Breaking free, p.1
Breaking Free, page 1
Praise for Breaking Free
“Breaking Free really snaps your attention and keeps you wanting more, setting tones for every scene. Gault’s descriptions and word choices surprise you in the best way. Breaking Free has it all: a beautiful love story with characters full of devotion to their family, and best of all, a tragic ending that leaves you needing more.”
—MC Pending, author of Untouchable.
“Breaking Free is full of heartbreaking repetition, flawless imagery and description, and lines that perfectly integrate the internal conflict of all Gault’s characters into the story. It’s a beautifully crafted piece with so much emotion, leaving me speechless with my jaw dropped. Breaking Free is a stunning book that crushes your hope just when you feel safe.”
—LJ Elizabeth, co-author of The Fragility of a Downpour: A Scrapbook of Seasons.
“Right from the first line, Breaking Free was hard for me to put away. There’s a perfect rising and falling of tension that’s so well utilized in Lavinia’s sassy and humorous narrative voice. Breaking Free is full of parallels, imagery, and character dynamics; Gault describes with insane attention to detail. After reading Breaking Free, I need three things: tissues, an army to take down Ivankov with, and the sequel.”
—Paris Kaufman, upcoming author of The Mageye.
“Family is everything in Breaking Free. Every emotional scene makes you hurt right alongside these characters, even the ones who don’t deserve it. From early revelations all the way to the epilogue, Breaking Free gives readers a wonderful beginning to the rest of its series.”
—Liliane Brunet.
Breaking Free
Larissa Gault
Larissa Gault
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Larissa Gault
* * *
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
* * *
First Larissa Gault paperback edition May 28, 2022.
* * *
Manufactured in the United States of America
* * *
Gault, Larissa
Breaking Free
* * *
Cover artist: Paige Coffer
Cover designer: Whimsy Book Cover Graphics
Line editor & formatter: Ariana Tosado
* * *
Ebook ISBN: 9798985855319
For Cameron Boyce
You were a light to this world, and an inspiration from the beginning. I cannot thank you enough. Though I never got to meet you, I hope I will be able to run up to you in heaven and thank you for the impact you had on my life. You were the one who inspired a character in my head, the character I needed at the time, and you got me through this novel.
I wanted to give up more times than I can count, but I never did. I never stopped, because I knew someone would need to read about that character just as much as I needed him. You’ve made an incredible difference in my life and countless others.
Your fate brings tears to my eyes, as does finishing this book, but I am forever grateful to you. This is for Jesse Price, who is always in my heart, and this is for you.
This book contains discussions and descriptions of violence, death, murder, depression, anxiety, kidnapping of children, harmful scientific experimentation, weapons such as handguns and knives, PTSD and its symptoms, ADHD and other neurological developmental disorders, and sensitivity disorders.
This book contains extremely brief mentions of suicide and fleeting suicidal thoughts, forced sterilization, self-harm via burning, suggestive material, sexual assault, and alcohol and drug use. Some moderate language in appropriate situations is used.
This book is not recommended to readers under fifteen or sixteen years of age unless their parent or legal guardian feels the individual is emotionally mature enough to handle its content. Discretion is advised. Please read reviews to ensure the content is not exceeding the level of comfort for any reader.
Preface
Breaking Free is a novel I started four years ago, in the wake of my mental health’s decline. Since then, I’ve vastly improved…depends on who you ask. I remember writing the first draft (the one I’d rather forget) on the mattress that dwelled in my sister’s room at the time—our basement was being renovated, and I was staying in her room. Thankfully, my laptop fit in a lovely place beside the mattress, and the internet connection to Wattpad was strong.
But I suppose if I tell you all this used to be inspired by another published work, I should probably tell you what it was. After you read this, you’ll probably know, though. In that time of crippling doubt and a need to start a new hobby, I was watching more Marvel movies than I could count. Once I had an idea for some characters and a plot line inspired by X-Men, Breaking Free was born.
It soon spiraled into the deepest obsession I’ve ever had, and eventually, I knew the universe of Ivankov better than I knew myself. Thankfully, that has proven to benefit me, as three years later, I began an Instagram account and also started watching Agents of Shield. I’ve now attracted a concerning amount of people who want to read my work, and I’m not sure whether to be grateful or worried for all of your sanities.
