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Antithesis
Antithesis
Antithesis
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Antithesis

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My name is Gavyn.

Liam doesn't care that I only have one arm. He actually likes my red hair and freckles. I might forgive him for kidnapping me. 

My name is Gavyn. 

I lost my Liam. I've lost them all. And now it's my job to make sure they don't show up again. 

My name is Gavyn. 

I had a life with Liam, but he couldn't give me what I need. Then I killed his father. I don't expect he'll forgive me for that. 

My name is Gavyn.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 16, 2015
ISBN9781939590152
Antithesis

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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    ACTUALLY 3.5 STARSDue to copy and paste, formatting has been lost.Antithesis was a new kind of read for me-- I'm honestly not into science fiction, but this one just sounded so good that I couldn't resist. The idea of alternate realities is something that I've puzzled on and thought about for days on end, to tell you the truth. Just the idea that someone out there who's the same as me but somehow different just...astounds me.So anyway, having jumped at the chance to read this, I was hesitant about not liking it. But it turns out that I was worrying about all of the wrong things, because I actually did like it!Gavyn turned out to be a character that I could strangely relate to. I mean, obviously I have two arms and a girl's name instead of a boy's, but I related to her in a totally different way. I know what it's like to be weird. And for all intents and purposes, hey, Gavyn is weird. But she's also totally fun and awesome and sarcastic. I would totally be friends with her, and her friends Drake and Lena. They seemed like a cool trio.But back to the alternate realities thing: how weird would it be to meet yourself? Because Gavyn does. A couple of times, actually. And I just can't get over how strange that would just, you know, be. I think that I would seriously freak out. Then, to make things more confusing, I started wondering how it is that all Gavyn's are friends with Lena's and Drake's. Isn't there some sort of paradox or something that should be against that? Statistically speaking, at least one of the Gavyn's never would have me Lena and Drake. Does that make sense, or am I just crazy rambling?But back to the point: she met herself, and yet when she refers to the other Gavyn's as Gavyn, well, I never got confused. Which I honestly think should count for a heck of a lot. Just like the fact that Liam, well, seems to see the real Gavyn. I think that should count for a lot too. It seems like not very many people see her, and she deserves to be seen for who she is, because she totally kicks ass. Even if she does puke afterwards.All in all, Antithesis was a fun, philosophically challenging read for me. I can't believe how weird that just sounded, but it's true.

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Antithesis - Kacey Vanderkarr

Table of Contents

Title Page

Antithesis

Chapter One | Snow Day

Chapter Two | So...Not Dreaming

Chapter Three | Hundreds of Thousands of Nevins

Chapter Four | Dream Shifters

Chapter Five | Drunken Noodles, Revisited

Chapter Six | Liam One, Liam Two

Chapter Seven | Reality Check

Chapter Eight | The Issue of Death

Chapter Nine | Buttons

Chapter Ten | Mom and Dad

Chapter Eleven | Arm-or

Chapter Twelve | Her, Him, You

Chapter Thirteen | To the Wolves

Chapter Fourteen | A Moment of Silence

Chapter Fifteen | Homicidal Suicide

Chapter Sixteen | My Liam

Chapter Seventeen | Lovers and Friends

Chapter Eighteen | An Army of 200,000

Chapter Nineteen | Demitri is not Drake

Chapter Twenty | Volunteers

Chapter Twenty-one | You Know You Missed Me

Chapter Twenty-two | Loyalties

Chapter Twenty-three | Death Math

Chapter Twenty-four | Relationships

Chapter Twenty-five | Losing My Wings

Chapter Twenty-six | A Matter of Trust

Chapter Twenty-seven | Pretty

Chapter Twenty-eight | Eradicating the Problem

Chapter Twenty-nine | The End of All Things

Chapter Thirty | The Return

Chapter Thirty-one | Abandoned

Chapter Thirty-two | Connections

Chapter Thirty-three | It’s Just a Dream

Chapter Thirty-four | No Phone Calls Please

Epilogue

Antithesis

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Kacey Vanderkarr

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Antithesis

Copyright © 2013 Kacey Vanderkarr

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (Print) 978-1-939590-16-9

ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-939590-15-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013909830

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Deb Anderson.

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

DEDICATION

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For Patryk—proof that dreams can come true..

Chapter One

Snow Day

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Reality flickered at the edge of my vision, bright and painfully demanding. I rolled over and pushed my head under my pillow, where the sheets were still a blissful cool and not humid from my seven hours of glorious sleep.

I’d been dreaming.

