three days have escaped her and, as if that isn’t bad enough, this charismatic boy, Griffin, keeps calling her “Gwen.”
One single choice will decide her fate.
Perched on the edge of insanity, with horrific memories of her childhood leaking in, Ellie struggles to put together the pieces of what she’s lost and desperately turns to Griffin for help. Only…he may be after something—or someone—else. Heartbreakingly beautiful, this poignant story follows one girl’s harrowing journey to finding out who she really is.
FRAGILE LINE is a YA s uspense novel following a girl to proper diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder).
Add it to Goodreads!
Praise for STRIPPED
"I surely didn't anticipate to love this book so much, it wasn't the story I expected it to be...I think I can add another favorite of this year to the list. An amazing read!"
-Bookish Randomness review blog
"I'm so swooning. Don't want my time with Torrin to end yet."
-Michelle Brownlow, author of IN TOO DEEP
"A very touching and poignant novel. It's well crafted--I laughed and I cried. It is an amazingly insightful story about the power of perception, or misperception, as the case may be."
-Bookworm Brandee review blog
"...a wonderfully written, multi layered read that I enjoyed immensely."
-YA Book Addict
"Written as a reflection of Quinn's emotional state, Stripped will give you hope."
-Stuck in Books review blog
Haven’t read STRIPPED yet? Enjoy the first three chapters here.
CHAPTER ONE
His lips don’t look like mine feel. Like they’re dying. Dead.
It’s creepy, I know, staring at this old guy’s lips, but I can’t help it. They’re so…animated. Full of life. And then they start to move again and I think he’s going to say the words, “You’re hired,” because those words I’m expecting, but they don’t come.
Why? Because I’m expecting them and whenever I do that—
I need to stop doing that.
“Our requirements are fairly basic,” Mr. Hunter says, “and you meet them both. You own a bathrobe.” One of his fingers ticks up. His wrist is resting on the desk and he looks like one of those people who count things off on their fingers because it’s easier to sort information if you can count it on your fingers. “And you’re willing to take it off.” Second finger.
I should’ve expected Zoe to die because then she wouldn’t have. Then I wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of this dumpy classroom Mr. Hunter calls his office. Students linger past the opened door and I try not to look at their faces because it’s their faces that’ll remind me this job isn’t one of my better ideas.
“Any preference on times?” the man asks. His lips move with such ease my eyes surrender to them again.
“After three would be best.”
He consults his schedule, gnawing on the end of his pencil.
“Normally I save the more experienced models to deal with the freshmen, but I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. The others can’t stay past two. How ’bout three to five on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”
I wipe my hands on my jeans to keep from touching my mouth.
“Sure.”
Hunter nods.
“That’s all for now, Quinn. Here’s the employment application. Fill it out and, if possible, I could use you tomorrow.”
I take the packet from his paint-spattered hands and force a smile. It isn’t easy; dying lips don’t smile. But I hold this smile all the way to the bus stop, and then as I sit on the grimy seat watching the late afternoon sun glint off every storefront window in such a sad way that it hurts to look at. I get off the bus and hold this dead smile for each of the one hundred thirty-seven steps to Garrett Hall when suddenly a finger jabs into my stomach.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” Derek says, his putrid beer-breath in my ear, “if guys could just poke a girl to let her know
One single choice will decide her fate.
Perched on the edge of insanity, with horrific memories of her childhood leaking in, Ellie struggles to put together the pieces of what she’s lost and desperately turns to Griffin for help. Only…he may be after something—or someone—else. Heartbreakingly beautiful, this poignant story follows one girl’s harrowing journey to finding out who she really is.
FRAGILE LINE is a YA s uspense novel following a girl to proper diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder).
Add it to Goodreads!
Praise for STRIPPED
"I surely didn't anticipate to love this book so much, it wasn't the story I expected it to be...I think I can add another favorite of this year to the list. An amazing read!"
-Bookish Randomness review blog
"I'm so swooning. Don't want my time with Torrin to end yet."
-Michelle Brownlow, author of IN TOO DEEP
"A very touching and poignant novel. It's well crafted--I laughed and I cried. It is an amazingly insightful story about the power of perception, or misperception, as the case may be."
-Bookworm Brandee review blog
"...a wonderfully written, multi layered read that I enjoyed immensely."
-YA Book Addict
"Written as a reflection of Quinn's emotional state, Stripped will give you hope."
-Stuck in Books review blog
Haven’t read STRIPPED yet? Enjoy the first three chapters here.
CHAPTER ONE
His lips don’t look like mine feel. Like they’re dying. Dead.
It’s creepy, I know, staring at this old guy’s lips, but I can’t help it. They’re so…animated. Full of life. And then they start to move again and I think he’s going to say the words, “You’re hired,” because those words I’m expecting, but they don’t come.
Why? Because I’m expecting them and whenever I do that—
I need to stop doing that.
“Our requirements are fairly basic,” Mr. Hunter says, “and you meet them both. You own a bathrobe.” One of his fingers ticks up. His wrist is resting on the desk and he looks like one of those people who count things off on their fingers because it’s easier to sort information if you can count it on your fingers. “And you’re willing to take it off.” Second finger.
I should’ve expected Zoe to die because then she wouldn’t have. Then I wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of this dumpy classroom Mr. Hunter calls his office. Students linger past the opened door and I try not to look at their faces because it’s their faces that’ll remind me this job isn’t one of my better ideas.
“Any preference on times?” the man asks. His lips move with such ease my eyes surrender to them again.
“After three would be best.”
He consults his schedule, gnawing on the end of his pencil.
“Normally I save the more experienced models to deal with the freshmen, but I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. The others can’t stay past two. How ’bout three to five on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”
I wipe my hands on my jeans to keep from touching my mouth.
“Sure.”
Hunter nods.
“That’s all for now, Quinn. Here’s the employment application. Fill it out and, if possible, I could use you tomorrow.”
I take the packet from his paint-spattered hands and force a smile. It isn’t easy; dying lips don’t smile. But I hold this smile all the way to the bus stop, and then as I sit on the grimy seat watching the late afternoon sun glint off every storefront window in such a sad way that it hurts to look at. I get off the bus and hold this dead smile for each of the one hundred thirty-seven steps to Garrett Hall when suddenly a finger jabs into my stomach.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” Derek says, his putrid beer-breath in my ear, “if guys could just poke a girl to let her know
Similar Books
