Saving Tracey

By T.O. Smith

She feels like she's drowning . . . is he enough to save her?

No one cared about her.
At least, that's what Tracey liked to tell herself.

Her mother neglected her.
Her father abused her.

Tracey wanted it all over. She wanted to die - to escape to something else besides the life she already knew.

But in steps Trevor.
He just wants to make all of her pain go away.

Will she let Trevor in? Will she allow herself to be saved?

Will Tracey ever escape the pain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiff Thomas
• Release date: Jan 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005998707

T.O. Smith

T.O. Smith believes in one thing - a happily ever after.Her books are fast-paced and dive straight into the romance and the action. She doesn't do extensively drawn out plots. Normally, within the first chapter, she's got you - hook, line, and sinker.As a writer of various different genres of romance, a reader is almost guaranteed to find some kind of romance novel they'll enjoy on her page.T.O. Smith can be found on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and now even TikTok! She loves interacting with all of her readers, so follow her!

Book preview

Chapter One

Iwatched the blood slowly run down my arm and drip off of my fingertips with a blank, forlorn expression on my face as I desperately waited to finally succumb to the darkness, wanting nothing more than to leave this tragic life.

Time after time, I had tried to kill myself, to leave this shitty ass life that I was forced to live, yet my mother always found me–no matter where I went–and she always stopped the bleeding or forced me to throw up any pills that I had swallowed. I didn’t know how she always knew I was trying to kill myself, but it was like she had a sixth sense for it.

She didn't want to be left here alone with him–my father–and she was determined to keep me in this hell hole of a life with her for as long as she possibly could, even if that meant forever. She only cared about herself, and to say that I hated her guts was an understatement.

My mother wasn't the kind of mother to always put her daughter first, and my father wasn't the kind of father that wanted to beat up the guys that tried to date his little princess. My parents weren't normal parents; in fact, they were far from it.

No, instead she was the kind of mother that looked out for herself instead of her child. He was the kind of father that beat up his little princess instead of the boys she brought home.

It had been like this for as long as I could remember. I honestly couldn’t remember a time in my life when things had been simple, easy, and fun.

I jerked my head to the side to look at my bathroom doorway when I heard the handle jiggle to my bedroom door, watching with blank eyes as my mother barged into my room and rushed over to my bathroom, knowing instantly where I would be. I sighed in agitation as I leaned my head back against the wall with a slight bang, listening as she scrambled out of my bathroom to go get her first aid kit.

I could hide out a mile into the woods, and this woman would still make it to me before I could die.

She came back into my bathroom with a first aid kit clutched in her bony, slender fingers, and she instantly began wrapping up my arm to stop the bleeding. Her dull, brown eyes met my own, not a hint of sympathy in their soul-sucking depths. You're not leaving me here alone with him, Tracey, she muttered, glaring hard into my eyes. I just stared back at her blankly. Stop trying, she snarled quietly.

Those were her parting words as she left my room. I sighed and dropped my face into my hands, the tears falling down my face as soon as I heard my bedroom door shut behind her, and I knew that I was alone again.

I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep living like this.

I walked down the hallway of my high school, being extra careful not to accidentally bump into or brush against anyone. I hated human contact, and I did everything in my power to avoid touching someone or allowing anyone to touch me.

The school that I went to was for the entire county, and it was huge, holding one too many loud, reckless teenagers. I honestly preferred to be anywhere else but here, but God forbid I skipped school even one day without his damn permission. And like hell was I asking him anything.

I may not survive that skipping, and I was determined to leave this world by my own choice. I wouldn’t let him take that from me, too.

I walked into the commons area of the school, where pretty much all the students were gathered, and stayed off on my own toward the back of the school, leaning against the wall near the English and history hallway.

My school was like most high schools. There were obvious cliques, and everyone had their own little group of friends.

Then, there was me.

No one really knew me, nor did anyone really know much about me. I knew quite a bit about a few people by listening to others talk, but I never tried to talk to anyone or get to know anyone myself.