It was a nice dream, all things considered. Nothing spectacular. It didn’t feature any hot guys that I made out with until we were both gasping and unbelievably turned on. Nor a murdering psychopath that chased me until he either caught up and slashed me to death or I did something really stupid like accidentally tripped and fell off a cliff to my doom. No, it wasn’t anything like that.

My alarm screeched in my ear—that annoying beep that rattles your brain long after you’ve slapped the thing to within an inch of its miserable life. It never fails. I always wake up a few minutes before my alarm. I don’t know why I bother with one when my body is so set on leeching those last seconds of peaceful oblivion from me.

I flailed at my nightstand, hitting the snooze button after several attempts and managing to knock everything else off in the process. My dream journal, a collection of sparkly gel pens, my retainer I hadn’t worn in three months, and a water bottle all clattered to the carpet. The clock went down too, hitting the floor with a resolute thunk. Under my pillow, my lips curved into a smile.

Me: one. Alarm clock: zero.

Oh yeah, back to my totally unspectacular dream: I was swimming. My arms flowed gracefully through the water like a ballerina or a jellyfish. My legs kicked, sending up millions of tiny bubbles and breaking the surface of the ocean. I knew it was the ocean because of the salty residue on my lips. In fact, I could still taste it.

My arms, cutting through the water.

Okay, so maybe the dream was a tiny bit spectacular.

I sat up, pushing the ungodly thick and unruly tangle of red hair out of my face. No matter how tightly I bound it before I went to sleep it always came loose, forcing me to brush it into submission every morning. It was utterly ridiculous. I had to be a redhead—a total Ginger, with freckles and everything—and I couldn’t even have fabulous hair out of the deal. Mine never did anything cool, other than frizz and basically look like a poodle decided to take up residence on my head.

My arms.

The dream fizzled through my head again and I took a second to relish it before I pushed it away. Even my dreams mocked me and my lameness. I looked down at the stump of what would’ve been my left arm, if it had ever grown, that is. It stopped about four inches below my shoulder, ending in a shiny, smooth scar. Amniotic Band Syndrome, that’s what they’d told my mother. Nothing she did wrong, nothing that could’ve changed it.

Basically, I’m a morphological freak.

Ginger. Freckles. Short. One-armed.

Gavyn! my mother screamed from downstairs. I cringed. God. Did she seriously have to be that shrill?

Oh yeah, I’m also named after a boy. You’d think that after I’d come out all Ginger-like and one-armed she would’ve had mercy on me. But no, she decided instead to add insult to injury. I could’ve been a Gabrielle, or maybe Katie, or jeesh, I don’t know, I would’ve settled for Mary. Anything that resembled a girl’s name.

GAVYN!

What? I hollered back at an acceptable decibel. I yanked on my shade and sent it flying upwards, revealing a snowy paradise outside my second-story window. It looked like I was standing inside a frigging snow globe, the way the neighbor’s house was lit up with Christmas lights. I rolled my eyes and pulled the shade back down. Christmas was two weeks ago. In another week they would be crossing a line with their festiveness.

School’s cancelled, Mom trilled.

Who cares if she named me after a boy? She was the bearer of good news and I could’ve just kissed her right on the mouth.

So I did.

I bopped down the stairs, suddenly very cheerful. I didn’t even mind that I was a Ginger. Snow days are everything good about winter. I caught Mom by surprise in the entranceway, planting a noisy kiss right on her mouth. You are seriously the best mother ever. She grinned at me, and underneath all the concealer that hid how little sleep she always got, I saw how she should be. Or how she would be, if my father hadn’t run out on us when I was only two days old.

Two days.

What an asshole.

He must’ve been mad about the Ginger thing. Or more likely, my lack of an arm, but I liked to think it was the Ginger part. It made me feel better. My mother told me he was a redhead too. He wasn’t cool enough to be a Ginger since he didn’t have freckles; he was only a lowly Daywalker. I certainly hadn’t gotten my awesome genes from my mother. She had amazing silky dark hair and brown eyes. She was also fairly tall with long legs. Mine were nothing more than spindly stumps. Okay, well, not stumps. I had both of my legs. They were just short.

Next to her, I looked like a midget-red-headed-stepchild.

She shoved my massive hair away from my face. Do you want me to put this up for you before I leave?

I shrugged and the uncontrollable curls flopped back in my face. I’m going back to bed. No way was I going to waste a perfectly good snow day actually doing something. Maybe later I’d rent a bad movie on Netflix and order pizza. I probably wouldn’t change out of my pajamas. The day had epic potential.

