Mariah Cole has given Beautiful Failure a face lift and we get to share the new look with you today! What do you think??
Title: Beautiful Failure
Author: Mariah Cole
Release: December 16, 2013
If you're looking for a heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy who changes her life--a sob story with pretty metaphors and a million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read another word of this.
I'm not that type of girl.
My name is Emerald Anderson and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a fully functioning relationship in my life.
I wish I could say that I had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald--You're great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful nothing."
She was right.
As I decide to start my life over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away.
He's the first man who's ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I am, but he's wasting his time.
I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure...
My mother was a whore.
Her name was Leah
Isabelle Anderson—“Leah Belle” for short, and she was one of New Jersey’s most
sought after escorts.
With deep green eyes
that could take any man’s breath away, and skin so porcelain and smooth that it
looked too perfect to touch, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Often compared
to a supermodel, her raven black hair fell past her shoulders, and her naturally
long eyelashes were always coifed to perfection.
Growing up, I had no
idea what she did with the men who picked her up in their shiny and expensive
cars—the men who wore thousand dollar suits and patted me on the head while
saying, “Your mom is really something
special.”
In a way, these
strangers became the closest thing I had to a family since I never knew my
father: Her regulars, Christian and William, sent me gifts every Christmas.
Arnie bought me my first bike, Steve taught me how to change a tire, and her
most ruthless suitor—Vincent, took me shopping for designer clothes once a
month.
Leah Belle—she never ever let me call her “mom,” wasn’t
exactly a mother to me; she was more
like an older friend. An older ‘I’ll-be-there-when-it’s-convenient’ friend.
She missed every
elementary school play, every middle school writing competition, and never gave
a damn about my grades. At first, the involuntary loneliness bothered me, but
after I created an army of invisible friends and easily accessible fantasies, I
came to terms with her neglect and happily accepted any attention she was
willing to give me.
When I became a
teenager, she started to hang around me more often—promising that she would do
better, promising that she would make sure that “from here on out, [we’d] be best friends.” Since she’d run away from
her parents after having me at sixteen, she made a point to never lecture or
discipline me. She did however, teach me three very important lessons:
1.) “Always put tons
of effort into the way you look. You need to be beautiful on the outside, no
matter how fucked up you are on the inside. If you ever feel sad or depressed,
suck that shit up and add more mascara.”
2.) “Don’t make
friends. Make sponsors. If you can’t
get anything out of someone or use them for a specific purpose, kick that
person out of your life ASAP.”
3.) “Beauty wins over
brains every time. Your body will always be your most important asset. Remember
that.”
For my fourteenth
birthday, she poured me my first shot and offered me a short line of coke,
saying, “Welcome to life, Em!”
I shook my head at the
coke—I’d read about the effects, but I happily took the red shot glass from her
hand.
“To the best fuckin’
daughter in the world!” She lifted her glass in the air, waiting for me to do
the same, and then she ordered me to toss it back.
The initial burning
sensation was painful—disgusting, but in the years to come, that bitterness
tasted better and better, and I looked forward to the two of us drinking
together. It was the only time that she gave me her undivided attention.
In those moments, I
would tell her about another writing competition I’d won or how I’d received
more early college scholarships. When it was her turn, she would tell me about
“turning tricks” like other parents told their kids about a day at the office.
“I can’t tell you how
weak Ben’s dick was today,” she’d say. “I mean, I feel like I should be
charging him double for the weak ass
fucks he puts me through.”
“You don’t enjoy it
with him? Ever?” I’d ask.
“No. Never with him.
But he’s a sponsor, I’m getting his money, and that’s all that matters. I just
lie there, scratch his back, and say ‘Harder…
Harder’ to make him think I’m into it
until—”
“Until he cums?”
“Yep.” She’d pass me a
cigarette before sighing. “With him and a few others, I usually have to take a
few shots beforehand to numb my mind. With the really good ones, all I have to
do is relax. Sex can be fucking incredible when it’s done right…”
One particular Friday,
after she let one of her regulars take me shopping for a Chanel bag, I unlocked
the door to our home and saw droplets of blood all over the floor.
“Leah?” I set my
shopping bag down. “Did you get another nose bleed?”
No answer.
I headed into the
kitchen, looking for her usual remedies—hot tea and Q tips, but she wasn’t
there.
“You here?” I walked
around our living room and checked all the rooms upstairs. Confused, I pulled
out my cell phone and called her.
No answer again.
I shrugged and opened
a bottle of vodka, tossing back a few shots. I figured she’d left with one of
her sponsors for a quickie and would be back by the time our favorite show
started.
I decided to take a
shower before it came on and headed into the downstairs bathroom.
The second I hit the
lights, my heart fell out of my chest.
I wanted to believe
that what I was seeing was simply a sick joke by my imagination—a twisted
fantasy I’d snap out of in seconds.
Pale and blue, Leah’s
body lay lifeless in our tub. Her left arm was dangling over the edge, and the
small velvet bag where she kept her cocaine was dangling from her fingertips.
Scattered across the
floor were hundreds of prescription pills and empty orange bottles that bore
the names of strangers. On the vanity, there was an empty syringe and a folded
note that read “For my Em…”
Trembling, I rushed to
her side and pressed my finger against her neck, hoping for a pulse.
Nothing.
I tilted her head back
and tried to breathe life into her—pressing her chest with my hands every few
seconds, but it was no use.
She was gone.
I sank down to the
floor in tears—cursing her, hating
her, for doing this to me. To us.
I had no friends to
call, no family either, so in my numb and dazed state I somehow managed to call
9-1-1. While the operator attempted to calm me down by asking me to take deep
breaths, I walked over to the vanity and unfolded Leah’s last note:
Em,
I know you’re confused right now,
but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so fucking much… You were
the only thing that made my life worth living, and I wish I was strong enough
to keep that in mind…
I’m not.
I’m tired of living a lie and I
haven’t been happy in a very long time… I just can’t take it anymore…
I’ve fucked up a lot of things in
my life, but the biggest regret I have is the way I raised you…I’m so sorry…
This is going to be hard for you to believe—especially since I’m gone, but I
need you to forget all that shit I taught you. Right now.
Fuck using your looks to get what
you want. Go to college and do some good shit with your life, like write or
something. You’re a good writer, you’re very smart, and you need to use your
brain to get ahead. Can you promise to do that for me, Em?
Then again…It’s probably too late
and I’m willing to bet that you’ll end up just like me: A beautiful nothing…
It won’t be your fault though.
It’ll be—
I stopped reading and
flushed that note down the toilet. Her last words were clearly written out of
sadness and they were only compounding my pain.
As far as I was
concerned, Leah had raised me the best she could and she was far from a
“beautiful nothing” in my eyes. In fact, I cherished every single thing she’d
taught me.
Even though I was
beyond hurt that she’d selfishly left me all alone, I was determined to remember
her at her best and for everything she was to me:
My mother.
My best friend.
My role model.
Mariah Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots, please!), New Adult author, and an incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she's an avid reader of indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike
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Tiffany is 27 years old, with a wonderful family. Her husband is in the Army, and they have two wonderful children. Ashley and Tiffany have been best of friends since they were 13. Tiffany recently graduated from South University with an Associate's Degree as a Paralegal. She enjoys listening to music, playing with her kids, going to the beach, and pretty much anything that has to do with the outdoors.