I wasn't supposed to talk to people in school–a rule of my dad's–and besides, it wouldn't really do me any good to get close to someone, to gain a friend. In the end, not making friends was just better for everyone.

I didn't want anyone to be hurt or sad when I was finally gone. I didn't want anyone to suffer because they missed me.

Life was a lot simpler when I only had myself to worry about.

When the bell rang for first block, I walked off toward my class quickly, desperately trying to avoid the crowds as everyone quickly began filing off toward the hallways where their first block classes were located.

There was a slight ache in my body as I walked, but I was so used to the soreness by then that it hardly ever fazed me. Someone could poke my bruises, and I probably wouldn’t even flinch.

No—what always hurt was getting the fresh ones.

I sat in my seat in the back corner of the classroom like I always did and kept my eyes cast down toward the top of my desk, focusing on the scratches and writing on it from the years of misuse.

On any normal day, I always did my best to avoid everyone at school, and normally, I succeeded, but I guessed that luck wasn't on my side that day.

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I flinched away instinctively, my heart pounding erratically in my chest as I prepared myself for a blow. However, when I slowly looked up, my eyes locked onto a pair of pretty blue ones. The eyes looking down at me didn't seem cold or harsh at all. In fact, they were extremely warm and friendly.

I let my eyes trail over the guy's facial features quickly. His skin was tanned, and his lips were a little chapped, most likely from the wind. Dark hair fell over onto his forehead a little in slight disarray.

I instantly recognized him as Kaleb Brinson.

Kaleb was well-known around the school for playing football, basketball, and running track. It was common knowledge to pretty much everyone that he lived with his single mom in a two-story house in the better part of the county–closer to the city. He had a twin sister named Krista and a fourteen-year-old sister named Emily.

I had seen him around school a lot, but this was my first class ever with him, considering he was normally in all advanced classes.

Now that I thought about it, I was actually kind of shocked to see him in this class.

A new girl took the seat that I was planning on sitting in, so I was wondering if this seat next to you was free? he asked me with a small, non-threatening smile, gesturing to the seat next to me.

I opened my mouth a couple of times to answer him, but no sound would come out. So, I just nodded my head dumbly and quickly turned my face away from him, not wanting to make myself look any stupider. I moved my hair over my shoulder so that he couldn't see my face and fixed my scarf to make sure the scars and bruises on my neck weren't visible to him or anyone else that may have been looking.

I didn't want questions, and I wasn't going to chance him asking them.

I've never seen you around. Are you new, too? Kaleb's deep, smooth voice asked from beside me.

I shook my head, hoping he would get the hint that I really didn't want to talk to him. I always played mute when people had tried speaking to me in the past, and I was hoping that it would work with him too, considering I really just wanted to be left alone.

I should have known better, though. If Kaleb was known for anything, he was known for his kind heart.

The teacher stepped into the classroom and shut the door loudly behind her, making me jump in my seat in fright. I fisted my hands on my lap, desperately trying to contain the panic attack that had almost happened. I took a deep, calming breath and slowly and silently released it, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart, imagining my fear clutched in my small fists–contained and controlled.

The teacher's heels clicked against the tile floor as she crossed the room to stand in front of her desk, and I gritted my teeth against the sound.

I fucking hated loud noises.

Okay, class. Welcome to the new year! How is everyone's year going so far? the teacher asked in her loud, nasally voice.

There were some great and some other not-so-great answers in response to her question. I just kept my mouth shut.

Well, since this is a new semester and a new class, starting here on the first row and going across, I want everyone to introduce themselves and give us all three interesting facts about yourself. I rolled my eyes at the cliché, typical introduction almost every single teacher did. Students began groaning and complaining in protest. She shot the entire class a stern look. You will do it, or I will make you write a four-page essay over why you decided to start this semester off badly and have it signed by your parents, do I make myself clear? she snapped.

The protests went silent after that remark. She gave us all a bright smile as if she hadn't just had a complete mood swing and began to introduce herself to us.

Mood swing much?

If it had been my choice, I would have just chosen to write the four-page paper, but I didn't have a computer, and I wasn't allowed to stay after school or come to school early. And the school was pretty strict on papers being typed and printed out.