Mom brushed my cheek and got that sad look in her eyes. Usually she would say something about how beautiful I was or how grown up I’d become or how she was so proud of me, but today she just pulled her coat on over her purple scrubs. They had little grinning snowmen on them. How appropriate.

I’m working a double, and with this weather—

I know, I cut her off. I’ll be fine.

She’s a nurse, which means long hours and grueling shifts, especially in the winter. Plus we live four blocks from the hospital and Mom always shows up for work, no matter how bad the weather gets.

She pressed her lips together. I know you’ll be fine. Just—

Call you if I need anything, and Mrs. Johnson is just next door. I pulled the fur-lined hood of her coat up. Mom, I know. Her eyes shimmered like she might cry. Lately she was having a hard time accepting that I was very nearly an adult. I think she was afraid for me, being one-armed and a Ginger and all and going out into the real world. I’m seventeen. I think I’ve got the staying home alone thing down by now. I grinned, trying to cheer her up. I promise not to play with matches and absolutely no chemicals.

She laughed and her brown eyes sparkled. How did I raise such a smartass?

I got all my looks from the sperm-donor and my propensity for awesome from you.

She got all serious like she wanted to say something about my would-be father, but then the look passed and she pulled on her gloves. Love you, Gavy, she called over her shoulder as she disappeared out the front door into the winter wonderland.

I wasted no time. Snow days are as precious as designer shoes, or really hot guys, and are not to be carelessly tossed away. Two minutes after Mom left, I was curled up in my bed under my still-warm blankets. Snow days really are the best.

***

Thump.

I woke slowly, like layers of fog giving in to the sun.

Thump.

I pushed my face further under my pillow; it ended up smashed against the headboard. I sighed, remembering that it was a snow day and I had absolutely nowhere to be. If I was smart, which I usually was, I’d spend the day studying for the Chemistry test I’d gotten out of. To hell with homework and studying and school. It would totally ruin everything sacred about the snow day if I was productive.

I snuggled further into the blankets, pulling them around me like a cocoon.

Thump.

I started, my head snapping up and the pillow falling away. My mass of curls covered my eyes and I grudgingly pushed them away.

Thump.

So I wasn’t crazy after all. I was hearing things. My alarm clock was still on the floor, the numbers pointing up, telling me that it was just after noon. The sound came again from the hallway.

Squirrel, I thought. He was our obese tabby that got his famous name from his favorite pastime. But no, I realized as the last remnants of sleep fell away. Squirrel had been dead since June. There was more thumping and bumping and then a crash. I squeaked and covered my mouth. If it was a burglar I didn’t want to alert them to my presence. I valued my life. And if it was a rapist, same goes.

Something slammed into the wall directly outside my bedroom and a framed picture of Mom and me in Florida dropped to the floor, the glass shattering. Gah! He was right outside my door.

I debated the value of staying in bed and weighed it against my chances of survival. I glanced at the window. Under the shade, it was covered with plastic to prevent drafts. It was the only thing that stood between me and the safety of the snow outside. I mean, how bad could a second-story fall hurt? I couldn’t very well go out the door—not with that person, or thing, or whatever, in the hall.

Stealthily, I rolled up the shade. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in shimmering white. I peeled away a corner of the plastic, cringing as it crinkled and complained.

My door slammed open and I shrieked, forgetting the plastic and whirling to face my assailant. The sound that came out of my mouth reminded me of how I react when I see a really huge spider. My hand went to my lips, as if being quiet would help now that he was standing in front of me—the guy, not a spider.

I watched, mouth hanging open all horrified and shocked, as he shut the door and fiddled with the knob.

Shit, shit, shit! He slapped the door with his open hand. "Doesn’t anyone have locks anymore?"

I must’ve gasped because he turned toward me, startled to find someone else in the room. Why, hello. He grinned at me, cocky and arrogant. Something slammed against the door and his body jerked. He flinched and leaned against it harder.

I was like a statue, a very unattractive Ginger statue, mouth rounded into an O just waiting for a fly to land inside.

The boy—he couldn’t be much older than me—stood there smiling while I had a statue heart attack. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t do more than gape at him.

He ran a hand through his longish blond locks and slapped the door when whatever was outside hit it again. Just wait a friggin’ minute, will ya? His eyes took me in, wandering from my rumpled penguin pajama pants to the ridiculous pile of hair that was half-obscuring my face. His gaze skipped over my missing left arm and finally landed on my face. Do you have a brother?

I shut my mouth with a snap. Maybe he was a gay rapist. But I didn’t have a brother. Would he change his mind if I told him no? Maybe he was bi and boys were his first choice. I panicked.

