Girl Lost

  Girl Lost

  Nazarea Andrews

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products.

  Copyright © 2014 by Nazarea Andrews.

  GIRL LOST by Nazarea Andrews

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by A&A Literary.

  Summary: Gwen Barrie has spent seven years trying to forget the Boy and the island no one believes was real. But when Peter sits down next to her in Lit, he blurs the lines between reality and delusions, and make her question everything she knows.

  ISBN 978-0-9894799-50

  1. College romance. 2. Peter Pan. 3. New Adult.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information, address 3106 Hilton Ave Suite 121 Columbus GA, 31904.

  www.nazareaandrews.com

  Edited by Rachel Bateman

  Cover design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author

  Cover art copyright©: Nazarea Andrews

  Ebook Formatting by Ink in Motion

  Books By Nazarea Andrews

  The University of Branton

  This Love

  Beautiful Broken

  Sweet Ruin

  Fractured Perfection (October 2014)

  The World Without End

  The World Without a Future

  The Endless Horde (July 2014)

  Edge of the Falls

  (with AJ Elmore)

  Prince of the Blood and Steel

  Summary

  Northern was supposed to be a fresh start—a place where people didn’t know who I was or how I had spent years in and out of mental institutes. People didn't know about my parents’ death or the island no one heard of. But when Peter sits next to me in lit class, I can’t stop the memories, and I don’t want to. He looks too much like the boy from the island and, despite my best intentions, coaxes my secrets from me.

  He’s gorgeous, irresistible, a little mad, and completely lost—we are a pair of broken cogs in a world neither of us truly fits into. He is somehow gentle and fierce, heartbreaking in his devotion, and savage in his defense.

  When Belle, his best friend, shows up, pale and lovely and sick, Peter pulls away from me, a startling withdrawal. It’s a relationship that scares and confuses me. She is at times warm and friendly, and other times violent and unpredictable.

  Peter says that he wants me, but refuses to let himself get close. And there are secrets, surrounding both of us, that border on nightmares. As the memories close in, as Belle gets sicker and more violent, I’m torn between what is true and what I believe, and what this magical boy knows about my mysterious past.

  For all the dreamers who grew up wanting to go to Neverland

  And my brothers, the friends who made my childhood one I cherish.

  Girl Lost

  Nazarea Andrews

  Chapter 1

  There are a few thing you should know about me, to start. I am Gwendolyn, the eldest daughter of Piers Barrie. I am a college freshman, and an heiress.

  And, I am quite mad.

  Freshman orientation is a joke. A mass of wannabe jocks and pretty boys waiting for fraternities to swoop in and give them a team to play for. Catty girls with perfectly styled tresses and designer handbags and a superior air of injured dignity. Gatherings of this sort are beneath girls like them.

  I stand in the doorway, uncomfortable. Take a deep breath and paste a fake smile on.

  This is my fresh start. Here, no one knows Gwen Barrie. They don't know about the Second Star or my parents.

  They don't know about the time I spent in Pembrooke. That is the most important thing. I clench my fist, steadying my breath.

  Someone bumps me from behind, and I shift a little as my younger brother steps up. He eyes me worriedly, and I smile, softly. “I’m fine, Micah.”

  “Darling, you are the furthest thing from fine I’ve ever seen. I’m still not sure why Grayson said this was a good idea.”

  I flinch, furious that he would even mention that. “You promised,” I say stiffly.

  I stalk away from him before he can respond, weaving through the crowd. Northern University is small, one of the reasons Grayson selected it. It’s perfect for me.

  The dean is finally silent, and I drift through the crowd toward a group of girls who look friendly enough that I’m not ready to bolt. Micah gives me a little space, but I can feel him watching me from the corner of the room. He’s drawn into a conversation by a pretty blonde, and I release a sigh of relief.

  Micah isn’t like me—he’s comfortable in groups like this. He would thrive at a larger school, but he wouldn’t leave me. After almost ten years of taking care of me, he wasn’t going to trust me alone at college.

  “Excuse me,” a male voice says, and I twist. The speaker is a tall, slender young man in a white button down and black jeans, with dark hair, murky blue eyes, and a smile that makes me shiver.

  I shove the memories down and force a polite smile. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I didn’t want to startle you. Are you a transfer?”

  I flush—this is a question I’ve been dreading. “No,” I mumble, looking down into my toes. “I deferred after high school.”

  A smile tickles his lips, and for a moment, he looks less menacing. Less like a memory.

  Across the room, a flash of movement catches my eyes, and I pale as I see the guy. He’s surrounded by other students, and I only see a glimpse—but I take a few stumbling steps in his direction, my heart pounding.

  No. No. I can’t do this—I refuse to believe this. Not today, not here. I turn away and collide with Micah. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and worried.

  “I need to go,” I whisper. His eyebrows inch up, that familiar worried look. My brother is too young to look that old.

  “Come on, then,” he says immediately.

  “Stay,” I order. “You were having fun—and I’m fine. I just need some air.”

