Be Your Downfall (Be Yours Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Be Your Downfall

  The Be Yours Trilogy #1

  Lizzie Fox

  Copyright © 2019 by Lizzie Fox

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by LKO Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For all those fighting wars with their minds… keep on fighting. We need you all here. Don’t ever give up, don’t stop fighting. We’re all in this together.

  Contents

  Note from the Author…

  Prologue

  Prologue 2

  1. Jessalie Lightman-Reynolds

  2. Seth Lewis Archer

  3. Jessalie

  4. Seth

  5. Jessalie

  6. Seth

  7. Jessalie

  8. Seth

  9. Seth

  10. Jessalie

  11. Seth

  12. Jessalie

  13. Seth

  14. Jessalie

  15. Seth

  16. Jessalie

  17. Seth

  18. Jessalie

  19. Seth

  20. Jessalie

  21. Seth

  22. Jessalie

  23. Seth

  24. Jessalie

  25. Seth

  26. Jessalie

  27. Seth

  28. Jessalie

  29. Seth

  30. Seth

  31. Jessalie

  32. Jessalie

  33. Jessalie

  34. Seth

  35. Jessalie

  36. Seth

  37. Jessalie

  38. Seth

  39. Jessalie

  IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW NEEDS HELP…

  About the Author

  PLAYLIST FOR THE BE YOURS TRILOGY

  Other books by Lizzie Fox/Sariah Skye

  Note from the Author…

  Dear Reader,

  Be Your Downfall is a male/female romance story between two characters forming a relationship while dealing with mental illness.

  It depicts depression, self-harm, and discussions of suicide. If these are triggering topics for you, read carefully.

  Xoxo,

  Lizzie

  You came into my life without warning, and you had my heart before I could say “no”.

  Prologue

  Seth

  “Dude. Are you all right?”

  Choking down the bile rising in my throat, I blinked repeatedly as I turned to my friend and bandmate, Wes. “Huh?” I swiped the back of my hand over my forehead, swiping off the perspiration there in an attempt to hide the anxiety I was currently feeling.

  “Archer…man you look like you’re going to be sick.” Wes clasped a hand on my bare shoulder. I’m sure it was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but just the slight touch was enough to make me want to squirm and crawl out of my skin. Already I felt like my bones and muscles were about five sizes too big for the rest of my body, and my skin felt tense and taut like a drum. I violently shuddered, the motion shaking the acid in my stomach and urging it upward. I pressed my fingers to my mouth, gagging, trying to choke down the sensation before I lost it.

  Wes peeled his hand away, and I could barely tell through my tunnel-vision that he looked incredibly concerned, which meant things were bad since Wes was generally only interested about one thing: getting laid. He didn’t notice anything else. So, if he was concerned, I was in a bad, bad way.

  I leaned back against the wall of the—what the fuck was this anyway? Looked like a break room. Tables everywhere, posters… but it was the “backstage” area for the bar we were performing at, The Lagoona Blue. Not the band’s first performance, but my first performance as lead singer. Shit, my first performance period. I’d done things in high school but I was more behind the scenes then. This is my first time as a lead singer; all eyes on me.

  So being a lead vocalist in an actual band when I had stage fright? Good idea. Well, stage fright… and… a number of other fucking things.

  Basically, I was a mess.

  “I don’t think I can do this.” I had been hanging on to my guitar for dear life, the strings of the white “Fender” knock-off imprinting themselves into my fingers as I gripped the neck. I raked a hand through my chin length hair and gripped the roots tightly, hoping the pain would help bring me out of my impending panic attack. It didn’t. Only one thing helped that… and I wasn’t going to get away with that with Wes and the guys here…

  “Yes you can, man. You’re so fucking good—everyone is going to love you. You’ll see,” Eric Wolfe, the lead guitarist said. I know he was trying to be encouraging—but right now the sound of his voice made me want to punch him in the face. I did scowl at him though.

  “Fuckers, just give him a few minutes. All right?” Wes said. Eric and the other three band members gave me a concerned look, and then each other before leaving. “What’s going on? You seemed fine at rehearsal.”

  “I’ve never performed in front of people before. And…” I didn’t want to add all my “issues” sort of compacted and made this stage fright worse, but I didn’t need to. He knew.

  “Can I get you a drink? Calm your nerves?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t really drink alcohol. Though, it sure would be nice to feel a bit numb right now.

  “Fuck man… you’re sweating and… panting. Should I—” Wes began, meaning he was wondering if he should call someone. Like a doctor. I needed another hospital stay like I needed a hole in my head, so I dismissed that idea with an awkward wave. Instead I pressed back against the wall, hoping the cool surface of it would help calm me; it didn’t. I trembled, fingers absentmindedly strumming chaos on the strings; it sounded about as disjointed as I felt. “Dude, I used to get this way too.”