I called the cops, I informed him, my voice shaking only a little. I lifted my chin for good measure.

He rolled his blue eyes. Oh yeah?

I nodded and scooted closer to the wall, still determined to jump out the window. I’d break the damn glass if I had to. The door jerked again and this time the frame splintered. Whatever was outside was going to be inside very soon.

I said hold on, he growled. Look, do you have a brother or not? I’m looking for someone named Gavyn. He waved an arm. Clearly, that’s not you.

Ah, hell. Really?

Er... I stalled. The guy tapped his foot impatiently. I’m Gavyn. The words tumbled out of my mouth. Damn it! Now he was going to rape me.

Instead, he laughed. The guy doubled over and had to hold his sides as he guffawed at me. "You’re Gavyn?" he said finally. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

I put my hand on my hip. Was he mocking me? I’ll have you know that I can kick your ass, I said, narrowing my eyes to slits.

He smirked. "That won’t be necessary. I just expected someone more...well...male."

The door splintered again, sending little slivers onto the beige carpet. What do you want? I demanded.

Give it up! he yelled before turning his full attention back to me. He’s going to bust through this door in a couple of minutes and we’re going to be long gone. He winked.

Oh yeah? And how do you propose that’s going to happen, genius? We’re on the second floor. I glanced at the window, giving away my intentions. Idiot!

Gavyn, you’re just gonna have to trust me.

"Trust you? Who are you?"

Look—we don’t have time for cozy introductions. You can either trust me, or you can die. He flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. What’ll it be, Princess?

I looked between him and the window. Bracing myself for the impact, I slammed my fist into the glass. It didn’t break. Not even a hint at a hairline fracture.

Well, shit.

Suddenly he was behind me, yanking me off the bed. I fought him, kicking and screaming and hitting, but it did little good. He was so much bigger than me. "When I said ‘die’, I meant by him." He gestured to the huge guy that had just stumbled into my room. His eyes were dark and murderous and frighteningly trained on me. I squealed.

Trust! I decided, squeezing my eyes shut and letting the blond mystery man get a firm hold on me. He pulled me into his chest and pushed my head down, protecting it. This was the closest I’d ever been to a boy.

Liam, the other guy growled, his voice just as menacing as his looks. I shivered.

Oh hey, Nevin, the guy carrying me said nonchalantly. We’ll just be going now, but hey, always great to see you. He leaned over and picked up my dream journal. Hang on, Princess.

A tinkling sound surrounded us, like shattered glass raining on a marble floor, and we disappeared from the room.

Chapter Two

So...Not Dreaming

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Liam dropped me on my feet, grasping my arm to keep me upright. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but shut it when I realized we were in my room. As in exactly where we were five seconds ago when Nevin was glaring all scarily at me.

Except this wasn’t my room. Not exactly, anyway.

There were discrete differences, like the hot pink t-shirt that hung on the back of the computer chair. I had a lime one just like it at home. The curtains were purple—mine were blue.

But it was my room, with a picture of Mom and me on the wall. Only we weren’t in Florida. I squinted. Is that the Eiffel Tower?

I’d never been to France.

Liam prowled to the hall door and threw it open. I half expected Nevin to come barreling through it, fully ready to murder me. We’re safe here for a while, he said. No one will be home until three. He wandered to the window and pulled open the shade. Outside the sky was a cloudless blue, the sun a heavy purple orb riding high in the afternoon sky. There was no snow. In fact, other than the purple sun, it looked exactly like a summer day at my house.

I squeaked.

I was dreaming, I decided. My mind was overexcited with the snow day and decided to gift me with really strange dreams. It had given me Liam, after all. And he was totally hot and make-out worthy. Oh, and Nevin, the murdering psychopath.

The picture caught my eye again.

I crossed to it and pulled it off the wall, holding it close to my face. That was me all right, same stupid red hair and smattering of freckles. But it wasn’t me—couldn’t be. The girl smiling at me, the one with my face, she had two arms.

My gaze wandered to my stump.

You’re wondering if you’re dreaming? Liam asked, standing right behind me. I jumped and whirled. My face was just inches from his. A slow grin spread across his lips as if he was enjoying my delusions.

Oh well, he was just a figment of my imagination anyway, and my imagination had done really well with him. He was all broad shoulders and slim hips. He had a cute little dimple in his right cheek. Plus he wore really expensive designer jeans and black boots that somehow mixed combat with style. My dream had even added in my penchant for well-dressed bad-asses. Awesome.

