Beautiful: The Fragile Line Series, #1

By Sarah Dawson Powell

Beautiful

The Fragile Line Series~ Book One

 

Sadie Montgomery's life truly begins to spiral out of control in college. Consumed by an addiction she cannot control, she falls in love, battles demons in her mind, fights for her sanity, and searches for a god who seems to have disappeared from her life. Her strength is tested when she has to choose between a man from her past whose life seems to have been woven into the fabric of hers, and a man who doesn't love her for what she once was, but for who she is now. Once she makes her choice, she has to live with it and wonder what life would have been like had she chosen the other man.

 

Love, complicated by the darkness of addiction, can be a tricky thing. Things that seem right end up being wrong, and the wrong things seem so right. No one understands. No one has the right answers. There's a downside for every upside. And no matter what, someone will be hurt, just never more than the addict herself.

 

Note: Readers of The Fragile Line Series can enjoy either Beautiful or Damaged as their first book or jump right into Falling. Beautiful and Damaged tell Sadie and Jenny's separate stories before their friendship begins in Falling. 

 

Content warning: drug/alcohol abuse, domestic violence, swearing, pregnancy/abortion/miscarriage   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Dawson Powell
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223537625

Book preview

For my mom, who stopped reading my first draft because

I used seen instead of saw too many times.

Wish you were here to see this.

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Content warning: substance abuse, domestic violence, swearing, pregnancy/abortion/miscarriage.

Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Dawson Powell

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

2nd edition 2023

Contents

1.you’re on your own

2.also a whore

3.follow him

4.he could show me the world

5.i can’t stand you anymore

6.have you prayed about this?

7.the one apologizing

8.i can’t have a baby

9.has he hit you before?

10.full of liquid courage

11.it was my fault

12.would you like to confess?

13.break up with the right person

14.salvation would have to come later

15.in too deep

16.my side hurts

17.i won’t promise you

18.unworthy

19.i just want to see you

20.i closed my eyes

21.your lips drip honey

22.stupid enough

23.his temper in the starring role

24.jenny

Playlist

Author's Note

About the Author

you’re on your own

Why am I like this?

It was at least the millionth time I’d thought that, but still no answer came to me. I’d even cried out to God, someone I once thought I knew.

My teeth had to be filed nearly to the gums from all the grinding they’d been doing. When my body shook like this, there was nothing I could do to stop it. But it wasn’t the shakes or grinding that made me wish I were dead. It was the feeling of little, unseen bugs crawling on my skin, making me scream at nothing.

Get off me! I yelled, tearing at my skin with my nails, but on some subconscious level, I knew they weren’t really there.

I kept my eyes closed to block out any light. Only a sliver of light filtered under my dorm room door, but it felt like a spotlight shining directly into my eyes. The blanket from my roommate Shawna’s bed covered the window, duct tape and thumb tacks holding it in place. I’d done that earlier this morning when all I had was pounding in my head. I never imagined it would get so bad.

In the light, I would be able to see Shawna’s bed across from me in our stark white room. Our pressed wood dressers stood between our twin-size beds, with two matching desks at the far end near the white metal door. We’d plastered our walls with various posters of music groups, animals, a good-looking, muscled-up guy; pictures of us, sitting under the pine tree behind our dormitory, holding shot glasses at a party, scantily clad in tank tops and barely-there shorts dancing together; fliers from different parties we’d attended. There were lots of those, on their bright turquoise, yellow, lime green, and orange paper.

But there was no hope of Shawna coming in to help me, save me. It was late July and she’d gone home for the summer. If I waited for her, I’d be dead by the time she showed up.

Another dry heave rose inside me, twisting my stomach into a noose. The shakes became more intense, like a leaf about to fall from the tree in autumn. Cold sweat consumed my pallid skin, momentarily washing away the invisible bugs. My mouth watered behind chapped lips, which was a change from the tacky feeling that had been there for…how long? I couldn’t really be sure.

Nothing came out as I wrenched my stomach over the small metal trash can. I spit saliva into the receptacle, hearing it hit the bottom.

