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Breaking Skin
Dancing is like magic. It makes me disappear. When I dance I'm not a sister or a daughter, not a lover or a friend. I exist in the moment, onstage, where I turn pain into art and pretend the illusion is real. My past is an abomination and my future is unwritten, but my present is pure, fluid, and focused. I'm content, or at least I think I am, until the night I meet a man who makes me want more. He's broken, just like me, but in different ways. He's older and nothing like the men I'm used to. Compared to him, they're all boys, immature and insipid, while he's a force of nature, confident and virile. Virile is a word I've never used before, and I only use it now because he embodies it so completely. At first, he fights the attraction between us almost as hard as I do. But when words like destiny and soulmate whisper through my thoughts, how can I ignore them? He can have any girl he wants, but he looks at me as if I'm the girl he's waited for his whole life. How can I tell him I'm not that girl? I wish I were enough for him, wish I were whole. But beneath my facade, I've been falling to pieces for a long time, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to resist the downward momentum.
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Breaking Skin
Dancing is like magic. It makes me disappear. When I dance I'm not a sister or a daughter, not a lover or a friend. I exist in the moment, onstage, where I turn pain into art and pretend the illusion is real. My past is an abomination and my future is unwritten, but my present is pure, fluid, and focused. I'm content, or at least I think I am, until the night I meet a man who makes me want more. He's broken, just like me, but in different ways. He's older and nothing like the men I'm used to. Compared to him, they're all boys, immature and insipid, while he's a force of nature, confident and virile. Virile is a word I've never used before, and I only use it now because he embodies it so completely. At first, he fights the attraction between us almost as hard as I do. But when words like destiny and soulmate whisper through my thoughts, how can I ignore them? He can have any girl he wants, but he looks at me as if I'm the girl he's waited for his whole life. How can I tell him I'm not that girl? I wish I were enough for him, wish I were whole. But beneath my facade, I've been falling to pieces for a long time, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to resist the downward momentum.
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Breaking Skin

Breaking Skin

Breaking Skin
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Breaking Skin

Breaking Skin

Overview

Dancing is like magic. It makes me disappear. When I dance I'm not a sister or a daughter, not a lover or a friend. I exist in the moment, onstage, where I turn pain into art and pretend the illusion is real. My past is an abomination and my future is unwritten, but my present is pure, fluid, and focused. I'm content, or at least I think I am, until the night I meet a man who makes me want more. He's broken, just like me, but in different ways. He's older and nothing like the men I'm used to. Compared to him, they're all boys, immature and insipid, while he's a force of nature, confident and virile. Virile is a word I've never used before, and I only use it now because he embodies it so completely. At first, he fights the attraction between us almost as hard as I do. But when words like destiny and soulmate whisper through my thoughts, how can I ignore them? He can have any girl he wants, but he looks at me as if I'm the girl he's waited for his whole life. How can I tell him I'm not that girl? I wish I were enough for him, wish I were whole. But beneath my facade, I've been falling to pieces for a long time, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to resist the downward momentum.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781533082565
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date: 06/08/2016
Pages: 346
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.72(d)

About the Author

Debra Doxer was born in Boston, and other than a few lost years in the California sunshine, she has always resided in the Boston area. She writes fiction, technical software documents, illegible scribbles on sticky notes, and texts that get mangled by AutoCorrect. She writes for a living, and she writes for fun. When her daughter asks when she'll run out of words, her response always is, "When I run out of time."

Connect with Debra:
www.facebook.com/AuthorDebraDoxer twitter.com/debradoxer www.instagram.com/debradoxer www.goodreads.com/author/show/6876249.Debra_Doxer
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