Make Me Believe Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AUTHOR BIO

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, places, media, and incidents are either the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referred to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods) without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 by Karen Ferry

  Stock Photos: Dollar Photo Club - https://us.dollarphotoclub.com/

  Formatting by: C. P. Smith

  Cover Designer: Louisa Maggio © LM Creations - http://lmbookcreations.wix.com/lm-creations

  Editor: The Fountain Pen

  Proofreading: M & M Beta Reads & Proofreading - https://www.facebook.com/mmbetareadsandproofreading?fref=ts

  Dedication

  To my grandmother, Ruth, for teaching me the love of the written word,

  and for being the wisest, sassiest, sharp-tongued Nan that I could ever hope for...

  I miss you every day...

  And to everyone who is filled with self-doubt, wondering if they will

  ever be able to free themselves from their pasts:

  This book is for you.

  Never stop believing in your hopes and dreams . . . or fairytales.

  Go after your own happy-ever-after . . .

  You are so much stronger than you think.

  Author’s Note

  While there are parts of this book that are inspired by true events, I feel that it is necessary to state that it is mostly a work of fiction. I am not Emma -- nor am I Daniel. True, many events taking place in #MMB did happen to me . . . but I hope you understand when I say that I will not divulge which.

  All of us probably have things we wish we could erase, or do over, when we think back on our lives, but what I hope that you will take to heart with my story is the fact that you must never stop believing in yourself or what you are able to achieve. That you have the ability to change your life even when you feel that it is spiralling out of control. And when things seem to go in the wrong direction, you will be able to find the strength from within to keep moving forward. This is your life: make the most of it.

  The past is the past. There is nothing you can do about it, but it does not have the power to define your future unless you give it the right to do so.

  Always move forward.

  Make each day count.

  And do not be afraid to ask for help when you need it.

  Thank you for reading my book. I hope that you will enjoy Emma and Daniel’s journey as they discover their paths in life.

  Much love,

  Karen Ferry

  Prologue

  The nightmare is back.

  It’s strange: I know I’m dreaming, yet I can’t seem to break free of it. It feels as if I’m standing a bit away from what’s happening . . . It’s as if I’m a spectator while at the same time perfectly aware of the fact that the little girl lying on the bed in the dream is me.

  I try to reach out to the girl as I feel her petrified stare pleading with me to help her . . . but I can’t lift my arms. I want to go to her . . . but I can’t move my feet. I want to comfort her with my voice, but when I open my mouth to speak, no sound comes out. I’m frozen in place; I’m helpless.

  When the girl begins to cry, tears form in my eyes. I let them fall, flowing silently down my cheeks. I want so much to fight for the girl, to help her in some way, but, again, I can’t. As I watch the girl’s struggle, my own torment sets in, and I push against the invisible bonds rooting me to the spot.

  I want to be free!

  I want to protect her!

  A scream starts forming in my throat, and sweat breaks out on my face. I can feel the scream building, trying to tear free. I keep trying to force my body to move, and, suddenly, the bonds are gone, and I fall to my knees. Then I look up, but it’s too late…

  I scream.

  Chapter 1

  I wake up, still screaming, except this time in real life. My body is covered in sweat, my heart beats frantically. The familiar nausea hits me, and I try desperately to disentangle my legs from the duvet.

  I finally succeed, and I rush to the bathroom, my hand covering my mouth. As I fall to the floor in front of the toilet, I start to vomit, and it goes on for a while. The images from my nightmare assault me as I throw up, but, as usual, I try to block them out. I do not want them! It is bad enough that they won’t leave me alone at night, I don’t need them to break free during the daylight hours as well.

  I shudder as dry heaves take over.

  Ugh, I hate this . . .

  At last, this morning’s vomiting spell is over, and I sit back on my heels, pushing my long, curly mahogany-brown hair off my clammy face. My hands are cold. In fact, now that I am fully awake, I take in how my entire body is shaking, and I am freezing. This is nothing new to me, of course, but I do not have to accept it, and I stand up and turn on the shower.

  As I wait for the water to get to the proper temperature -- and, mind you, it can take a while -- I brush my teeth vigorously.

  I don’t look in the mirror, though, because I know that I won’t like my appearance. My blue-grey eyes will seem lifeless, yet red from the crying. My freckles will be even more apparent than usual because my normally pale complexion will resemble that of a corpse.

  I finish brushing my teeth and turn to the shower when a voice asks from behind me:

  “Babe? You okay?”

  I slowly turn around and take in the fine specimen of a man standing in front of me, concern evident on his face. The guy is taller than me, but most people are, and he’s got wavy, sandy-brown hair down to his shoulders. He’s naked, and he has a nice body covered in ink, but whatever lust I acted out with him last night is absent now.