My blue eyes fluttered open briefly; just long enough to see the red numbers on the alarm clock. 6:56 p.m.

I concentrated on my thudding heartbeat. It echoed in my ears, the never-ending beat of a drum. It felt fluid, like hot liquid oozing from my brain into my ear canal. It burnt. I counted the echo of the thuds hoping to fall back asleep. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11….

The bugs returned, biting my thighs. Nibbling their way into my skin, taking my flesh, my blood, my soul. Whatever they could find for sustenance. I threw my worn pink comforter to the speckled linoleum floor and screamed, swatting at my bare legs. Still, I knew there was nothing there.

I kicked my legs at the wall and flailed my arms at the mattress, letting tears brim my eyes. Please, make it stop! Please, I cried out to God, even though I doubted He heard me, if He even existed. I swear if You make it go away right now, I will never drink again. Sobs caught in my raw throat, making me gag, but nothing would come out.

This was so much more than a hangover. This was the result of going without a drink for too long. I’d depended on it, and someone to give it to me. Maybe I needed coke, too, but probably just a few shots of vodka would take care of this.

I was freezing now, as if someone left me out in a snowstorm without proper attire. Reaching over the side of my bed, I fished for the blanket I’d chucked moments ago. Wrapping myself in it tightly, feeling the horrid bugs return, I sobbed aloud, trying to count the thumping that echoed through my ears.

Death was eminent, of this, I was sure. If I didn’t die soon, I’d have to kill myself.

In a final effort to save my life, I sought out the phone in the darkness and called Matt. Hello? He sounded tired.

Hey, it’s me.

Click. He’d hung up on me. Bewildered, I dropped the cordless phone beside me and let a new set of tears fall, a new set of shakes made my body quake, a new colony of bugs worked their way up my torso.

Moments later, as I contemplated suicide- I couldn’t overdose, as I had no drugs, no money to get any; I didn’t have a gun; I might have a straight razor that would work on my little wrists, but the pain, could I handle that much pain? And what my parents would think when they got the call- the phone rang next to me on the bed.

Hello? I tried to sound like I wasn’t crying.

Are you having withdrawals? Matt’s deep voice came over the line.

"I think so. I need you, Matt. I’ll do anything."

Why don’t you call Ryan? He hung up on me for the second time in as many minutes.

I launched the phone across the room and screamed out in frustration. How could he leave me like this? How could he make me need him so badly, then turn me away? And why? Had I not given him plenty?

The phone crashed into the wall, then fell to the floor, plastic cracking, scattering on the hard floor. Call Ryan. He knew I couldn’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t call him like this.

Ryan Gallagher was my boyfriend. I’d known him since we were in diapers. And after pining uncontrollably for him my first year in college, we’d become a couple while he was home on leave last summer. Ryan was a proud United States Marine, stationed in North Carolina. He graduated as valedictorian of our high school class. He was utterly perfect. I’d seen him get drunk a fair share of times in high school, as we’d always been friends, and his twin sister Brooke was one of my best friends, but he always knew when to stop drinking. And when to suggest I stop.

Ryan wouldn’t understand what I was going through. He’d never understand feeling like you were going to die if you didn’t drink.

I opened my right eye and peered at the clock. 7:43p.m. Something had to give. I needed to find a way to make the bugs, the shaking, the thumping, and all my other pain go away.

Then an epiphany occurred. Probably not the one God hoped for, but it might work, nonetheless.

Shawna’s on-again-off-again boyfriend Brent lived in a frat house. We partied there countless nights. Surely, if I could get there, Brent would recognize me and give me a beer. Hopefully more than one, but that was a start.

Now to just get there. Shouldn’t be such a difficult feat, but the frat house may as well have been in Siberia. I sat up and took deep breaths, pulling them into me with all my strength, feeling each one burn into my lungs, then deflating like a balloon with a pin prick. I willed my body to be normal, to function as I needed it to. When I stood, my legs shook as if they’d been filled with Jell-O and I thought I might fall, but I’d never feel better if stayed in bed.

