Sweet Fall
A Sweet Home Novel
by
Tillie Cole
Also by Tillie Cole
The Sweet Home Series
Sweet Home
Sweet Rome
The Hades Hangmen Series
It Ain’t Me, Babe
Eternally North
Copyright© Tillie Cole 2014 All rights reserved
Cover Design by Damonza at www.damonza.com
Copyedited by Cassie McGowan at www.gatheringleavesediting.com
Formatted by Polgarus Studio at www.polgarusstudio.com
Italian Translation by Sebastian Dousi and Flavio Tripodi
eBook Edition
No Part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
Dedication
To the many around the world who feel lost, insecure or inferior.
Breathe deep. Be strong. Be brave.
And if you fall, look up to the stars and reach for their glittering lights.
You are meant to stand tall with the rest of the world.
You are not damaged…
You are beautiful.
Table of Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Sweet Home
Sweet Fall Playlist
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Follow Tillie at:
Foreword
I wanted to take a moment before you begin this novel to explain something about the character of Lexington Hart, the female protagonist.
Lexi has a disorder that many are, or have been, affected by… including myself.
Please understand that my having had this disorder is not an area of my life I talk about often. But I feel some explanation should be given before you delve into the pages of Sweet Fall.
So *deep breath*, here it goes…
When I was fourteen, I developed a disorder, which unfortunately, took me to a very dark place in my life. It stayed with me for the majority of my teens and even reared its head a few times later in life. I fell again and again, but—luckily—every time, I managed to pick myself back up.
What I am talking of is a very insular disorder. A very secretive disorder. And it blindsided me and riddled me with issues that I still struggle with today.
I know now it will never fully go away.
For years, I was in a furious, and often losing, battle with this disorder. I just couldn’t get away from its clutches. And if it weren’t for the encouragement and support from my absolute best friends, my parents, my theatre school instructors, and my husband (then boyfriend), I am not sure I would have recovered as well as I have.
It even forced me to give up my biggest passion in life—musical theatre. I just knew I couldn’t take the pressure of being so perfect. I just couldn’t be healthy and do what I loved anymore. At the time, this crushed me. But you learn to move on and be inspired in new ways. Find your passion in other channels.
In this novel, Lexi’s narrative and inner struggles are very much based on the personal thought processes and habits that I experienced at that, my absolute darkest, time. And this is so I could give you, the reader, an honest and raw account of the everyday life of someone with this particular issue.
Many people vary in the way they experience this horrible affliction. This novel is simply born from MY experience. Not everybody deals with it in the same way. I am not a psychologist, nor a doctor. I do not attempt to give you medical and scientific insights into this horrible disorder. This is all from my experience and my experience only. Lexi’s issue in Sweet Fall is written purely from my heart.
I did not take the decision to write about this topic lightly. It is a part of my life that I have rarely discussed with anyone. Many of my family members found some aspects of this novel difficult to read because they finally understood what it was like for me then and is like for many people around the world. It was a chapter in my life that I try not to dwell on. I got past this disorder to an extent. I won the biggest battle. For many, this is not the case.
This, my fifth novel, has been the hardest and most emotionally turbulent one I have ever written, but it is also one of my proudest achievements. I have cracked open the heavy iron padlock that held back feelings I had tried to hide away from everyone I know. And in writing this wonderful but troubled character called Lexi, I have faced my fears head on and battled some demons that were still lurking in the deepest recesses of my mind. I feel freer, calmer somehow, and for that I am grateful.
If this novel helps just one person who is dealing with this disorder, helps just one person understand their friends and family members that may be dealing with something similar, then it has made all the emotional purging and self-reflection worthwhile.
If Sweet Fall sheds any light on the issue, full stop, then that will make me very proud indeed.
“If we knew each other’s secrets, what comforts we should find.”
John Churton Collins
It speaks to me each morning,
The dawn of each new day,
Keeping me from eating,
My head is where it stays.
It strips me of my burdens,
Of hunger pangs, of pain,
It guides me to perfection,
It freely takes the reins.
It will be with me forever,
Of this I have no choice,
My friend, my foe, my conscience,
It’s Ana, it’s that voice…
Tillie Cole
Prologue
Dear Daisy,
Weight: 98lbs
Calories: 2000
This is my first letter to you, well, my first journal entry, I mean.