  Slowly, I can feel a bit of colour returning to my cheeks and I clear my throat to find my voice.

  “Listen . . . ,” -- blast, what’s his name again? -- “aah, I’m fine. It must’ve been something I
ate. Listen, I really want a shower, so can you please just let yourself out?” I feel the confident mask slip into place, and I revel in its familiarity. It comforts me.

  The guy’s lips twitches and his eyes appear to be laughing at me. “You don’t remember my name, do you?” he asks me, still standing in the doorway.

  Now I blush, trying to ignore the fact that I’m as naked as they come, something I don’t really like to be the morning after a night of sex. “No, sorry, I don’t,” I apologise.

  He shrugs as if he doesn’t mind and leans against the doorway. “Well, I guess we were rather drunk last night, so I don’t blame you. It’s Kristian.” He holds a hand out to me, and I can’t help but give him a small smile; this is ridiculous. Here we are, on an early Saturday morning, stark naked, having shared a very steamy night together, but we don’t know each other, and we won’t ever get to that point, because I won’t let it happen.

  Shaking his hand, I say, “Kristian. Well, it’s been fun, but I feel pretty awful, so . . . ?”

  He releases my hand quickly, like he’s been zinged, and runs it through his hair. “Right. I’ll get going, then. Hope you feel better soon. Thanks for last night.” A wicked grin plays on his mouth as he waggles his eyebrows, and I now remember why I brought him home with me: he has nice brown eyes, and a smile that’s sure to make plenty of girls’ knickers fall as quick as a heartbeat.

  Well, take me, for example: Exhibit A.

  I move back and start to close the door. “Get home safe, Kristian. It’s been . . . fun.” Then I’m alone. I quickly turn to the shower and pray there’s plenty of hot water left.

  As the water cascades down over my face and my body, I slowly begin to feel warm again, and the last remnants of the nightmare leave me. At least until the next time.

  Thinking back on my hook-up with Kristian last night, I snort and shake my head. I’d been to a posh club downtown, sipping on a drink at the bar when he’d sat down beside me, and told me his name before offering to buy me a new one.

  “I buy my own drinks, thank you.” I’d smiled cheekily at him while taking another sip of my gin & tonic.

  He chuckled and waved a finger at the bartender standing close by.

  “Well, then,” Kristian said. “May I join you?”

  I placed a hand on his arm, subtly leaning my body closer to his, pushing out my boobs in the process.

  “Of course. I like the look of you.”

  Kristian blinked before bursting out with laughter, and I smiled confidently at him, satisfied with my choice for the night.

  He turned his body closer to mine and then asked if I wanted to dance with him. Instead of answering him, I stood up, took his hand in mine and lead him onto the dance floor, picking a perfect spot amidst other young, drunk people that were out to have a good time. I turned and put my arms around his neck, shamelessly plastering my body to his, and when he put his arms around my waist, I made sure to run my fingers through his longish hair as we became lost in the music pulsing around us. It didn’t take long before I let the beat of the music take over, and, as usual, the alcohol flowing through my body helped loosening me up, and I became bolder. When I ran my tongue lightly up his neck, he hummed, grabbing my arse while pressing his erection into my tummy, and I knew then that I’d found the man who would be able to dull the need in me for sex.

  Men can be so easy. All I have to do to catch their attention is to act with confidence, bat my eyes a bit, and stop holding back from touching their bodies even if I don’t particular enjoy that part in the beginning of my seduction. Once I’m lost in the throes of passion, it’s a different story altogether, because I have one goal in mind alone. Chasing the fire coursing through my veins until I reach the end, my need quenched once more.

  Kristian was no different than the rest of them, but I have to admit that he left me feeling more satisfied, physically that is, than many of them have done in the past.

  I open the door to the bathroom and turn the corner into my small kitchen, and I find a note on the counter next to the coffee machine. A small sigh escapes me as I move closer, because I’m almost certain of the words I’ll find jotted down there.

  I continue to dry my hair with a towel as I pick up the note. It says,

  “I thought you might want some coffee when you finished your shower.

  I’d like to see you again, Emma, so please ring me . . .

  --Kristian.”

  I don’t even bother to look at the phone number scrawled below his name before crumbling the note and throwing it away in the bin under the kitchen sink. I know I won’t see Kristian again, because that’s not what I do: one night, one hook up, and that’s all you’ll ever get from me.

  Still, it’s nice that he went to the trouble of making me coffee. As I take the first sip, I imagine my mum’s voice berating me, “How on earth can you bear to drink that without any sugar or milk?”

