam found it a good home. I had named it Bagheera, since it was an all-black cat, and The Jungle Book was my favorite movie.

I sighed before we left my memory with the painting.

We turned the corner, and a crowd of people stood blocking a portion of the wall. Loud whispers were shared amongst each other while they discussed it. As they moved on, Ness and I approached it.

My chest grew tight as our eyes consumed the canvas in front of us. The frame was placed horizontal but was the full length of an average sized adult. The woman in the painting was lying naked, beaten, and one could easily assume, raped. 

The woman had blonde curls that had leaves matted into them. Her bra was torn on one side, but still intact. Her other clothes were shown on the ground just before the painting ended. Her body was dirty, cut and bruised from a struggle that had undoubtedly ensued. The look he captured in her eyes made me feel like we were peering into the soul of a real woman.

A hand touched my arm and I jumped.

Sometimes his art is a little hard to stomach, Ness said softly. Are you okay?

I nodded. Yeah, I’m fine.

A single tear streamed down my cheek. I hadn’t realized my eyes had even watered.

"His work is—breathtaking," I said, not knowing how to describe it.

Yeah I know. And he knows it too, that’s why he’s unbearable to live with sometimes, she replied with a smirk.

It had sounded like she was trying to give him a compliment, but I wasn’t sure if that was what I would call it.

"If everyone could gather in the middle of the room, we’re going to unveil Austin’s newest piece in the violence collection." 

Ness grabbed my arm and moved at a quick pace through the crowd. The lights dimmed and a spotlight radiated onto his covered canvas, as we approached. 

Austin stood grinning ear to ear in front of the sheet. The picture that was lying underneath was smaller than the last one, but not by much. I was nervous to see another image from his head. Ness had been right to give me a warning, but I felt bad for everyone else that was there if they hadn’t received a similar one. 

But maybe they hadn’t needed it, maybe I was the only one having a harsh reaction to his unsightly work.

But Ness seemed excited and the paintings themselves were done beautifully, even if they did depict some of the worst parts of the human experience.

Is this one you haven’t seen? I asked, whispering into Ness’s ear.

She nodded. Yeah, he’s been working away at it for the past month or so now. He was really hoping to have it ready for tonight, she said with a grin.

A man spoke for a minute on Austin’s behalf. Austin winked at Ness. 

She lovingly smiled back at him. 

They really were a power couple.

A talented artist. A beautiful actress. They made having a relationship look so easy. She did her thing. He did his. And they seemed to fully support each other in the process.

The man let the sheet drop, revealing the newest piece to Austin’s show.

Ness’s eyes got wide. 

I had never witnessed someone's face go from over the moon excitement, to utter shock, to a hollow but casual smile before. I hadn’t even had a chance to see the picture that had caused such a chain of reactions.

Austin hadn’t noticed her reaction though. He looked to her for reassurance. 

And as the happy girlfriend I thought she was, she gave what I saw to be a forced smile, but he either didn’t notice or chose to see what he wanted.

I finally took that moment to see the painting.

The picture was of a faceless woman. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror showing her backside in the reflection. Her body was bruised in multiple places. Her long blonde hair did little to hide the finger marks on the side of her neck. I was glad the woman had no face; I wasn’t sure I couldn’t take seeing into another victim’s soul.

Are you okay? I whispered to Ness when I looked at how tense she was.

"Yeah—his work is breathtaking—just like you said," she responded, mustering up the second clearly forced smile of the night.

She glanced at me for a moment, and though the faceless woman hadn’t looked at me from the painting, I was certain she was looking at me now.

Chapter Three

The lights came back up and everyone went back to looking at all the other pictures.

Austin, can we have a picture of you with your newest piece? a man holding a camera asked.

Definitely. Vanessa, join me in the picture, he stated.

That’s okay, she replied. 

Ness hardly seemed like the type to pass up a photo op, but I was hoping I was reading too much into the entire thing.

Austin posed for his picture and Ness walked to the bathroom. 

I followed her in.