  I cocked a brow. “But you’re the drummer. Yeah they see you but—you’re not their main focus.”

  “Hey fuck you man. I can sing too,” he said with insult and I snorted.

  “Yeah okay, you can. You know what I mean.” And I knew he could, actually. I’d met Wes in high school, and he was my only remaining friend from that time. Or anyone that presently new about my long, sordid history with… well, everything. We’d met in band and music classes together—even though he was three years ahead of me. I never had the guts to do music professionally or amateurly, but Wes did. He’d been in several bands since graduating, and always tried to get me to join them when he wasn’t working as a tattoo artist in Minneapolis. I always declined, but this time I’d been stuck in a shitty, dead-end, unfulfilling factory job. I was miserable, he knew it, and I went for it this time, and joined Fever Pitch. Right now, I was currently wondering why. Factory work was tedious as fuck but it was stable, and that’s what I needed. There was nothing stable about singing in random bars and dives like this. What the fuck was I thinking?

  “Dude, Archer, you’re spacing out.” I flinched as Wes gently tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Right, sorry.”

  “You’re going to be fine, just do what I say. What I used to do is find a spot in the room—wherever. A poster. A light. Whatever. And just sing to that. If I just focused on that and pretended there was no one else there I could get through it. After the first song or two it gets much better, I promise,” Wes said. “If that doesn’t work, picture everyone naked.”

  “That never works. Besides what if there is a hot chick out there? That’d give me a whole new set of fucking problems.” I shook my head with a partially amused scowl. “That’s just… no.”

  We
s slapped the side of my arm gently. I tried not to balk, but any touch right now just made me want to cringe. “Sorry. But hey—better a boner than barf, don’t you think?”

  “Fuck…” Shaking my head I swiped my hand over my face. “Right.”

  “Just try it.”

  I nodded slowly, relenting to his advice. Swallowing down a sour lump that hurt, straight down into my stomach that made my skin clammy, I looked at him and asked, “Do you mind if I just have a few minutes? I’ll be there just… I need a minute.”

  “Sure, you got it.” Wes gave me one more concerned look before leaving, and I was alone.

  As soon as he was gone I peered out the door, making sure he was gone. I heard footsteps, but they were in the hallway in the distance. Quickly before anyone could come in and stop me, I peeled off the guitar strap, and set the instrument on a table. My leather jacket hung nearby, and I reached in the pocket for my wallet. Glancing around once more to make sure no one was here, I slid the small razor blade in a brown cardboard sleeve out, and held it in between my thumb and finger, giving it a dirty look. Was I really going to go down this road again?

  Feeling my stomach roil and my flesh crawl, I knew that without a doubt yes, yes I was. I just needed to get through this night. It would be better after this, and I wouldn’t have to do it again. I wouldn’t. It was just a coping mechanism. Next time I’d find something better.

  I rolled down the long, black sleeve that I covered my forearm with to hide the scars. Furrowing my brow, I picked out an inconspicuous spot along the edge of one of my tattoos; ironically of a knife. No artery there, it just needs to be quick…one, two, three, and relief. And no one would notice it eventually. Not like all the others.

  Clenching my face tight and my eyes closed, I stripped the little cardboard off the blade and set it aside. I can’t believe I’m doing this. The fuck is my problem? I’m such an idiot.

  Before I could second guess myself again, I poised the blade over the skin of my arm, pressed it in and quickly in a split second, swiped it over. It scraped swiftly and dug into my skin and flesh, hurting sharply for a split second as the blood began to heat and pool at the fresh cut. I blew out a relaxed breath, finally, feeling some of the tension leave my body as I concentrated on the painful sensation on my arm. The pain pulled me away from the nerves, edged out the crawling feeling under my skin, and relaxed me. Or at least, reminded me to stop thinking about it. I just thought about the pain and the way the blood felt as it collected and started to drip down my arm.

  The wound pulsed gently, and it warmed even more; the effect was… comforting. Stupid as it sounded.

  When the blood started to drip to the ground, I quickly and sheepishly clamped my other hand over it. The squeezing heightened the pain a bit more, and also helped bring me out of my mind as I searched for something to cover it with. There was a napkin holder on the table and I grabbed several, dabbed the blood off and tossed them in the trash. I took another, folded it in a long strip and pressed it against the cut, which was already lessening in pain and heat; the blood already congealing. I pulled the sleeve back up, making sure the napkin stayed in place and admired my “work”. You couldn’t tell anything was under it—not a bump from the napkin—and I sighed. I couldn’t believe I’d really done this again, but it would help. Whenever I started to get anxious, I could just think about the pain. I could just press my fingers onto it and it’d come back. I could do this. I could go out there.

  I could sing. In front of all these people. It was all I ever wanted to do, probably all I was good at. Besides you know… messing things up and being a mental freak. Obviously, I thought, wryly.

