Not Enough

ABOUT THE BOOK

Neve Colvin isn’t good enough. As an introvert, her life is a never-ending list of labels and criticism. Pressures to change come from everyone—including the one person she thought would love her unconditionally … her mother. All Neve wants is acceptance, but surrounded by extroverts it’s a wish that’s nearly impossible to fulfil.

For Neve there’s only one solution: anyone disapproving must go. Even if it means only one person will remain.

That person is her lifelong friend Blake Reynolds. He’s seen the fights with her mum, the breakdowns caused by attacks on her personality, and the battles for acceptance. Each time she is left shattered and questioning who she is, he’s the one to collect the pieces of her broken heart. Shielding her from the cruelty is his only concern. But how can he protect her when Neve is concealing a secret so dark?

Blake thinks he knows everything about her, and with their relationship developing, he assumes Neve trusts him fully. However, there is one memory Neve is too ashamed of to share. Revealing it will test Blake’s loyalty beyond what she could ever ask, and Blake is the only friend she can’t afford to lose. He’s the one person capable of dragging her from the darkness plaguing her, but with pressures to conform increasing, even Blake may not be enough to pull her back this time.

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DEDICATION

For anyone who has ever been told they’re too quiet, too shy, or not good enough.

NOT ENOUGH

PROLOGUE

From: Neve Colvin

To: Neve Colvin

One word, four letters. It sticks in my throat and refuses to come out. Maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe I’m just scared. But it’s normal to be scared, right? Saying that word isn’t something a person should undertake lightly. Once the word is out, it can’t be reclaimed. Once it’s said it becomes real and actions must follow.

Words can hurt—I should know that well by now. They cut deeper than a knife, and the wounds last longer even if they’re invisible. Some people will show off scars like they’re a trophy, telling you the story behind each and every one no matter how boring or traumatic the event was. The scars are like a brand to them, and I’m thankful that the ones left by your words aren’t visible to the naked eye for everyone to gawp at.

It doesn’t take a psychopath, murderer, or unstable person to hurl words that are meant to maim. Anyone can, and anyone does. They cut to the core, repeatedly stabbing and twisting deeper into the heart. They play with peoples’ minds and no one can see the consequences until it’s too late. A person can take a lot of verbal abuse, but there’s always a limit.

Everyone breaks.

Everyone crumbles.

Like a riverbank that is battered repeatedly by the water, bits of me have been chipped off and worn away. If you could see inside of me you’d notice I’m no longer whole, but rather a scratched and scarred person who’s been pieced back together too many times. I’m ugly on the inside. Fragments are missing, wounds are both fresh and old; I’m bleeding and I can’t stop your latest comments from slicing me open and adding to the unusual piece of artwork.

I’ve weathered a lot of attacks, but I’ve finally reached my limit.

Saying it should be easy. You’ve destroyed everything I’ve been working for, shattered every dream, and broken the person I want to be. You’ve pushed me beyond my limit, yet I can’t do it. I feel weak because of it. It makes me hate myself more. That you have this kind of control over me when you don’t even care isn’t right, but it is what it is.

A part of me wants to say it. I want to convince myself it’s the best solution. After all, you’re never going to change, are you? What’s the point in sticking around to suffer more?

Regardless, sitting here with salty tears dripping from my face I gaze out at the horizon through blurred eyes. I haven’t been able to stop them since I ran out on you. My eyeliner has long since stopped marking me with black trails, I’m now just blotchy … a mess. My sleeves are incapable of drying my face, too wet to be of any use, and I only have one tissue on me. Not that my body cares. The wounds ripping open inside of me all over again refuse to allow the tears to stop, and in a way I don’t want them to. It’s cathartic … the only way I can release what you’ve done to me.

A chilly, evening breeze hits my back and sends a shiver down my spine. It stirs the edges of my zip-up hoodie, causing them to whip at my sides. Tendrils of hair stick to my face from the water trails. The pieces that have escaped that fate swarm around my head like a cluster of snakes. As strands catch my face in the wind, it’s like they’re adding more poison to my already broken mind. I just wish they’d numb it.

You did this. It’s all your fault.

You’re responsible for making me come out here to write this. I’m sitting here, looking down at the river, watching as the current batters the water against the rocks and wondering if it would feel as bad as what you’ve done. The amount of water makes my tears seem small in comparison. In fact, my whole life seems small. Because that’s what you think, isn’t it? It’s what everyone thinks of me: that I’m weird, don’t fit in, don’t act normally. My choices aren’t good enough for anyone. I was meant to have a chance like you said, but you couldn’t even give me that. Instead you broke the one thing I wanted more than anything, making it impossible.