  His expression is one of disbelief, so I give him a smile, a real smile. “Promise.”

  I squeeze his hand lightly and head to the exit. I don’t look back—I don’t know if that’s evidence I’m getting stronger or if I’m too scared to chance it.

  I wander through campus until I’m at the Cliff. One of the reasons Grayson and I chose Northern was the seaside location. I need to be close to the water—as terrifying as it can be, I can’t imagine life without the steady throb of the ocean and the relentless whisper of waves. I stand on the Cliff and stare out at the wind swept sea, and I let the dangerous memories take me under.

  I see him everywhere. In other patients, at Pembroke. At school, when Grayson thinks I’m sane enough for it. Laughing cat eyes and a shock of red hair, slanted, sly features. He isn’t the same as anyone else, and I can’t shake him.

  They say I imagined it.

  But they’re wrong. I saw him again, and it’s been six years. Micah is talking to Grayson and Aunt Jane. I know what they want to do. I’m so tired of years spent Pembroke.

  A flash of red, a crooked smile from under the tilted cap. I shudder, and for the first time, I turn away.

  I pretend.

  I chose to not believe.

  And ignore the flash of angry hurt that fills his eyes as I focus on my brother.

  “What ar
e you doing?”

  I jerk around to face the unfriendly voice. A girl is standing a few feet away from me, her eyes narrowed. She looks annoyed, and I shrug helplessly. “Nothing. Just…um. Who are you?”

  She huffs. “Orchid Lewis.”

  The name tugs at my memory, and I frown. “Have we met?”

  “No,” she says abruptly. “But if you’re Gwendolyn Barrie, I’m your roommate.”

  I perk up. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the face on the other side of the email exchange. She seemed polite enough, then, if not incredibly warm. Now she’s staring at me like I’m crazy—I know those looks, because they’ve been directed at me for so long.

  “You shouldn’t stand so close to the cliff, you know. It’s dangerous.”

  Understanding sweeps me, and I flush. “Oh. I’m not—I wasn’t...” I trail off as her expression turns vaguely curious. “I wasn’t paying attention,” I finish lamely.

  She stares at me for a long moment, and then, “Did you make it to orientation?”

  I nod. “For a few minutes. Then I got out of there. It was too crowded.”

  “Our class is only, like, two hundred people.”

  I know that, and I’m annoyed that she feels the need to point it out. “I don’t like crowds,” I snap and turn away from the cliff, stalking toward the dorm hall. Orchid trails along behind me, a drifting presence.

  “Was there anything we actually needed to pay attention to?”

  I slide a glance at her, and she shrugs. “Hanging out with a bunch of over-eager jocks isn’t my idea of a good way to spend my last day before class.”

  I laugh. “Nothing we haven’t been told in the admin packets. You came for a tour, right?” She nods, brushing a lock of straight black hair from her eyes. “Then you’ll be fine. We both already have our schedules.”

  “Great.” She fidgets as I flash my key card and the door buzzes open. She follows me through the empty hall, pass the elegant, overdone commons room. She laughs a little. “What do they think we’re going to do in there, have high tea?”

  I giggle, and her eyebrows wing up, like birds independent of the rest of her face. The rest of her expression remains immobile, but those thin dark eyebrows express a wide array of emotion.

  I’m staring. I shouldn’t stare. This isn’t Pembrooke—staring gets noticed here.

  Our room is on the third floor, with no elevator. The dorms of Northern are lovely, all cream brick and slate siding and soaring arches and columns. They claim to be original buildings, from when the university was founded in the mid-1800s. But they lack the basic amenities of modern structures. Like properly sealed windows and efficient heating. And elevators.

  Orchid reaches our door first and lets it swing open. I’m a little embarrassed by how barren it is—I’ve seen the other girls’ rooms, half glimpses snatched through the open doors, and I haven’t done anything like them. There is nothing to say I’m here, aside from four large boxes and three suitcases. There are no pictures hanging, no personalized touches. I haven’t unpacked.

  Part of me doesn’t believe that Grayson will let me stay. I’m an adult, and Aunt Jane can’t do anything to force me back into institutional care, but she controls Barrie Enterprises.

  I grit my teeth and smile at Orchid. “You can have your pick,” I say, waving at the empty beds. She takes the bed to the right, and I move my stuff to the left, situating my desk to face the window. I push it open, and she gives me a curious look as the sound of the wind and the ocean seeps in. “I like the fresh air,” I say simply. She doesn’t comment, and I stare at my untouched boxes. Nod to myself, firmly.

  I can’t screw this up. It’s my chance to prove to Micah and Grayson and Jane—to everyone who matters—that I’m not insane. I haven’t seen the Boy in months—not counting this afternoon, and I can dismiss that, because I didn’t see him. It was a boy, a normal student, a redhead, but not the Boy.

  With that thought firmly in mind, I busy myself unpacking the boxes, working alongside Orchid in companionable silence.