The effort I exerted stepping the short distance to my dresser overheated my body, sweat moistening my brow, my blonde curls clinging to my cheeks. In the darkness, I opened the flimsy drawers of my dresser, feeling for shorts, underwear, and a shirt that would hopefully accent my practically non-existent breasts. It was easier to get free booze if you showed a little cleavage. At least that’s what Shawna told me, but she actually had cleavage.

I fumbled for my shower supplies and robe, and as a last second thought, I sought my sunglasses. Luckily, they were on top of my purse. I placed them on my gaunt face and opened the door, squinting my eyes as the light consumed me. The hall was quiet, fluorescent white and lined with fliers and posters about being drug free and abstaining from sex.

Closing my eyes again, using my hand on the walls to guide me, I made my way to the cold bathroom.

Sadie, you don’t look good, someone said when I entered.

Ignoring whoever, I went to the showers and closed my eyes once more. Feeling blindly for the faucet controls in one of the stalls, I turned the cold water on, as my body sweltered from the extensive hike, then set my clothes and robe sightlessly on a plastic bucket chair.

I sat on the cold, cement floor of the shower, feeling the bugs wash off my skin. Save me, save me, they cried as they slid down the drain.

Sorry, guys, I muttered. You’re on your own. Just like me. Great, I thought, I’m talking to bugs. There weren’t even any bugs. I didn’t know what was worse; the fact that I talked to the bugs, or the fact they didn’t exist, and I talked to them.

My hair hurt, but I lathered the sweet, floral smelling shampoo into it anyway, gagging through another dry heave. Why, God? I whispered, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. How had I become this sickly, pathetic person?

I’d told Matt about Ryan before, but he seemed to be in denial about the fact I had a boyfriend for so long I’d resigned that he didn’t care.

I’m in love with someone, Matt, I told him one drunken night shortly after meeting him.

Who?

I sighed. Ryan.

He’d narrowed his brown eyes at me, anger simmering beneath the surface. Who’s Ryan?

He’s been my friend forever.

And where is he?

In the Marines.

He chuckled to himself. Does he know you’re in love with him?

No.

Are you planning to tell him?

No. Not yet.

More chuckling. Then I really don’t care. He’s not here and I am.

We’re just friends. Me and you, Matt.

"The things I do with you are not things I do with my friends."

Maybe I’d been a little misleading at times, but once I realized all I had to do was give in to Matt occasionally, he gave me all the vodka and coke I needed. Too many times I’d brushed over the truth for my own selfish reasons. Like when he found Ryan’s letters to me shortly before the end of freshman year. Ryan still wasn’t my boyfriend, but I planned to reveal my feelings soon.

I thought you made him up! Matt stared at the letter in his hand.

No, he’s as real as you and me. I smiled to cloak my discomfort.

Are you going to tell him you have a boyfriend?

My mind worked quickly. You are so insecure. I waved my hand in the air. Don’t worry about this. I took the letter from him, planted a kiss on his cheek.

He supported my habits; I couldn’t afford to lose him. Besides, I didn’t give him much in return. Purity didn’t mean as much to me as it once had.

Even after Ryan became my boyfriend, I couldn’t cut my ties with Matt, no matter how I tried. Throughout sophomore year, he continued to be at my beck and call, undoubtedly holding out for something more from me. Holding out for a commitment, for me to love him.

I think I’m falling in love with you, he told me one night last fall in his apartment. I was sprawled across his couch in the small living room, having just snorted a few lines of coke, and then smoked a joint. Aside from this, I was on my third mixed drink of the night. The radio played in the background, some hard rock song I didn’t really enjoy. A few candles were lit on the coffee table, making the room ideal for the relaxing I needed to do, the forgetting of reality.

He sat on the floor in front of me, holding my bony hand, smothering it with warm, wet kisses. He moved his lips up my arm and went for my mouth.

Well, stop, I said, pushing him away.

Stop what? His lips landed on my cheek.

Stop falling in love.

He sat straight, his eyebrows pulled together. "You can’t tell me you still don’t feel anything for me."

It would have been the prefect opportunity to tell him Ryan was finally my boyfriend. I don’t know, Matt. I just wish you’d understand.

