ADDICTION
A Seven Deadly Sins noveclass="underline" Book one
By Shantel Tessier
ADDICTION
Copyright © 2015 by Shantel Tessier
All rights reserved.
Editing by Jenny Sims of Editing4Indies
Cover design by Sommer Stein at Perfect Pear Creative
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information about the author and her books, visit her website- www.shanteltessierauthor.com. You can sign up for her newsletter on her website or you can click on the link below. The newsletter is the only place to get exclusive teasers, first to know about current projects and release dates. And also have chances to win some amazing giveaways- http://goo.gl/4wd9CV
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
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
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to all those affected by addiction.
If you know someone who needs help, please contact the addiction hotline at 877-449-3618
“Addiction isn't about substance - you aren't addicted to the substance, you are addicted to the alteration of mood that the substance brings.”
~Susan Cheever
PROLOGUE
TAYLOR
My loud ringing phone wakes me, and I startle to a sitting position in bed as I dig around in the dark trying to locate it. The urgency to find it to shut the thing off has me forgetting where I last had it before I fell asleep. The ringing seems to grow louder as it continues, and I let out a cuss as my eyes try to adjust to the darkness. Shoving the covers off my body, I lean over and flip on my bedside lamp. I squint at the bright light as my phone rings one more time, and I see it has fallen onto my pink rug. I fumble out of bed to pick it up before it can ring again, not wanting the noise to wake up my brother and best friend in the other room.
“Hello?” my voice rasps as I rub my sleepy eyes. I answer without even waiting to take another second to check the caller ID.
“Took you long enough,” I hear a familiar voice snap on the other end.
“Dad?” I look over at the clock that sits on my nightstand and have to turn it upright from knocking it over while switching on the light. “Are you okay?” I ask after I see it's three thirty in the morning. I yawn as I realize I have to be up for my first class of the day in three hours.
“I need you to come bail me out,” comes his clipped voice.
I let out a puff of air. I should have known ... no one calls me at this time of the morning. “What did you do?” I ask as I lie back down in bed. I close my eyes to shut out the light because I’m too tired to lean over and turn off my lamp.
“What did I do?” he demands in shock. “How dare you ask me that!” I let out an audible sigh, and he continues. “I’m innocent,” he snaps. “They didn’t belong to me.”
“What didn’t belong to you?” I ask already knowing what he is going to say.
“The drugs. I keep telling them they are not mine. That they belong to the guy who let me borrow his car. But they won’t listen to me. I need you to come up here and verify that.”
“Dad, I don’t think that’s how things work. The cops aren’t just going to take my word,” I say softly. And all they have to do is look up his record; it will prove he’s been in this situation before.
“You don’t believe me?” He has the nerve to sound offended. “You believe them over me?” he snaps. “I’m your father, Taylor!”
I let out a puff of air as my chest tightens. “I know, Dad. But it’s never your fault.” I want to believe him. I want to save him. But all he does is run once he gets out. And you don’t hear from him again until he’s once again placed in this situation. It’s a never-ending cycle.
“I can’t fucking believe this. What would your mother say if she knew you left me in jail?” he demands and then hisses. “Pathetic.”
Tears start to sting my eyes as he mentions my mother. He always uses her. He knows that it gets to me. I could also throw his words back at him. How would Mom feel if she saw you like this? Throwing your life away?
My mom was a beautiful person inside and out. She would want him to live his life with his children. Fall in love again. Instead, the day we buried her was the day he buried himself in this dark part of the world. Drugs, alcohol, sex—they are the only things that play a role in his life now and the only things that matter to him. But if I had to be honest with myself, my mother would help him, not make it worse. She would do everything in her power to save him from this life. Not ignore it, as I try to do.
“Where are you?” I question biting the inside of my cheek.
“In Pekin, Illinois.”
“That’s over two hours away,” I whisper, opening my eyes and looking back over at the clock. “I won’t make it back in time for class.” It sometimes takes hours for them to release him once you pay the bail money. I know; I’ve done it several times before. And who knows if I can even afford it. It takes even longer if you have to get a bail bondsman.
“Taylor,” he growls. “I think I’m more important than some pointless college class.”
I go to speak, but my bedroom door opens. I see my brother standing in my doorway with heavy blue eyes, and I quickly wipe the tears from my face. “Who are you talking to this late?” he asks through a yawn.
“Is that Blane?” my father demands. “Let me talk to him,” he huffs.
I pull the phone from my ear. “It’s Dad,” I say quietly, and his eyes snap open and he straightens his back. “He’s been arrested …”
He walks across my room and takes the phone from my hand without question. “Dad. What happened?” He sounds like every child should. Worried. It’s not how I feel. Maybe jail is the best place for him because he can’t hurt anyone there. I’d hate for him to be intoxicated or on drugs while driving and hit a family. What would he do if he killed someone? What would we do if he killed himself? We’ve already lost a mom; I don’t wanna lose our dad. But in a way, he’s already gone.
My dad talks so loud I can hear him retell the story, and I have to give him credit; he has it memorized pretty well.