I knew you were mean, but I didn’t think you’d go that far.

It’s not something you have to repeat on a daily basis either. I know I’m not the daughter you wanted. I get that I’m a disappointment and fail you at every turn, but it’s not something I strive for.

All I want is to be accepted for who I am, but you can’t …

One word, four letters. That’s all it is. Four tiny letters and everything will be solved for me.

I’m gazing out at the setting sun again as it descends in the sky, almost touching the horizon. Something about the crimson colour is urging me to fight. It’s penetrating my icy heart and reaching the emotions that I’ve locked away because I was scared to let them loose, stirring them into a rage. Ignoring them was meant to make my decision easier. If I’m numb then it should be simpler. Yet I can’t do it. You’ve broken me in so many ways, but part of me still wants to fight … to prove you wrong. I’ve never been someone who looks for the easy option, and I refuse to start now.

I can’t say it.

I can’t allow you to win.

I have more to live for than that. That’s the difference between us … I’m sure enough of myself to strike out on my own. I may be all of the things you say, but I’m never going to change myself to fit in with your view of how a person should be.

This is the lowest you’ll ever bring me. I promise you I’ll never sink to this point again and I’ll do everything in my power to keep that.

I will not let you ruin my life. Your words will not cut me and I will prove you wrong.

That single word is no longer a thought inside of my mind because I know I’m enough.

I will not jump.

CHAPTER ONE

Neve

One Month Later

Move in with me, Blake says, causing me to choke on the mouthful of lime milkshake I’ve just sucked up through my straw. He states it as easily as if he is declaring he wants chips for lunch, and when I splutter his lips twitch in amusement. I bang on my chest; not that it does much to help, but my hands need something to do. The drink lodges in my throat, refusing to go down, and for once I’m thankful for my teary eyes and lack of speech—it gives me time to think.

Are you okay?

Yeah … Just give me a minute … I squeak around the last few coughs and take a small sip to wash everything down at last. When my breathing has returned to normal and my heart has settled, I finally look up at Blake.

All good? His dark brown eyes are shining with humour, twinkling in the midday sun. He loves to tease me and I can’t tell if this is another wind up.

I think so. I cough once more. What were you saying?

Blake rolls his eyes. You heard me the first time, which is why you sound like you’ve smoked a packet a day for years and were heaving up a lung a minute ago.

I want to smack him, but can’t decide on a target. It is a close call between his face to wipe away the smug smirk, or kicking him under the table. I’ll leave you to guess what I’d be aiming at. However, I do neither. I love him really and I’m not going to start a war I can’t win over something trivial.

He stares at me, an eyebrow arched in curiosity as I have yet to answer him. So what do you think?

You want me to move in with you?

"Well, I’m not sure I want you to. You drive me crazy and we don’t agree on anything, but it sounded like something a best friend should offer in a situation like this." He can barely contain the laughter in his voice, and this time I can’t stop my hand. Rising above the table from where they were twisting on my lap, I reach across and hit his arm. The action causes him to burst, letting out a deep laugh that only makes the frown on my forehead more prominent.

"So you don’t want me to move in?" He’s confusing me, and despite having known him my whole life, I can’t figure out what he means.

Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.

But you just said—

Yep, I said you drive me insane, which is true.

What I have to put up with is so much worse. You’ve never had to listen to yourself. If you did you wouldn’t be sitting there grinning; you’d feel sorry for me and probably question why I have stuck around so long.

First of all, I’m amazing and you know it. Your life would be dull without me. Secondly, I listen to myself all the time. In fact, I have great conversations with myself when no one else will listen, so you are mistaken. I’m not annoying, even in the slightest.

I shake my head in despair at his logic. There’s a reason you have to talk to yourself so much.

Yeah, because so much awesomeness is hard to be around for long periods of time. People are awed by my presence and can only handle me in small doses.

Sure … I say dubiously, but the corners of my lips refuse to remain straight. My smile never seems to be absent around Blake.

You don’t sound convinced.

I hold my hands up in the air like I’m surrendering. I’m not going to burst your bubble. If that’s what you want to believe, far be it for me to diminish your amazingly annoying attitude, I continue, and by the look on his face he thought I was going to agree with him for a moment. The victory in his eyes fades, and he throws a chocolate chip from his giant cookie at me.