Nothing? You feel nothing for me? If that’s the case, then why are you here?

My eyes darted to the residuals of cocaine on the coffee table in front of us. Don’t get me wrong, I like spending time with you. I just don’t want to commit to something. I’m not ready.

He’d been satisfied with that, knowing about the heartbreak I’d had in high school. But I could tell Matt’s fuse was burning out back in February, after I’d disappeared for a few days when Ryan visited.

He came to my dorm the day after Ryan left. There was no choice but to come clean with him. I wasn’t being fair to him, or Ryan.

Where have you been? His eyes were narrowed. Did you go home and forget to tell me?

Why would I have to tell you?

It’s the polite thing to do, he pointed out.

I drew in my breath, threw all my reservations to the wind, uttered the quickest of prayers in my head, and decided to be direct. Matt, Ryan’s my boyfriend. He was on leave and came to see me.

Anger flashed in his eyes; he began to pace the floor. What do you mean he’s your boyfriend? You told me you were just friends!

No, actually I told you I was in love with him, I said quietly.

He stopped, stood in front of me where I was seated at the foot of my bed. When did all this happen?

I stood and walked toward the door. Last summer.

He got in my face, his eyes wide and accusing. Last summer? Are you kidding me? What the hell am I to you?

My knees weakened; a memory stirred inside of me. Matt, stop. You’re scaring me.

He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me against the door. I tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. His eyes bore into me like an axe on a chopping block. I thought he might hit me. Instead, he shoved me hastily away and left.

I didn’t talk to him for three weeks. But when I ran out of money, I called him, desperate to nourish my menacing habits. My appetite had been null, and when I did eat, I vomited it right back up. I wanted to be strong, but I didn’t know how. He came to my dorm room willingly with what I needed.

You have issues beyond anything I’ve ever seen, he told me as he brushed my hair away from my skeletal face when he came over that night. I lay on my bed staring at nothing, thoroughly relaxed. Next to me he chuckled. But I still love you. He looked down at me, softness pouring from his eyes like a cashmere blanket. I’m glad you called.

There was nothing I wanted to say to him. I didn’t want him in my life. I really didn’t, but I didn’t have a choice. He was very smitten by me for whatever reason. He knew he was just being used- he had to- and continued to allow me to do so.

And as I lay there motionless on his couch, once again, while he got what he wanted from me, I betrayed Ryan, who I loved more than anything.

But the breaking point hadn’t been until a few days ago. I’d vowed to clean up my act over the summer, but instead found ways to increase my drinking and drug use.

I carried an Illini South sports bottle filled with vodka and whatever I mixed it with, 7up, Cherry Coke, orange juice, Hawaiian Punch, even water once. When I woke in the morning my body shook until the first drink worked through my system. I didn’t even know how to function without it anymore. Cocaine had become a regular habit, too. I’d take several hits each night, keeping me awake until the early hours of the morning.

Sleep was no longer a necessity. My days were spent in class and trying to study, my nights consisted of sitting at Matt’s apartment like a zombie, always drunk and usually high. He loved me being there, but I hated it. It was like being in prison with no hope for parole. His hands were always all over me and he acted like he owned me. Once he even tried to stop me from going to my dorm for Ryan’s weekly phone call.

No, he told me flatly. You’re staying here.

No, I’m not, Matt! I grabbed my purse, moving toward the door. I’m going to my dorm. I’ll come back tomorrow.

I don’t know why you would want to go there when you could stay here with me.

I rolled my eyes. I’m here all the time. There’s nothing wrong with spending a little time apart.

My weight was already down to 120 pounds. I knew that was unhealthy since I’d weighed around 135 in high school. I wasn’t the girl Ryan loved, that girl had become the wreck I now was. But there was no way for him to tell over the phone or in my letters.

It was last Friday night when I was getting ready for Matt to pick me up to go shopping for some make-up and booze when the phone in my dorm room rang. To my surprise and delight, it was Ryan. I flopped on my bed, excited for the unexpected call. I was caught up with Ryan, lost in the sound of his familiar, comforting voice, and completely forgot about Matt until there was a loud knock on my door. Without thinking, I opened the door to see an angry Matt.

