Title: Beautiful Failure
Author: Mariah Cole
Genre: New Adult Romance
Expected Release Date: December 12, 2013
YouTube Video Trailer:
Goodreads:
Synopsis:
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..
About the Author:
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.
Connect with Mariah:
Author Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/
Author Facebook -
Beautiful Failure Goodreads -
Giveaway:
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*subject to change before publication*
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-
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. But, she did 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.
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