Marionette
Release Date: 11/07/13
Summary from Goodreads:
At the age of seventeen, Paige Alexander had it all planned. She wrote a letter, sat in the bath, and slit her wrists. Her plan failed.
Her best friend, Alex, is dead.
Paige can't get over her twin sister blaming her for a tragic event in their past.
Colorado is in the midst of voting on lesbian and gay rights and Paige is terrified to come out of the closet, fearful for her life.
Many people in Paige's life are keeping secrets from her. Will she piece everything together before it's too late?
In this gripping first-person narrative, a young college student grapples with more than first loves or coming of age. In a world filled with homophobia, suicidal feelings, and a dysfunctional family, Paige cuts her wrists in an attempt to free herself from the crazy life that's all she's ever known.
Could there be new lessons in store for Paige? With the help of her girlfriend, friends, and a compassionate therapist, can Paige find the safe space she needs to heal, grow, and cut her strings?
Excerpt: (contains some strong language)
The plan was simple. There were only three steps. Three! And I still fucked up.
Step one: write letter.
Step two: draw bath.
Step three: razor.
I’m not sure how I screwed it all up. What kind of idiot can’t follow three simple steps? Maybe there should have been four steps. The fourth would have included time, would have made sure I had enough time for step three to work. I didn’t allow enough time. To be honest, I didn’t know how long it would take. I still don’t. But I learned that it isn’t instantaneous.
A gun would have been instantaneous. Jesus! Why didn’t I think of that first? That’s why men succeed more: they use guns. Pow! Sayonara!
I’d had enough time to cut both of my wrists. I thought the razor might hurt, but I don’t remember any pain. I remember yelling. I wasn’t screaming; Jessica was. She wasn’t yelling at me, or maybe she was. I wasn’t listening. People say that’s one of my biggest problems: I don’t pay attention. In my defense, she wasn’t making much sense, so I didn’t bother listening. In her defense, if I came home to that, I don’t know if I would have been polite and coherent either.
Imagine coming home to find your girlfriend in your bathtub with slit wrists. And I don’t even live with her. I have a key to her apartment, but I don’t pay the rent or the bills. How rude of me. I didn’t account for the untidiness either. It wasn’t fair to assume Jess would want to clean up that kind of mess. She did, though. Jess wanted to destroy all of the evidence that I had tried to off myself. I think she did it more for her own peace of mind.
I couldn’t implement my plan in my own home. What am I saying? I didn’t implement my plan. I failed.
Failure.
I can add that to my list of accomplishments. It’s a growing list. Accomplishment isn’t the right word per se, but if all you have are failures to your name, I find it’s best to think of them as accomplishments. Probably not the best attitude, but I haven’t been in a fabulous frame of mind lately.
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About the Author
T. B. Markinson is a 39-year old American writer,
living in England, who pledged she would publish before she was 35. Better late
than never. When she isn't writing, she’s traveling around the world, watching
sports on the telly, visiting pubs in England, or taking the dog for a walk.
Not necessarily in that order. She has published two novels: A WOMAN LOST and
MARIONETTE.
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