Fuck. My. Life.

I was going to have to do this stupid activity and let everyone know that I existed and risk the chance that someone might try to get to know me. I preferred to be invisible.

No, scratch that. I needed to be invisible.

When people realized you existed, people wanted to be friends.

They would want to talk to me. They would be curious about me.

Then, before you knew it, child services and school counselors would be pulling me out of class to talk to me and knocking on my front door.

When it got to my turn, I swallowed hard, feeling my palms begin to sweat as my anxiety soared to all-new levels.

Just come off cold and uncaring and no one will try to talk to you, I reminded myself.

I didn't get up like everyone else did. I just clenched my hands into fists under my desk and looked at a blank spot on the wall instead of looking at the rest of my classmates.

I had to be cold and indifferent.

My name is Tracey Olive, I began. I live with both of my parents. I don't have any pets, and I'm an only child, I stated in a deadpan tone of voice, desperately trying to be as evasive and as boring as possible about who I was.

Before anyone could ask me any questions, Kaleb spoke up beside me. I breathed a slight sigh of relief, silently thanking him in my mind for speaking up. I'm Kaleb Brinson. I live with my mom. I have a twin sister and a younger little sister. I play football, basketball, and I run track.

No sooner than he sat back down in his seat did someone speak up to ask him a question. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Everyone here knew him. What the fuck could someone really need to ask him?

Dude, how did you end up in here with the rest of us losers? one of his friends that I recognized from the football team asked him.

Kaleb shrugged and sighed in agitation. There wasn't any room to put me in AP History, he told him. So, I got put in here.

The teacher clapped her hands together to bring the class back to attention. I winced at the loud noise, my heart thumping erratically in my chest again. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to calm back down, clenching my fists as I imagined my fear and panic contained in them once again.

Okay, everyone! she said enthusiastically. We're going to begin this semester by working on a project in partners. I opened my eyes to look at her, blowing out a harsh breath in annoyance.

A project with a partner was the last fucking thing I needed.

Based on what I just found out about you, I'm going to pair you up with the person who is the least compatible with you. You're going to hang out for two weeks, get to know each other, and learn how to get along with your partner. After the two weeks are over, you'll have another week to do a two-page paper on your partner–what you learned from them, maybe some things your partner inspired you to do, and how your partner helped you to become a better person.

Fuck. Me.

I was beginning to hate this class more and more with each passing second.

How does this contribute to history? one girl asked.

My question exactly.

Beginning way back–even before America was colonized–people didn't get along all because they weren't willing to learn about other people, their cultures, and their civilizations. This exercise is about that, she explained.

For fuck's sake, lady. This isn’t the fucking 1600s anymore.

When no one else asked any more questions, she began speaking again. Kaleb, I'm going to pair you with the pretty girl sitting next to you, she stated, struggling to remember my name, but eventually giving up.

It did make me feel slightly better knowing people couldn't remember my name, even the teacher. However, I still had to do this blasted project! Well, I didn't have to, really, but knowing Kaleb, he was going to hound me about doing it until I caved and participated.

Fucking golden boy.

I'm going to allow you all the next hour and a half to get to know your partner better! the teacher exclaimed, clapping her hands together loudly with way too much enthusiasm. I jumped in my seat, clenching my fists under my desk.

She really needed to stop doing that.

The teacher turned her back to us and sat at her desk, leaving us to begin our projects. I could feel Kaleb's gaze on me, but I didn't turn to look at him. I didn't want to work on this project, and I certainly didn't want to allow him to get to know me better.

Hey, Tracey, you can't just leave me hanging, Kaleb spoke up after a moment of us just sitting in silence. I clenched my jaw in agitation, still not looking at him. My grades are important to me. As if I actually gave a fuck.

Then ask for a different partner that'll actually do the work with you, I snapped at him, turning my harsh glare on him.

He slightly recoiled back from the hatred gleaming in my eyes. A little angry there, aren't you? he asked, arching an eyebrow at me once he recovered from his shock.

