Just About Healing
By- Victoria Escobar
Genre- NA Contemporary
My sister was my lifeline, my beacon, my North Star. I could rely on her, depend on her, turn to her when the world was just too hard to face. She could depend on me for the same.
I laughed with her; cried with her; rejoiced her success; and part of me died with her too. I lived for her, loved no one greater than her. Without Savannah, I had no one to turn to, no one to share my soul with. My other half, closer than twins we were, was just gone.
Grief broke my soul and crushed my heart to dust. I didn’t know how to put the pieces back together. I wasn’t sure I even want to without her. How could I live knowing she would never share anything with me again?
Time, supposedly, heals all wounds. I don't believe that. But I do know there are other ways to heal. I just had to find them.
And now an Excerpt from
Just About Healing
I needed to do something. Anything, or I might end up doing something that wouldn’t be harmless. Even in the reckless state I recognized the explosion waiting to happen.
I began hastily unpacking my suitcases for something to do before I collapsed into another tantrum. There was no Jo here to clean up the mess if I broke down.
I should find something to do. I should cut my hair shorter. No, that wasn’t long term enough. I should see about getting a job in town. Right, who was I trying to fool? I had no work experience. Who was hiring painters in September? My hands pulled out my bathing suit. I should go for a swim and cool off before I did something stupid.
Everything stopped and swirled around that one thought. Go for a swim in the Loch. Cool off. I’ll think clearer. It was a crazy thought, but my mind had already grabbed hold of it and wasn’t letting go.
Leaving the half unpacked suitcase where it was, I went to change and gather my things. A swim was just the ticket. I’d go for a swim. I didn’t care it was only seven in the morning. Who cared about those things? Sane people, someone that sounded suspiciously like Mama whispered in my mind but I viciously squashed it.
It was raining. Well, drizzling more than raining. Something I hadn’t thought about beforehand. Something I hadn’t even looked out a window to check. Did it really matter? I was going to get wet anyway. The thought lasted about ten seconds before I grabbed a plastic bag, stuck my towel in it and went to the hall for my crocs and umbrella. I was going swimming. Weather be damned.
I pulled jeans and a plain shirt over my suit. My conscious told me if anyone saw me walking across the field in a swimsuit under an umbrella, I’d be committed. Mama and Pierce would surely love that.
I strolled out, leaving the door unlocked and the keys on the counter. Who would rob me? The MacIver’s? I laughed at the thought as I crossed the field. They wouldn’t get much. The jewelry was locked in a travel safe buried in the closet.
The sun was barely over the horizon when I reached the Loch. It was still drizzling but by the way the sun was trying to force through the clouds there might be sun by afternoon. No matter. I was going swimming now. I had gotten lucky; there was no one else about. Who would be swimming at seven in the morning? Who would be swimming in the rain? I dismissed the thought without a second to examine it. If I had examined it my rationalization might take over and then I would be stuck at square one again.
I walked down to the Loch’s edge and was rewarded with a dock I hadn’t seen from where I had sat sketching. However, I hadn’t actually been looking for one before either. There were no boats attached to it, which I found peculiar, but it would provide a great running start for a dive.
I stripped out of my clothes, shivering slightly in the air that was cooler than originally thought, stuck them in the bag and then hung the bag on one of the peg thingies holding up the dock. I really didn’t care what it was called at the moment. I handily wedged/tied the umbrella above the bag to prevent most of the rain from hitting it. Shucking my shoes under the bag I turned to look down my runway.
What if there are snakes? The angel on my left shoulder asked. That would make an excellent headline. American artist dies from water moccasin drowning in Scotland. Were they called water moccasins in Scotland? Who cares?
People were swimming in it earlier. The devil sounded annoyed. Piss off goodie two shoes, we’re going swimming. Take a deep breath and run girl!
I did exactly that and was grateful. I didn’t scream when I hit the icy water. I took a few strokes under the water as habit before coming up for air.
It was freezing, but it did everything I had needed it to. Yes, it was a stupid, crazy idea. But I was cooled off now, and thinking much clearer. Clear enough actually to know I was acting crazy. I turned and started swimming for the dock. Where Tristan stood and watched.
I stopped swimming and treaded water still a good ways from the dock. “I’m beginning to think you and your brother are stalking me.” I called out hoping my voice didn’t sound like it was quaking with cold.
“How’s the water?” he asked lazily.
“Lovely.” I responded without chattering my teeth, barely. “Are you coming in?”
He smiled ruefully and then began to slowly strip. I was suddenly very thankful the water was very cold.
His shirt came off first. He folded it neatly and laid it on top of my plastic bag under the umbrella. His torso was something people in America paid thousands of dollars for, and most never achieved.
“You look like a Greek God.” I shouted to him.
He winced visibly. “We’re in Scotland, might I remind you. I look like a Seelie Prince.”
I laughed. “Are you going to finish stripping and get in here your Highness?”
About the Author
Born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but with the ability to claim eight states as home; Victoria Escobar writes fiction from her current home in New York. She writes whatever comes to mind and because of such has a variety of genres written including Young Adult, New Adult, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, and Contemporary Fiction.
In spare time if not with family, and friends Victoria enjoys curling up with a book from a favorite author with music playing. If not reading or writing she spends time drawing, sketching, crocheting, or some other random art project. She enjoys staying busy, but most of all enjoys staying creative.