You’ll admit it one day, and when you do I’ll get it on film.

I wish I had even an ounce of Blake’s confidence when it comes to myself. Sure, I can joke about him, but the truth is I would love to be able to say the things he does and get away with not sounding like a cocky asshole. Actually, I would settle for being able to say them and sounding like a cocky asshole if it meant people would stop criticising me for being quiet and anti-social.

Neve? Blake dips his head so he can look into my eyes and I focus on the table, not wanting him to read the thoughts that are probably all over my face.

Hmm? Taking another sip of my milkshake, I watch the pale green liquid fill the straw before the creamy lime flavour coats my taste buds.

What’s wrong? You were fine a second ago. You know I was only messing with you.

I swallow. Of course I know you weren’t being serious. I haven’t known you my whole life without picking up a few things.

I could say the same thing …

How can I argue that point? If there is one person who can see through all of my fronts and acts to get to the real me, it’s Blake. Having been through all of each other’s problems—teen rebellions, weird phases, first loves, first heartbreaks … everything—there isn’t one thing we don’t know about each other. Well, at least that’s what I allow him to think. There is one thing he doesn’t know about. I’ve told him the basics, but he doesn’t know the extent of the problem and I’m not about to fill him in now. Revealing what is really going on inside of my screwed up mind is a sure way to end our friendship, and I know I can’t survive without Blake in my life. He’s the one person who’s never judged me. Since the first day I met him, he’s accepted me for who I am and his loyalty has never faltered. He is the only person I can count on and it’s that fact that leads me to brush away all of my thoughts and force happiness into my features.

It’s nothing, I swear. I’m fine, see? I point at my exaggerated, toothy grin.

Blake raises his eyebrows at me. He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I can feel it. He’s opening his mouth to say something when I beat him to it. So were you being serious?

About what? Throwing a chunk of cookie into his mouth, he then moves to take a drink of his coffee. How he drinks the black liquid is beyond me; its bitter taste and overpowering smell are disgusting. He’s only managed to convince me to drink it once, and I put nearly a quarter of a bag of sugar in it until it was a thick syrup. Even then I hated it.

About moving in with you.

Of course. Why would I joke about it?

I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that because we both know winding me up is something you love.

Yeah, but you know I’d never do it about something like this, especially when it’s linked to the issues with your mum. I wouldn’t dare hurt you like that. All signs of humour disappear. His lips are set in a firm line and his are eyes serious while he stares at me to make sure he can see I believe him. He actually sounds slightly offended that I would think he’s capable of something like that.

I know you wouldn’t, I didn’t mean to imply that. Your offer just shocked me.

Well the room’s yours if you want it. I need someone to cover Robbie’s half of the rent anyway. Just like that all of the tension that had appeared is gone and we’re back to normal.

Dare I ask? Blake seems to go through roommates quicker than Usain Bolt can run the hundred metres. There is always someone moving into his apartment and then moving out shortly after.

I wasn’t having my house turned into a drug den. He had to go.

"Wow, really?"

Yep, didn’t even try to hide his stash from me. Left it out on the coffee table for all to see.

For once I actually agree with his reasoning. Usually I’ll tease him for kicking the person out and add a line to my running tally. I also keep a list of my favourite reasons because they make me laugh at the randomness. To name a few of the less valid reasons as to why people were sent packing:

1) The Gecko Incident: the roommate’s pet gecko found its way into Blake’s bed and ruined his plans when his latest date found it and left the building screaming.

2) Frying Pan and Potato Tennis: Blake came home to find the guy and his friend using pans to play tennis with a potato across the room. They narrowly avoided smashing his TV, but not the window.

3) The Workout Freak: the guy emptied all of the food in the house and replaced it with stuff he considered healthy. It was all disgusting and Blake couldn’t stand it. I was sure there was a bit more involved with this story, but had never been able to find out what. It was also a shame to see this guy go because he wasn’t bad to look at.

So what do you think?

I’m still mulling over the idea when someone throws their arms around my neck, their body pressing into my back.

Guess who! a shout rings in my ear, so high-pitched I swear it’s burst my ear drum. On instinct my body tenses at the sudden interruption and contact. I try to let out a laugh like I don’t mind, but it comes out breathy and nervous, and from Blake’s concerned gaze I guess my eyes are wide in panic.