I turned away from him. He was smart; I could give him that. He now knew my name, three things about me, and he knew that I was an angry person.

Just that little bit was far more than I was comfortable with him knowing. If my father got the slightest feeling that someone knew the tiniest bit about me, it would all be fucking over.

Kaleb sighed tiredly. Come on, Tracey. I'm not going to ask for a different partner just because you don't want to do the work. I clenched my jaw angrily. You should be concerned about your grades, too. Aren't you going to college after you graduate? he asked as if everyone he knew would want to go to college.

I mean, everyone he hung out with probably would, but I wasn’t one of his friends, and I certainly wasn’t like everyone else.

Nope. Instead, I hoped to be in a coffin by the time graduation rolled around.

No, I said harshly, turning my glare on him again. Now stop fucking talking to me, I snarled.

Damn it; I had just answered another one of his stupid fucking questions.

Is there a problem here? I heard that nasally voice ask from above us.

I tensed up and flinched away as the teacher put her hands on our desks. She was way too close for comfort, and I could feel sweat beginning to build up on my back.

Back up. Back up. Please back the fuck up.

She won't cooperate, Kaleb told the teacher. Fucking tattle-tale. Could you get her to cooperate with me, please? I really need this grade, he begged her.

Give him another partner, I retorted before she could say anything to me, just wanting her to move back from my desk and give me some space.

She sighed and leaned in a bit closer. I scooted back in my seat a little. I didn't like people being close to me. It put me on edge.

And this teacher was way too close for comfort.

I felt like being sick. My heart was beating so fast that I thought it might just beat right out of my chest and fall into my lap. My palms and back began sweating even more.

Please, just back the fuck up, I begged silently.

Tracey, I'm not re-assigning partners. Work through your differences. That's the whole point of this assignment, she told me in exasperation.

She walked away, and I blew out a breath of relief that she was finally gone and that I had my personal space back. I put my head on my desk tiredly.

I couldn't do this project. I couldn't hang out with him. I couldn't tell him anything about me.

If my dad found out that I was interacting with him, even for a stupid project, I would be beaten to within an inch of my life, if I even managed to fucking survive it.

Have you ever played any sports? Kaleb asked me a moment later, refusing to give up.

I sighed.

He really was a persistent mother fucker, wasn’t he?

I figured the best way to get rid of him would be to just answer his stupid questions. It wasn't as if he could ask anything harmful, right? I always covered my bruises and scars, and so long as he didn't notice those, then there shouldn't be any reason for him to ask any dangerous questions.

I pushed past the aggravation that I was feeling and shook my head at him. No. I've never played sports, I told him honestly.

Have you ever wanted to? he asked me as he studied me, which was extremely unnerving.

I looked over at him for a split second, noting that he was writing things down about me as I spoke to him.

Fucking lovely.

In answer to his question though, I had wanted to play sports when I was a kid. I had wanted to play tennis, and I had wanted to learn to dance. I remember when my dad would work late when I was little, I would use one of my books and hit a tennis ball I had found at school back and forth at my wall.

However, as I got older, I realized I couldn't ever play a sport. My lifestyle didn't allow for anything, really.

And definitely not for tennis, I thought grimly, my mind flitting to the tennis skirts and the bruises covering my legs.

Yeah. I wanted to play tennis, I admitted softly.

Kaleb watched me carefully, his eyes running over my face. I quickly turned my head away from him and made sure my hair hid my face from him. I hated feeling like he might look right through me and see what I so desperately tried to hide from the world.

Why didn't you ever play? You look like you have the physique for it.

Physique.

Now that's a word that would probably never be used in my vocabulary.

I had other things to tend to, I told him evasively.

He changed the subject after that, realizing pretty quickly he wasn't getting much more from me on that subject. How come I've never noticed you before? he asked me bluntly, making me freeze up as he asked one of the questions that I had been dreading him asking me.

Panic gripped my chest. I couldn't tell him the real reason for that. I couldn't tell him I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, to make friends. I couldn’t tell him that I lived in constant fear every day of my father finding out I even had someone look in my direction. I couldn’t let him know that I wanted to do nothing