I’ve been sitting out there waiting for twenty minutes! Who are you on the phone with? His face was red, his eyes bulging.

I’ll be down in a minute. I tried to shut the door while panic ran through me.

He pushed the door open, his face a frown, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Who are you talking to?

Ryan’s sweet voice came over the phone, slightly agitated. "Who is that?"

My mind raced trying to figure out how to answer without making either one mad. Quickly, I decided who I valued more. My eyes met Matt’s, pretending not to see the anger. I’m talking to Ryan. Into the phone, I said, It’s Matt. He’s giving me a ride into town to go to the store.

The anger I’d come to know flashed like lights on a police cruiser in Matt’s eyes. I continued to speak into the phone, ignoring the alarms in my brain. I was getting ready to leave when you called.

I’ll let you go since he’s waiting, Ryan said. I love you.

My heart skipped a beat and I turned away from Matt. I love you, too. I hung up and faced him.

What’s going on? Is Ryan your boyfriend?

I tried to appear calm. Don’t worry about it. You’re the one who’s here. I smiled at him, picked up my purse, slinging the strap over my shoulder.

He blocked the door, making no effort to move. I pretended not to be concerned about the situation, hoping it would make him think there really wasn’t anything to worry about.

You’re just using me. You have no intention to ever be with me, do you? I shook my head in disagreement as he talked. I’m not stupid, he went on, his voice the epitome of confidence in his realization. After a year and a half, I get the truth.

Matt, I’m not using you! I do like you. I like you a lot. We’ve been over this a million times! I’ve known Ryan forever. He’s one of my best friends. I cocked my head and pursed my lips. Besides, you’re not my boyfriend, so it shouldn’t matter to you who I talk to.

Whatever, Sadie. You are fucked up and I would be stupid to keep this up with you. Ryan, or whoever, will realize it too, don’t worry. You have fun getting drunk and high without me. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

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I felt another dry heave rise from within like a volcano as I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, onto the cold linoleum floor of the dressing room. Turning around, I spit the saliva into the wet shower stall. I sat atop my robe as I pulled on my clothes, using what seemed to be my last iota of energy.

A few other girls were in the bathroom. I could hear the chatter and movement of them around me, but was oblivious to who they were, or if they spoke to me. My eyes stayed closed as much as possible while I tried to occupy myself with counting the thumps of my heart. They were coming so fast, I thought maybe my heart was trying to win a race. Maybe the finish line was death.

Now with my clothes on, the bugs came back. I wiped feverishly at my skin, vaguely aware the other girls stared at me, Maybe she’s having a bad trip, I heard someone say, all the while knowing there were no bugs on me. It crossed my mind to call Matt and try again. Maybe if I told him I loved him….

No, my heart was Ryan’s. I’d go to the frat house.

also a whore

Hanging onto the walls in the hall and the railings in the stairwell, I made it outside. Through my sunglasses, I could see the nearly set sun, slightly covered by large, fluffy, cumulus clouds making the sky a pinkish-orange hue. The air was stagnant, thick with humidity, but my weak body shook like a cold winter’s wind blew.

I crossed my arms over my barely-there chest and walked along the familiar tree lined paths. The trees were lush and green, making shadows on the sidewalk in front of me. Smells of someone cooking on a grill penetrated the air and made my stomach turn violently, like I was on a bad roller coaster. My head seemed to spin haphazardly. Why is this happening to me? I leaned against a large oak tree, waiting for the nausea to pass.

Every piece of me hated myself for ever taking a drink in the first place. If I hadn’t been so in love with Tyler Blakely, so desperate to impress him and claim him as my own, maybe I would have said no.

After the homecoming dance in my junior year of high school, a group of us went to his house. It was a simple, white two-story home a few blocks from my own house. I’d been to his house once since he moved there over the summer. His mom worked the overnight shift at a hospital, so Tyler and his older brother by two years, Kevin, often had little parties at their house while she worked. Their parents had divorced a few years back before they moved to Willow Grove.

Despite