No. I know I’m dreaming. I had to look up to meet his steady blue-eyed gaze, but I pretty much have to look up to everyone. His eyes were darker than mine, more sea deep than pale blue. People always told me my eyes were eerie. It came with being a Ginger. There was an entire following that was terrified of us. I’d googled it once.

Liam’s face turned serious. Want me to pinch you? He curled his fingers into pincers and held them close to my face. I rolled my eyes. Apparently my subconscious couldn’t come up with a better pick-up line than that.

Sliding my fingers to the back of his neck, I pulled his face closer to mine. Hopefully he kissed well, because he really didn’t seem all that smart. I wished for once my dreams would get it exactly right: a smart, attractive boy who was a really, really good kisser.

His mouth opened slightly with surprise when I pressed my lips to his. He recovered, however, his hands fisting into the shoulders of my penguin t-shirt. They trailed lower, down my arms—well, arm. The other stopped at the end of my stump, tracing the shiny scar. Until that point, my stomach curled quite nicely with desire, his lips moving in perfect synchronization with mine.

I pulled away, self-conscious. Usually in my dreams I had both of my arms. Actually, I always had two arms when I dreamed.

With a wicked grin, Liam pinched my bicep.

Ouch! I pushed him away. That hurt.

He tilted his head to the side as though examining a particularly interesting Petri dish. His hair shifted and fell over his eye. That’s because you’re not dreaming, Princess.

I glared at him, hand on my hip. "Of course I am. Hot guys do not make out with me in real life."

And why is that? A smile turned the corner of his mouth up, but his tone wasn’t mocking.

I stomped to the window and stared at the purple sun. It was pretty, casting a serene violet glow. I expected hot pink grass or hovercrafts, but everything else looked suspiciously normal. Don’t go all Dr. Phil on me, okay? I turned back to him, but he hadn’t moved.

I’m serious.

I examined his face, the shuttered blue eyes framed by thick blond lashes, the perfect body, and the clothes that looked like they were sewn on him. His t-shirt clung to his shoulders, and his arms were roped with muscles. Thank God for my subconscious.

Are you Helen Keller? I asked finally. He snorted but didn’t answer. Look, can we just make out until I wake up? Obviously you’re not all that great at conversation, and swimming is out since I only have one arm. Liam blinked at me. Am I speaking the wrong language? I demanded.

I know you’re overwhelmed by my good looks, but you’ve really got to understand that you’re not dreaming. He crossed to me and put his hands on my shoulders. We can make out until three, okay? And then the Gavyn that lives here is going to come home and we’re gonna be in a shitload of trouble. He leaned in closer, but I ducked away.

"What do you mean, the Gavyn that lives here? This is my house. I looked around the strangely familiar room again. Sort of."

This is your house, but this isn’t where you live.

I sighed and plopped onto the comforter that was covered with brightly frosted cupcakes. That, at least, was the same. I am so confused. This dream sucks.

Liam sat next to me. Princess, I’ve got some bad news.

Stop calling me Princess.

Well, I’m for damn sure your knight in shining armor.

I rolled my eyes. Do your dumb pick-up lines usually work?

His face split into a large Cheshire-cat smile. Always. My startlingly perfect physique and suave mannerisms usually help.

I gazed at him soberly. And when is that gonna start happening?

He shook his head, smiling and ignoring my insults. Seriously. You’re not dreaming. He took my hand and pressed it to his face. See? I’m real. He touched my face with his own warm and rough palm. And so are you. I already pinched you, but apparently you don’t believe that trick.

A sinking sensation rippled through my stomach. And I only have one arm.

He raised a light eyebrow.

The realization hit me with the force of a freight train, slamming into me and leaving me terrified. "I’m not dreaming."

Good. The first step is admitting you have a problem. He snickered.

What the hell is so funny?

He shrugged. I don’t know. You. Life. Everything. What isn’t funny?

I glared at him, anger bubbling up inside my chest. "The fact that I am seriously freaking out right now."

He sighed, and his expression lost all humor. Do you believe that you’re not dreaming?

I inspected his face, trying to decide if I did. I mean, even if I was dreaming, I’d wake up eventually. Why not just go along with his crazy mutterings? He didn’t seem like he would hurt me. Fine, I’m not dreaming.

Though really, if I were you, I’d prefer to be dreaming if I was a girl named Gavyn.

I threw up my arm and flailed my stub. Glaring once more at Liam, who sat there looking smug and pleased with himself, I stomped from the room. Maybe there were other boys here, ones that

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