  Sucking in a deep breath I rid the area of all my self-destructive evidence, tossing the napkins and blade into the trash, throwing a newspaper over it to hide it all in case someone looked. Not that it mattered, but if Wes saw, he would know it was me.

  Feeling calmer, and more in control I stood up straight, took another deep breath and grabbed my guitar and headed to the stage which was nothing more than a raised floor amongst a rather large bar area, filled with tall tables and booths. I didn’t know who I was kidding. No one was going to be watching anyway.

  Several people paused as I walked the slight corridor to the “entrance” to the stage. They may have said something like “Good luck” or whatever, but I was ignoring them. Probably looked like an asshole. But if I lost this calm feeling—I was done. I wouldn’t be able to go out there.

  But I did.

  “Good going, man.” Wes raised a fist and clenched it, with a triumphant expression on his face. It made me smirk somewhat. Yep, I could do this, I silently encouraged myself with determination… until I looked out at the audience. Every table was full, and people—no less than about twenty of them—were standing at the expansive bar at the rear. I must have looked horrified because Wes tapped me on the upper arm. “Remember… just pick something in the audience. Or…on the wall. Focus on that, man. You can do it.”

  I nodded slowly, still unconvinced. “No one will be watching anyway; everyone looks pretty preoccupied…” Everyone was talking, laughing, slamming back drinks… and my gaze slid over the crowd, hoping that maybe something would stand out, without looking too conspicuous. Something that could distract me, that I could focus on.

  I heard a loud giggle, and my eyes tracked back towards the middle of the room. Two attractive women were sitting across from one another, holding drinks; a brunette and a redhead. But one was way more attractive than the other.

  Holy fucking shit… my mind screamed, not able to tear my gaze away. The brunette was the more attractive of the two, even though I couldn’t totally see her face, just a glimpse of a profile and a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. She had on a blue shirt, with the shoulders cut out, and the front was low cut—really low cut—and she leaned over the table, talking to her friend. The edge of a lace bra poked out as she shifted, giving me a much better view. Damn. I swallowed anxiously, feeling a heat scald my neck as I watched her.

  I was so transfixed with her, and the way she kept running her fingers through her golden brown hair, and the hint of a smile that peeked out from behind the curtain of it I barely even noticed Eric introduce us. There was a squeal of feedback from the mic and the crowd—including me—collectively cringed.

  Eric started playing the opening riffs of “If You Only Knew,” and Wes started in on the familiar drum beat. The bassist started, and since I was the second guitarist, I had the additional riffs.

  The girl in blue still on my mind, I grinned to myself as my fingers flew over the strings and I found my place at the mic—and began to sing. I forgot to be nervous, thinking of that pretty brunette in the crowd.

  I dared to look at her again and to my surprise, she was staring. Right at me. And I suddenly looked into the greenest, sultriest, most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. When my eyes landed on her, her hand rose and seemed to touch her neck—I wondered what that was. But I guessed it was a good thing, because those shiny red, heart shaped lips spread into the hint of a smile from the corners. It was electric, and positively erotic, and I couldn’t help but smile myself, nor could I tear my gaze away. Like she was the only person in the room. My heart thudded in my chest, and I was thankful the words and the music were as second nature to me as breathing, I didn’t have to think about them. Because if I did, I was in trouble.

  I tried not to watch her the entire performance—but I’d be lying if I didn’t glimpse at her quite a bit. Something… well there was something there. I thought. Maybe I was imagining it but I felt a certain pull. But as long as she was still there, I could finish. I could do this.

  Then afterward, I was going to find her, see how those lips eventually felt against mine, and find a way to thank her for getting me through this. I knew a good way to do so, but I had to meet her first.

  Prologue 2

  Jessalie

  I followed my best friend through the throngs of people in the loud venue. Eve
ryone was drinking, laughing, dancing or just mingling. I swirled my icy drink in my hand, barely hearing the noise of the frozen cubes bounce around in the glass, grinning widely. It was noisy, it was smelly, it was dimly lit with neon signs and typical, cheesy bar décor…

  It was wonderful.

  “You doing okay with that?” Victoria Martin inquired as we sat at a tall table in the center of the large room, full of drinkers, socializers, or people waiting for the band to play. She motioned to my drink and gave me an expectant look with one of her blue eyes.

  I scoffed. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” she replied, unconvinced. “Just don’t overdo it, or else.” With that, she let the subject drop, taking a long swig of her own red, fruity drink. Strawberry daiquiri, maybe? I didn’t know, but I could smell it from two feet away. I had opted for my favorite, a Long Island Iced Tea. It was strong, and got the job done. I was almost able to fully relax and not feel guilty for being here.

  “So, who is this band you just had to show me?” I asked.

  “They’re called Fever Pitch, and they’re really, really good. A couple of the guys are super hot,” she said, grinning widely.