  And for the first time this morning, I feel more like myself again.

  I move into my small bedroom-slash-living room, ignoring the state of the bed for now, and go to the windows overlooking the common lawn. Dawn is breaking, and I open the door leading out to my balcony, breathing in the fresh air.

  As I stare at the sun and listen to the birds waking up, I whisper, “Because tea is for the innocents, and I haven’t been innocent for a really long time, mum . . . ”

  Sipping on my coffee, I think back on the past year, and a sense of contentment fills me. This small flat finally feels like a home to me even though I miss my parents back in Oxford in the UK. Deciding to become a foreign exchange student at the University of Copenhagen wasn’t an easy decision to make, something that still baffles my mum in particular a great deal. Why the heck would I leave my own country and move to Denmark, of all places?

  Good question. And I’m not too sure I know the answer myself. All I know is that I needed to leave my past behind, thus my country, but I didn’t want to be too far away from my mum and dad. I mean, they’re only a couple of flight hours away, so, really, it’s not so bad. Plus, the university has some pretty interesting courses to a student of English such as me. The climate is pretty much the same as in the UK, so I don’t really feel too homesick that often.

  Leaning my back on the door to my balcony, I take in my home away from home. I rent a one-bedroom flat on the outskirts of the city centre which is owned by the university. Its best features are a) the big closet that covers an entire wall, and b) the bathroom. There’s no bath, but it’s newly renovated, the walls are painted a soft dove-grey, and it just feels very . . . .peaceful. Yes, well, I do spend a lot of time there, so maybe that’s just silly of me to think so. I also love the private gardens and that it only takes about 10 minutes by train to get to the city. It’s easy and convenient.

  Squinting my eyes, I look to the wall farthest to the right, and my good mood takes a plummet. The only downside to such a small flat is the fact that I don’t have a real bed; no, instead, I sleep on a pull-out sofa. I know that it’s convenient, what with my place being the size that it is, but it’s really uncomfortable. I’m not too sure my body appreciates it, either, but it can’t be helped. Alas, such is the life of a poor student: sacrifices must be made.

  I have a brother, Steven, who is five years older than me. Growing up, we weren’t exactly close; in fact, we fought like cats and dogs all the time. I don’t miss him like I miss my parents, and we only exchange sporadic, casual texts every few months. In some really weird way, I suppose I feel obligated to keep in touch with him, but I’d actually much rather just forget he exists. After all, we don’t have anything in common, so why bother keeping up the pretenses?

  When I’m not attending classes, I spend a lot of my time with the one close friend I’ve managed to get here in Denmark. Her name’s Suzanne, and she’s my complete opposite: she laughs a lot, has the best fashion sense ever, and she’s always on the run, busy with some kind of project. More importantly, though, is the fact that she always seems
able to know when there are things I don’t want to talk about. She simply lets me be even though I know it must be frustrating for her. One day, I’ll explain my reasons to her, but not just yet . . .

  Seeing as I’m mostly here on scholarships, I have to work when I’m not studying; living expenses are quite high, and I’ve managed to find a job in a small bookshop called “Andersen’s Books”. I work there a couple of hours every day, except on Sundays when it’s closed, and I absolutely love it. I was a bit worried when I first got here, what with the language barrier, but after taking a couple of language courses, not forgetting Suzanne’s help as well, I can really feel that my vocabulary has improved while working at the shop. Also, the customers seem to understand my need for them to ask their questions a bit more slowly sometimes, and I really appreciate it.

  Kristian enters my thoughts again . . . he really was a nice bloke. There are times, such as this morning, when I wonder if my single status should change, but as I take the final sip of my coffee, I dismiss it as always. I don’t do relationships . . . It’s just not for me, so let’s leave it at that. I’m sure you’re now thinking that my story is a typical one, but like I said earlier, you don’t have a clue.

  Chapter 2

  Despite the usual nightmare, and the fact that I’m a bit hungover, there’s a certain air about this morning that makes me smile. I can’t put my finger on it, but I can feel that this is going to be a really good day. Maybe it’s just because it’s summer and the weather is nice and warm without a cloud in the sky as far as I can see. No, it doesn’t have to do with Kristian. He scratched an itch, nothing more.

  I rush to the bus stop around the corner which will take me to the nearest train station. I could walk, of course, but I don’t have the time. I hate being late! I can’t stand it, and I usually time it so that I’m at least five minutes early to every appointment or class. If I fail in getting ready on time, I almost break out in a cold sweat. Sounds nuts, doesn’t it? Well, that’s me for you: a bit nutty. Bonkers. Mad. A control freak. Whatever you want to call it.