I Am Unbreakable: (Josh and Izzy, #2) Read online

  PRAISE FOR ANGELA MACK

  I AM UNWORTHY

  “Written with raw emotion and spectacular ease, Mack’s debut is wrought with emotional power – and is destined to break readers’ hearts.” ―The Booklife Prize 2020

  “An addictive and engaging debut YA novel about the monsters in our homes and heads, the pains of being young, and the power of letting people in.” ―The Bookbag

  “It takes a lot to tug at my heartstrings, but I found myself hurting for Josh and his situation so much.” ―Heather Garvin, author of Take What You Can

  “The heart wrenching portrayal of the protagonists’ lives is meant to make readers feel big things, and they will.” ―The Prairies Book Review

  I AM UNBREAKABLE

  “The stunning and powerful writing here will surely make the reader cry.” ―For The Literature

  “This story is going to hit you in the gut right from the start.” ―Roxanna C Revell, author of Because of Hattie

  “I cried, I laughed, and then I cried some more. It was perfect and such a beautiful story.” ―Amy Swain, Bookstagrammer, @LoverOfAllThingsBookish

  BOOKS BY ANGELA MACK

  JOSH AND IZZY

  I Am Unworthy

  I Am Unbreakable

  I AM UNBREAKABLE

  ANGELA MACK

  Copyright © 2021 ANGELA MACK

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN 9798557789462

  Front cover designed by Breanna Smith

  BookBabeDesigns

  Edited by Megan Powell

  www.fortheliterature.wordpress.com

  www.angelamackwriter.com

  For anyone who has ever felt like their blood relatives do not appreciate them. Family is not something you are born into, but something you choose. Something others must earn.

  Surround yourself with kind and inspiring people. You deserve it. You are worthy. Promise.

  You were supposed to be there for me,

  help me grow, love me.

  So why did you hurt me

  every chance you got?

  Why did you punch

  and kick

  and beat me senseless?

  Why do you make me feel

  so unworthy?

  How dare you take the word

  ‘Father’

  and turn it into something sinister.

  Now look what you’ve done…

  But just know

  no matter what you do or say

  I will never give up

  protecting myself

  or the family you so easily threw away.

  Cheyenne Bluett

  Contents

  PRAISE FOR ANGELA MACK

  BOOKS BY ANGELA MACK

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  Chapter 1

  Isabel

  Have you ever felt like one decision completely changed the course of your life? One fleeting moment where you decided to do something, or in my case, not do something, and it spiralled into the mother of all fuckups?

  I gripped Josh’s hand so tightly that my fingertips began to turn white. I willed him to open his eyes. I wished for the millionth time that I could turn back the clock. I would tell Mum or the police or someone that Josh’s dad was a violent maniac. The shame and the guilt and sheer repulsion of how my inaction had caused this was unbearable. Why hadn’t I said something?

  As the tears streamed down my cheeks and splashed onto Josh’s hospital bedding, I fought the urge to vomit. The steady beeping of Josh’s heart rate was the only comfort in this sterile box. He hadn’t given up. Not yet. But he hadn’t regained consciousness either. I could see the pity in the doctors’ eyes every time they came around and had nothing new to report.

  When the doctors had listed off Josh’s injuries, it was as if my lungs were shrinking with their every word; squeezing tighter and tighter until it was impossibly hard to breathe. Amongst fractured cheek bones, cracked ribs, internal bleeding, and hideous bruising, his most serious injury was the stab wound. The knife had slipped between his ribs on his left side and pierced his spleen, resulting in a three-centimetre laceration. It couldn't be saved, so they had to perform a splenectomy. I shook my head hard, willing the bloody scenes embedded in my brain to disappear.

  Three centimetres does not sound like much of a wound, right? Wrong. I had never seen so much blood. I remembered sprinting to his front door, my hair whipping around my face as I chased after Mum and Dad. The door was quivering in the breeze, only a slither of the horror behind it peeking out. A hint of red speckled on the floor.

  Dad got there first. He slammed his palm into the door, forcing it backwards. It’s funny how the tiny details stick in your memory. The insignificant moments are unexpectedly magnified. The sound of Dad’s hand whacking the door still echoed around my brain. It was like someone had snapped the top of one of those black and white clapboards, the kind they used when filming a movie to signify the beginning of a scene. Action! But this was no movie.

  The door wouldn’t open. It was stuck against something, so Dad had to press his back against the door frame, scuttling through a small gap―it was Josh’s prone body that was blocking it.

  “Sammy! Do NOT let Izzy come in here!” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Dad sound so forceful, yet so terrified at the same time. I had never seen him scared of anything in my entire life. But Mum and I were only seconds behind him, so it was too late to heed his warning. It was incredibly selfish and dishonourable, but I wished with a ferocity that I had not gone through that door. That I would have had just a few more seconds to process what he’d said. Maybe I would have hesitated. Maybe Mum would have forced me to stay outside. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight, releasing Josh’s hand to massage my temples. The circular rubbing of my fingers became harsher, my nails digging into the flesh of my forehead, as if I could claw the memory right out of my skull. My mind flashed to Georgie huddled next to Josh, his arm thrown over his abdomen and his face buried into the side of Josh’s chest. He was crying softly, as the puddle of blood beneath them crept across the kitchen floor.

&n
bsp; “Izzy?” Mum’s voice brought me out of reverie, the nightmarish flashbacks fading into the background. They never left completely. They were always there, hovering. Taunting me.

  “Yeah?” I looked up and saw her waiting in the doorway. Georgie stood next to her, clinging to her hand. I smiled at him and he smiled back, but his eyes were haunted, just like mine.