Since you have left me, I really don’t know who I can speak to, so I have decided to keep speaking to you… through the medium of pen and page. Instead of our nightly chats on the phone about our progress that day, I will talk to you here. I will tell you my weight, how many calories I’ve eaten… just like before.
B
ut this is not like before, is it?
It’s not the same. The contact is not nearly enough, but it is all I have… all I have left of you, Daisy, my closest friend.
I’m sitting here now under the scorching summer sun, shaded by a huge pine tree… next to your grave. Your grave, Daisy! How did it come to this?
I am running my hand down the beautifully bright black granite headstone, tracing the edges of your epitaph:
‘She concealed her tears but shared her smiles’
That was you, Daisy, smiling on the surface but too fragile for this world underneath. You never let it show, though, always smiling through the pain. Wearing your mask that told the world you were fine, but all the time you were dying inside.
I know because I wear this mask too.
You were always my rock, the one person who I could rely on. But you left me here alone and I am lost without you. I don’t know my place without you in this frightening world full of pain, with its constant pressure to be perfect.
It was never supposed to be this way. We were meant to get through this life together, survive together. But just like the flower of your name, you thrived for a while but, too delicate to last, withered and died.
Your last words to me were live for the both of us. Do what scares me and cherish each day. And I will try. I promise, this year, I will try. But already dark thoughts plague my mind. Insecurities haunt me each day.
I don’t know how to purge myself of these horrid thoughts… of his horrid words.
The voice is so powerful in my mind, and only you could understand what this is like. I’m afraid without you here, it will win. I’m afraid without you here, I will lose this relentless fight. I’m afraid, without you, I will listen to his words and find myself falling into the iron clutches of my biggest fear.
Oh, Daisy, as I sit here in this silent and peaceful graveyard, a part of me wishes I were there in heaven with you. I am not sure I am strong enough to carry on like this and, even now, the voice taunts and teases me from the deepest recesses of my mind.
You’re disgusting.
You’re an eyesore, he tells me without pause, day and night, ripping me from my dreams and pushing me to give in.
Daisy, I fear that without you in my life I will fall… again.
Chapter One
Lexi
The University of Alabama,
Tuscaloosa, United States of America
Three months later…
Tens of thousands of feet stomped in the stands, sounding like clashing thunder rolling aggressively through Bryant-Denny. The smell of grass, of a summer’s day, of sweat, of adrenaline drifted into the tunnel from the field.
Game day. An Alabama Crimson Tide game day. The famous Crimson Tide’s opening game against the Chattanooga Mocs.
My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I straightened my crimson uniform just to occupy my shaking hands. A finger snapped in front of my face, and I glanced up to see the team captain, Shelly Blair.
“You ready for this?” she asked bluntly, her perfectly straightened long red hair swishing over her shoulders. I nodded and straightened up, and a smug smirk spread on her lips. “You’d better be, Goth girl. Eighty thousand people out there today, and you’re flying.” She leaned in close. “Don’t mess this up. You gotta prove you’re worth this spot.”
Goth girl. Shelly’s reference to my black chin-length hair, pale face makeup, and dark kohl-rimmed eyes.
“I won’t,” I said through gritted teeth. A curt—and what seemed like impressed—nod was her only answer before she turned away and took her place at the front of our large co-ed squad.
“You’ll be good, Lexi babe,” Lyle, another squad member and a base of my stunt team, said as he playfully nudged my arm.
It had taken me four years to get to this day. Four years to face being back on a squad. Most of the team questioned why I’d only tried out senior year, not before, but once I’d showed them my triple-axle-twist, no more questions came my way, and I placed straight on the Crimson team—the best squad, the squad that cheered at all football games, home and away. The squad everyone who ever tried out really wanted to make.
“I feel nauseous,” I told Lyle at the thought of facing the entire student body and then some, in only my tiny uniform.
He passed me his bottle of blue Gatorade. “Drink this, then get your head in the game, chickadee. We’re out in two.”
I did as instructed and breathed deep.
Two minutes.
One hundred and twenty seconds.
Until the thing I’d worked toward for years came into reality.