In a lovely twist of irony, this book has supported me through worse times than its origins and all the way to present day—which I am happy to report is on the upside. Once the second draft was reached, the unoriginal plot lines were removed and I scrapped half the scenes. I wrote many of Lavesse’s best moments while in the midst of a mental breakdown, and you’ll probably realize that along the way.
Many of these characters served as vessels for the myriad of complicated emotional roller coasters I’ve been through in the four years of writing it. Persephone and Liam mainly represent the childish sides of me that never got the chance to bloom (woohoo, trauma), while Grace and Sarvesh represent the maturity I wish I didn’t have. Anastasia is a mom friend I wish I did have (I am the mom friend), mostly just because she’d threaten anyone who hurts me.
And for Lavinia and Jesse…where do I even start? The parts of me that died with the two breakups I went through in this four-year journey are facets of Lavinia and Jesse that sometimes I forget are there. They’re complicated characters, perhaps more complicated than anyone I’ve met in real life, but I think that adds to the story.
Life is always going to be a mess, no matter who you are or where you’re going. Problems will come at you, and these characters are no exemption to life’s troubles. Lavinia and Jesse are a huge part of this story because they showcase how love is such a vital factor in surviving all of life’s pain. Love is a beautiful thing, a sacred thing, and if it weren’t for love, I never would have finished this book.
Contents
Prologue
1. Grumpy Beginnings
2. Prepared for Nothing
3. The Start of Something Terrifying
4. Unknowns
5. Pillow Fort
6. Bandage The Past
7. Never Alone
8. Late Nights
9. Never Doing This Again
10. The Unspoken Thing
11. Fate is Calling
12. Path of Silence
13. I Should’ve Stayed in Bed
14. Masters
15. Maybe This Wasn’t a Bad Idea
16. Under Lock and Key
17. Full of Surprises
18. Something Good, for Once
19. Worth the Pain
20. Admission
21. Good Plan
22. Finishing This Later
23. By Three Years
24. Safe Place
25. Finally Fighting
26. Why Does It Matter?
27. Dead to Me
28. You Saved Me
29. Through the Dark
30. Death is Nothing
31. Find Her, Found Her
32. In the Face
33. You’re Home
34. Bird in the Sky
35. Unexpected
36. Man in the Sunglasses
37. Locked Paths
38. Infallible Heroes
39. The Darker Truth
40. Hell and Back
41. Good Enough for Me
42. Thank You for the Memories
43. If Only We Could Stay
44. Blue-Eyed
45. Fourth Wall: I’m Sorry
46. Call It Fun
47. All Will Be Revealed
48. Helpless Drowning
49. Tell Me I’m Dreaming
50. Final Piece
51. Life Without You
52. Changes
53. This is It
54. New Friends, New Guns
55. I Regret Everything
Epilogue
Information Key
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Riga, Latvia
August 14th, 1998
The dreams were getting darker, and the little girl grew afraid of falling asleep.
Each morning, her younger siblings would wake up to her crying in her sleep. In the next room, her father lay, unknowingly dreaming the very same thing. His daughter was being tortured by his dreams—exact replicas—as if they were her own.
The dreams were forgotten each mornin g and never mentioned again. But then, other things started happening when the children would go exploring the ruined remains of the factory behind their house. A few weeks before, the family was woken in the dead of night by a rumbling beneath them. Seconds later, an explosion sounded.
Chaos erupted, but the children remained safely inside with their mother huddled around them in protection. A few hours later, the father returned to his family. They were safe. The energy plant inside the factory had an accidental explosion, but the entire building was leveled.
Volunteers had shown up to help shift through the remains, but there were no survivors. Since that night, the children had begged their mother to explore the now empty field. Until the metal cooled and the crew wiped the ash and any reminder of the building away forever, she held them off with a stern shake of her head.
But early one morning when breakfast had been finished and the dishes had been cleaned, with her permission, the children ran to the field as fast as their small legs could carry them. The oldest, at six years old, whispered warnings to her siblings with every unfamiliar sound or crack in the nearby woods. The little girl would be lying if she said the ruins didn’t make her uneasy.
But in their excursions throughout the summer, the girl’s memories of the dreams receded, and the shouts in a fire, cries over bodies, and charred faces soon were replaced by laughter and the children’s findings.
Until one day, the little boy cried out, “Look!” He promptly pointed past his twin sister’s shoulder at a piece of rubble that was waving in the wind.