  Chapter 2

  The first day of class is dark and cool before sunrise. Not a true cold, but a hint of it that promises a long and sullen winter on its way. Summer is, quite officially, over.

  Orchid is still sleeping, so I change into yoga pants and a tank top and a pair of comfortably worn flip flops. Then I creep out of the room. I hurry down the stairs, pulling my hair into a messy pony tail, and break into a jog when I get outside.

  It’s all downhill, circling to the base of the college and the small boathouse. Northern is too aware of the wealthy and their fascination with yachting to not have a boat house. And there is the ever present fishing industry, even here at our tiny school.

  But I’m not complaining—it means there is a rowing machine and a place to store my kayak in the warm months.

  Micah has already uncovered the boats, and he hands me a cup of coffee as I stretch and roll my arms.

  He doesn’t talk—he’s smart enough to know I’m not going to be very communicative until I’ve had the coffee and gotten into my boat.

  As the little kayak dips and bobs under my weight and I get my bearings in the water, the panicked, uncertain feeling ebbs.

  “How long?” he asks quietly.

  “Forty five minutes. You have an early class to get to,” I answer and dip my paddle into the ocean.

  We cut through the water silently, with me just a bit in front of Micah. Here, words aren’t needed—there are no questions about my sanity. Here there is only peace. I find an easy rhythm, dip and pull, and as my muscles warm and loosen, I flash a grin at Micah. His eyes narrow—he knows me well enough, after all—and I put on a burst of speed and pull away from him. He splashes water at me, and I laugh, a wild and free noise, a noise so unlike me it’s almost heartbreaking.

  But this isn’t the place for heartbreak, and I let the thought go as the sun lights the dark, setting the Atlantic to flame and brightening the day.

  Later, I rub a towel over my hair and step out of the women’s locker room. Micah pushes off the post of the door, falling into easy step alongside me. “You ready?”

  “Yep. It’s going to be a good day, Micah. Don’t worry.”

  “What happened, yesterday?”

  I still, remembering that flash of the Boy. I want to tell him. Want to confide in him everything I suspect, but I know too well how that works out. Micah has never been one to indulge in my delusions. And he hadn’t been on the island.

  There is no island.

  “Nothing. Too many people—you know how easy I spook in that kind of situation.”

  “I also know you looked like you saw a ghost,” he says, and I whip around, glaring at him. His expression is carefully blank. “Gwendolyn. Be honest with me—you’re doing well , and I want to help. Did you see him?”

  Him. The Boy.

  Flashing hair and laughing eyes and a glint of madness that calls to me like a moth to flame.

  “No,” I say flatly. “He isn’t real. He never was. It’s been two years, Micah. Let it go.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off with a sharp glare and turn away.

  “I’m gonna be late,” I say over my shoulder. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t move either—just watches me with those worried eyes as I hurry away.

  It is a party. The summer after junior year has just started, and I am allowed to go because I’d stayed on my meds for six months straight. I am awkward and excited and so nervous I can taste it, like the bitter powder of my drugs when I swallowed them, clinging to the back of my throat.

  I don’t need pills. I’m not crazy. But no one believes me.

  Kyle is there, his arm wrapped around my waist, a proprietary touch that at once excites and chills me.

  I’m not his, to touch this way.

  The party is loud and nothing like I expect—people are packed too close together, the air rank with the scent of sex and sweat and desperation mixed with bee
r and weed. It makes my stomach turn, but I’ve fought to be here. I can’t turn away from it because I’m shy and awkward.

  Kyle retrieves two drinks for us, and I twist the top off my wine cooler, sipping it tentatively as he draws us deeper into the house. There is a wide spread of grass behind the house and a pool lit by exotic colors. In their tiny suits and long hair, the girls look unearthly as they frolic for the attention of the watching boys.

  He leads me on a meandering path, through the party. Toward the edges of the lawn, past the lights of the house and the ruckus laughter and cursing. I dig my heels in once, and he gives me a sweet smile. "You look tired, sweetie. I wanted to give you some quiet."

  It's a sweet thought, and surprisingly thoughtful. I hadn't expected that kind of consideration from Kyle.

  He spreads his jacket on the ground beneath a tree, and I sit gingerly. My head is spinning--I'm not used to the commotion that is this party. I'm used to the quiet halls of Pembrooke, broken by the shrill screams of the crazy.

  Even at Pembrooke, there are screams.

  His hand is still on my waist, and I shift a little, trying to politely dislodge it, but his grip tightens minutely, drawing me toward him.

  He kisses me before I realize he intends to, and for several long heartbeats, I don't react, frozen by the touch and his hands on me.

  Wrong. So wrong. I shift again, trying to pull away, and Kyle pulls back.

  "Is this ok?" he whispers. His words are soft and sweet, at odds with the hands still holding me and the smile that is more a leer. I shiver and try to shake my head, but he kisses me again, and my shriek is muffled. I jerk back and slam my head against the tree. The world sways drizzly, and I whimper, pain and fear making me sound so incredibly broken.