All my rehabilitation. All my hard work was for this.
This moment.
This one chance to take back control of my demons.
To face my biggest fear.
To face head on what drove me to my dark place.
To conquer what nearly killed me.
The Million Dollar Band began to play. I watched their intricate formation from my spot. Drums were rolling. On a crescendo of the trumpet section, Big Al, the school’s elephant mascot, pushed his way through the squad and rampaged onto the field, his dramatic entrance hyping up the crowd even more.
The Tide supporters went wild.
Each of my legs was leaden as I jumped on the spot, readying to run out onto the field. You can do it, Lex. There’s no trigger anymore, I told myself, repeating my mantra in my mind.
Are you sure about that, Lexington? Everyone will see you. Every turn, every jump, every stunt.
Freezing on the spot, I squeezed my eyes shut at the familiar voice worming its way into my thoughts, trying desperately to shut him down.
I look good, healthy, I assured myself, trying my best to counteract his evil comments. You are a good athlete, the best cheerleader, the best gymnast here.
Mmm… I do not think so. Look at Shelly. She is perfect. Slim, pretty. Everything you are not.
Shut up! I demanded mentally as I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers, breathing rhythmically to counteract the voice’s crushing words.
You are too heavy to be the flyer. The bases of the stunt will think you are too fat. They will ridicule you, mock you… laugh at you, the voice taunted.
No! You’re wrong. I won’t let you do this! You will not win. I will not fall into your trap anymore! I mentally screamed, and a blissful silence enveloped my mind. With a relieved sigh, I reopened my eyes. The voice had gone. I’d won this battle, but I knew the war was not over.
Quickly casting a glance around the tunnel, I relaxed when I realized only seconds must have passed.
Lyle was suddenly in my face. “You ready, chickadee?” he asked in his most peppy voice. A nervous excitement rushed through me as I nodded.
This was what I lived for.
Game day.
The atmosphere.
Doing what I loved.
I’d missed this.
I craved this.
I wanted it back.
The crowd erupted as Shelly burst from the line and took to the field. My feet twitched with nervous anticipation and, I began to run, letting my cheer-experienced legs carry me forth into the spotlight and to my stage under the floodlights and the burning sun.
My heart contracted at the sight—the crimson-and-white patchwork quilt of the crowd, the sheer size of the band, the white cheer squad on the opposite side of the field, the spirit girls in the crowd, the bullhorns… the thrill.
Reaching the sideline, I took my place as Shelly called the opening chant. “Crimson Tide, Roll Tide, Roll Tide,” eighty thousand people sang in perfect unison.
The powerful dance moves flowed from my body with perfect precision, my voice was clear and loud, and the crowd’s response fuelled my energy.
The announcer took the microphone and, in a loud voice, called forth the team. The noise in Bryant-Denny was deafening and my heart beat in perfect rhythm to the stomping of the crowd’s feet. Then, from the tunnel, Jimmy-Don, the o
ffensive tackle and my best friend Cass’s boyfriend, led the way, followed by Austin Carillo, the heavily tattooed star wide receiver.
The rest of the team burst forward out of the tunnel as if it were pouring out of a stronghold. It was a brotherhood. Last on the field came Rome “Bullet” Prince, star quarterback of the SEC, and the place went insane.
The crowd quieted, players fell into position, and the whistle for kickoff trilled loudly.
Three hours later, and we’d won. Carillo had scored three touchdowns and the Tide took the W from the Mocs—the perfect season opener.
Within minutes, the crowd began to filter out of the stadium and the cheer squad ran back into the tunnel, high off the win.
Trailing at the rear, just taking in the scene, I was left alone. It was strange to see the stadium so quiet, kinda apocalyptic, like the aftermath of some great catastrophic event. Plastic red Solo cups were scattered in the stands, confetti strewn on the grass, and the thick stench of stale beer clung to the humid air.
“Kinda weird, huh?” a deep Bama-accented voice said from beside me.
Dropping my poms in shock, I laid a hand on my chest. Catching a flash of a Crimson shirt, I looked up, blocking the blinding sun from my eyes with my hand, and suddenly lost my breath.
“S-sorry, what?” I asked in a quiet voice, tipping my neck right back to be able to see the guy’s face.