“What is it, Parker?” the oldest girl asked, her back turned to her siblings while she knelt over in search of sticks for their pretend fire in the makeshift camp.
Upon hearing squeals of delight from her brother and sister, the oldest girl turned around and swept her brown hair out of her face. She thought of how pretty she would be when she was older, when her mother would finally let her dye it a beautiful auburn. For now, she frowned in confusion at the sight before her and forgot all about her hair troubles.
A piece of the old factory, what could best be described as a clear, rubber trashcan lid, was suspended in mid-air. The girl rushed forward and pushed her siblings back so they wouldn’t touch the strange object.
“Lavinia! Stop pushing me!” her little sister whined.
“Don’t touch it, Persephone,” Lavinia whispered, but she had an undeniable urge to reach out. She wanted to touch it. Her curiosity grew. She wanted to move it herself.
Could I do that? What if…?
Lavinia reached out, but without touching it, she moved her hand in a gesture toward the sky. Move it higher. She jumped when it moved; twisted in the air; and, as if it were connected to her, shot up so far that she could no longer see it.
Her younger sister squealed a small shriek of surprise, and the piece came crashing down on the ground again. This time, it landed right where it had begun moving just moments ago. The children looked at each other in disbelief, then confusion; then, they all burst out into laughter.
“I can’t believe it!” Parker shouted as his blond hair bounced up and down.
“You moved it!” Persephone squealed in delight, a twinkle shining in her blue eyes.
“I…I did, didn’t I?” Lavinia looked pleased with herself, but unlike her siblings, she wondered how that was possible.
How could someone do that, and why did it work? Why just her?
The next morning, her brother ran off farther into the field to find a new piece for their decorations. Before her eyes, he disappeared into the woods and rushed back to the field immediately, sobbing. Before she could cry for help or yell to Persephone to go back to the house, Parker regained his composure. Lavinia ran to his side and comforted his shaking body. He sniffled once and shook his head, pushing his sister off.
He seemed to be feeling every person who was in the same emotional state as him a thousand times over. Lavinia tried teaching him how to block it out, to ignore the emotions crying out to be found. At Lavinia’s confusion, Parker would grow panicked and confused too. Even Lavinia didn’t feel everything he did. She soon realized that he was hypersensitive to people’s emotional states, including his own.
Her little sister had the same glow of Lavinia’s hands when she used her newfound skills, but Lavinia discovered that Persephone couldn’t control as many things as she could. Lavinia accidentally played a memory right in front of her wide eyes and read her mother’s mind. For a six-year-old, it was strange to see her memories in front of her in a muddle of smoke, glowing and changing like it were from a movie.
In the grocery store, hiding behind her mother, she even flew a can of beans off the shelf toward a strange man—going unnoticed by both her distracted mother and the man.
It was only her ability to move items with her mind that she shared with Persephone. While that made little sense to the girls, it seldom mattered. They were having fun.
Every afternoon when the children would return home, a word of their fun was never spoken to their parents. They were afraid they wouldn’t understand or that they would never let them return to the field again.
But their silence would be far worse of a punishment. Far, far worse.
One
Grumpy Beginnings
{ Lavinia }
Ten years later
September 2008
“Ernest Labzina! Just what do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, my eyes flashing.
The tall, burly, and dark-haired man sparked anger within me. Never liked him. Now, he had confirmed everything I knew to be true—he was a lying and sniveling man, a high-ranking agent and handler who had used Ivankov’s occasional carelessness to his advantage; that meant continuing tests that had long since been proven to be harmful.
I stood inches away from Agent Labzina and bristled in anger as I proudly stared up at him from my short stature. Anastasia stepped out from behind me and hurried to Persephone. My younger sister was huddled in the chair, and her naturally red hair was limp, blue eyes dull.
I clenched my jaw after recognizing the needles, the labels of the bottles attached to the tubes, and nodded to Anastasia to help Perse up from the tragedy in front of me.
“Doing my job, child, what do you think you’re doing?” Our handler’s face was red.
He knew he couldn’t harm any of us no matter how much he wanted to. So he had resorted to the worst forms of torture.
In Ivankov, our autonomy had disappeared. Wishes of home and normalcy were beaten out of us, and through training, we learned to defend ourselves and attack anyone who stood in our way.
Ivankov’s way of progress and world domination, more like it.
“I’m saving her like I do every other day in this cursed place,” I retorted. “And don’t call me a child. You made sure I grew up a long time ago.”