I know who’s grabbed me, the overpowering scent of Chanel perfume is enough of a clue, but it isn’t enough to stop me flinching from her touch. Hey, Cece, what are you doing here? I start to relax enough to get the words out when she unwraps her arms and moves to stand at the side of the table where I can see her.

She gives Blake a flirty, but brief, smile and wave before turning her attention to me. "Oh my God, what are you drinking?"

A milkshake.

Then why is it the same colour as my face masks? she cries, revolted.

It’s lime flavour.

It’s disgusting. Her face screws up, her eyes narrowing, and lines appear on the bridge of her nose. As she watches me, the familiar churning in my stomach starts to turn with the fear I’m not good enough once more. Like someone has tied a brick to my good mood and thrown it in a lake, it sinks through my body, only leaving behind a worry that I’m doing something wrong and weird.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. It’s my favourite flavour, but I only order it when I’m around Blake or on my own, for reasons Cece just proved. I even like the colour, but that isn’t something she’d understand because it doesn’t conform to how she views things. Cece is a conventional banana, chocolate, or strawberry person.

Seriously, that’s gross and looks like something out of my beauty kit. Can you not see what you’re drinking?

I sigh. Cece is someone who’s moved up through high school, college, and uni with me. We’ve known each other a while and have become friends, but she has no filter when it comes to her opinions—especially about me—so I wouldn’t say we’re close. However, the fact that she is one of the few people who made the effort to stay in contact with me means I tolerate her attitude. Despite what people think of me, I do actually like some girl-time every now and then.

Did you want something, Cece? Blake asks drawing her attention to him, and I send him a silent thank you for refocusing the conversation.

"I was going out to buy a new dress and saw you here. Seeing as you haven’t replied to any of my texts, I thought I’d tell you in person."

Tell me what? I know exactly what she’s going to say. I’ve read all of the texts, but decided silence was the best response seeing as I have no plausible excuse. I shouldn’t need one, but ‘I don’t want to’ is hard to admit to someone as confident and boisterous as Cece. Regardless, Cece isn’t good at picking up on hints and she won’t take no for an answer … no matter what I say.

I’m going out clubbing tonight and you’re coming with me.

My heart starts to pound in my chest, and my brain begins overloading while trying to figure a way out of the situation. Cece knows I hate clubs—the loud noise, drunk people, and invasion of personal space, not to mention having to let go of all inhibitions and dance—but she proceeds to drag me to them at every opportunity because it is what she thinks I should be doing at the age of twenty-one. In fact, the whole of society is with her on that one.

I can’t, I’m busy. I have this family thing. Sorry. I hate that I feel the need to make up an excuse, but it’s easier than admitting the truth and it generates less questions about my personality. Even if she doesn’t care about me when I’m there, guilt still chips away at me for not liking clubs. It’s one of the many things that are unacceptable about me. According to everyone but Blake I don’t socialise and have fun enough.

No you don’t, you’re coming with me. You can come, too, if you want, Blake, she adds, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder to glance across at him.

Can’t, I’ve got a date.

Cece’s expression drops instantly and she doesn’t have time to cover the surprise or annoyance. Blake is the typical guy every girl wants, including Cece. At six foot three he is an attractive wall of muscle. He also has an endearing personality that draws everyone in. I wouldn’t say he was a player as he doesn’t do flings, but he’s never short of a date if he needs or wants one. Oh well … have fun … Cece mutters before turning back to me. I’ll pick you up at nine.

She doesn’t give me time to argue. Turning on her heels she sashays from the café, making sure to add a sway to her steps for what I assume is Blake’s sake. Not that he’s looking.

You know you don’t have to go, right? Just tell her no.

Uh … have you met Cece? She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

Just saying. It’s your choice, Neve; she can’t force you to go.

Yeah, she can. The only thing she can’t force me to do is have a good time. I let out a deep sigh and pick at the ends of my hair, not wanting to be around anyone anymore. If I’m going to be dragged out I need time to myself first to prepare. I also need to warn my mum not to lock the door when she goes to bed. The thought causes me to sigh again, imagining that she’ll be all too pleased that ‘her baby is finally going out and acting like a normal person she doesn’t have to be ashamed of’.

Come on, I’ll walk you home.

I hum in acceptance. I would have said more, but that would only confirm what he was thinking and I hate that he can read me so well. Instead, leaving the half-drunk milkshake on the table—it no longer has the same appeal after Cece—we both stand and leave the building.

So are you going to answer my question about moving in?