Authors: Kathryn R. Biel

Killing Me Softly (24 page)

I'm the worst kind of girl there is. Even worse than a whore. I'm a cock tease. I know I have no intention of putting out, but I don't let the guy know that. I'll keep it going until I get what I want, and then I cut him loose. But the fitted shirt, exposed cleavage, and a butt wiggle go a long way. Yeah, I know it's wrong that I trade in on my looks. But frankly, it's the only commodity I have at this point. No family. No home. I dropped out of college. Not by choice, of course, but I'm a dropout nonetheless. I hated my major—business administration. It wasn't my cup of tea. Doesn't matter either way. No money, no tuition, no place to live. College was last on the priority list.

I never wanted to be a business major in the first place. When I was a kid, I wanted to own a fabric store. Silly, I know, but the solace I found surrounded by bolts and bolts of fabric was virtually indescribable. Even now, if I watch
Project Runway
or some bridal show, all I can think about is running my fingers over the fabric. When I was in high school, I thought I'd go to nursing school. That was before my mom got sick, and I realized I don't do well with sickness. My guidance counselor took one look at me, told me I was too pretty to be a nurse, and that business was a "more appropriate" field for "a girl like me." It took me a few years to figure out that he meant I was only good for my looks and should be a pretty hood ornament for some bigwig somewhere. Maybe he thought I'd meet someone in college. Yeah, no.

I wasn't always like this. I used to be nice. I used to care. Caring has gotten me nowhere and given me nothing but heartache. It's easier to be this way. No one can hurt me. Still, sometimes I miss the person I used to be.

As the evening winds down, I hear the wait staff and bartenders talking about a party they're going to. If I'm walking by, their voices drop to a hush so I can't hear. The last thing they want is for me to ask to join them. Like I would.

The servers tolerate me. They're not my friends. They're a bunch of wannabe stars and career failures. I know they talk about me behind my back. Let's face it, they think I'm a bitch. Mostly because I am. I'm not nice. I'm not sweet. I only do something for you if you do something for me first. In fact, my motto, which I'm proud to tell everyone, is, "What's in it for me?" I don't care if they're slammed or having a bad day or their back hurts. I'll seat you when it's your turn dammit. Piss me off and you won't get any tables. It doesn't bother me that they don't like me. Which is so funny, considering how desperately I tried to fit in back home. How much I wanted to belong. To be popular.

Now I don't give a shit, and I'm the cat's fucking meow.

By the end of the night, I'm tired. I guess passing out on the bathroom floor doesn't make for a restful night's sleep. I usually spend Friday nights at Chase's city apartment. I wonder why he brought me home. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was blacked out drunk. Again. The rest of the staff leaves in small groups of two or three, talking and laughing, looking forward to a fun time still to be had. I doubt Meadow will be home yet, if she comes home at all. On the way back to the apartment, I pick up a bottle of Grey Goose. Even though I'm tired, I'll never be able to fall asleep. Illuminated in the eye-straining florescent lights of the liquor store, it sort of occurs to me that I may have a problem with alcohol. I can't remember the last time I went a full day without drinking at least some. Slapping my money down on the counter, I rush out before I can explore these thoughts any longer.

I don't have a problem. It's totally normal to have a little nightcap after a long day's work. And so what if I like to party? I'm twenty-four. It's what twenty-four-year-olds do. They have fun. Life is short; this I know. I need to make every moment count. You're not guaranteed a tomorrow; I want to have lived life to the fullest.

It never occurs to me that it's my own behavior that could keep tomorrow from coming.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Michele Vagianelis, my best friend and sounding board, you make all of this possible. Thank you for your brilliance.

I saw a Facebook meme recently that said, "Behind every successful woman is a tribe of other successful women who have her back." I have found this to be 100 percent true. My beta team is the best: Becky Monson, Jayne Denker, Celia Kennedy, Tracy Krimmer, Aven Ellis, Cahren Morris, and Heidi Simon. Thank you for all your insight, feedback, and suggestions. My online writing groups, the Writing Wenches and ChickLitChatHQ continue to give me the strength, encouragement, and wisdom to make this possible.

Becky Monson once again put together a beautiful cover for me. This time it wasn't nearly as painful. Oh, Becky—I'm still waiting for those cookies.

Wendy Nagel, thank you for being my friend and making me stretch to write a better book. Together, we got this (and there is a masseuse in our future).

Thank you Karen Pirozzi for being my editor extraordinaire. I'm trying to reduce your red-pen carpal tunnel. I really am.

My family continues to be my strength and my rock. Mom, Dad, Patrick, Jake, and Sophia, you make this all possible and worthwhile.

And to my fans, thank you. I never, ever imagined that my words would inspire, touch, or help anyone. Thank you for your support. I hope you enjoy this.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Telling stories of resilient women, Kathryn Biel hails from upstate New York and is a spouse and mother of two wonderful and energetic kids. In between being Chief Home Officer and Director of Child Development of the Biel household, she works as a school-based physical therapist. She attended Boston University and received her Doctorate in Physical Therapy from The Sage Colleges. After years of writing countless letters of medical necessity for wheelchairs, finding increasingly creative ways to encourage the government and insurance companies to fund her clients' needs, and writing entertaining annual Christmas letters, she decided to take a shot at writing the kind of novel that she likes to read. Her musings and rants can be found on her personal blog, Biel Blather. She is the author of
Good Intentions
(2013),
Hold Her Down
(2014),
I'm Still Here
(2014),
Jump, Jive, and Wail
(2015),
Killing Me Softly
(2015),
Completions and Connections: A Romantic Holiday Novella
(2015), and
Live For This
(2016).