  “The doctors want to come in and do some more tests on Ryan.” She gave me a weak smile, holding her free hand out to me. “Come on, let’s go get some lunch. You haven’t eaten all day and I promised Georgie ice cream.” She ruffled Georgie’s hair as I hesitated, twisting a little to look behind me. The curtain was drawn but I knew Ryan was there. He and Josh were in the same private room in the children’s ward of Gilleford Hospital, on the first floor. And if I thought Josh’s injuries were shocking, then Ryan’s were unfathomable.

  “I wish they’d stop pulling that damn curtain across all the time,” Dad muttered as he appeared behind Mum. Every morning when I arrived at Josh and Ryan’s room, the curtain was always drawn, blocking Ryan from view. I thought it was Mum at first, or one of the nurses, but everyone insisted they were not the ones hiding Ryan away. I didn’t know who it was, but I was damn grateful. I couldn’t help but sigh in relief every time I saw that pale green curtain. It danced softly in the breeze from the open window, letting me know that it was OK to come in.

  “Izzy, come on,” Mum urged as Dad slipped into the room. I jumped up with sudden enthusiasm, eager to get out before Dad flung my shield aside. He insisted that we needed to get used to seeing Ryan again―he had a long road to recovery ahead of him and we needed to be ready. It needed to become normal, so we didn’t react every time we saw him. So we didn’t flinch, or wince, or cry. Dad didn’t want us to upset him when he woke from his coma. He was completely right, but that didn’t mean it was easy to do. One day, I would force myself to throw open the curtain and go and sit by Ryan’s bed and talk to him, exactly like Dad always did. But not today.

  As I left the room, three doctors hurried in after me, clipboards in hand. Dad was always present when they wanted to run tests on Ryan. Sometimes he fired question after question at them, taking notes as he went. But the doctors didn’t know how to answer him. They didn’t understand themselves. They didn’t understand how he was still alive.

  Mum gently bumped me with her shoulder, encouraging me to lead the way to the cafeteria. My shoes scuffed along the floor as I stumbled ahead of her and Georgie. I felt more drained with every step, as if my energy was staying behind in the room with Josh, urging him to recover. Urging him to live.

  “Go grab us a table and I’ll bring the food over.” Mum nodded at the seating area, nudging Georgie towards me. I let him pick a table by the window. The chairs screeched against the floor as we pulled them out and sat opposite each other. We both looked out the window, watching the rain trickle against the glass.

  “When will Josh and Ryan wake up?” I flicked my eyes over to Georgie, but he continued to gaze out the window.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, wishing I had a better answer for him. A raindrop splashed at the top of the glass, merging with another drop as it descended. Then that drop sucked in another, and another, until the fat drop rolled to the bottom of the windowsill, disappearing.

  “But they will wake up, right?” He looked at me, eyes shining with hope. My response caught in my throat as I concentrated on not letting my eyes fill with tears. I had to keep it together in front of him.

  “I really, really hope so,” I offered lamely. His shoulders drooped, his chin lowering to his chest as he picked at the edge of the table. His thumb rubbed at some dirt on the surface.

  “I don’t want to be an only child. I miss my brothers,” he whispered, not looking up.

  “I hope you’re hungry!” Mum slid a tray of food across the table, beaming at us with a smile that was too forced. She started to distribute the food and I reached across to snatch a napkin. I turned around, pretending to look at something behind me as I dabbed away the tears rolling down my face.

  Chapter 2

  Joshua

  A guy in blue scrubs hurried by, twisting his body to avoid colliding with the people he passed. A nurse sat behind the desk in front of me, peering at her computer screen through round glasses. A woman in a white lab coat leaned over the nurse's shoulder, pointing at the screen as she muttered. The nurse nodded at whatever the woman had said. A young guy holding a mop and bucket appeared from around the corner. He had a yellow ‘wet floor’ sign wedged under one of his arms. He set the bucket down and grabbed the sign, flipping it open and resting it on the floor. He dunked the mop in the bucket and proceeded to swish the mop back and forth. Back and forth. I stood in the middle of the corridor, watching.

  People continued to buzz around me, busy worker bees. Someone knocked into the wet floor sign and it smacked to the floor. The noise snapped me out of my trance, and I turned, searching. There was an open door to the right of me and I was sure I could hear Charlie’s voice. I began to drift towards it until I spotted a vending machine at the end of the corridor. A young boy stood in front of it, staring through the glass. He looked familiar, so I changed direction and shuffled towards him.

  “Ryan!” I broke into a run as soon as I realised it was him. He turned, his mouth already curving up into a wide grin. I bowled into him with such force that I was amazed he hadn't gone flying backwards, arse sliding along the floor. I lifted him in a fierce hug, spinning him around.

  “Put me down, you idiot!” he laughed. I dropped him to the floor but kept my hands on his shoulders, studying his face. I frowned. The memory of when I’d last seen him came flooding back. Why didn’t he have any bruises? Why did he look perfectly fine? Now that I thought about it, I felt perfectly fine too. I straightened and pulled up my t-shirt, patting myself all over. Where was it? Where was the knife wound?

  My skin was smooth and soft, untarnished. It didn't make any sense. I was about to question Ryan about what was going on, when I saw an elderly couple hobbling towards us over his shoulder. They were stooped low, arm in arm, and the lady walked with a stick. They got closer and closer until I was about to warn them that they were going to knock into Ryan. I opened my mouth, but the sound died as they walked right through him. Ryan just...faded around them as they walked through his body. As if he didn’t exist. As if he were just fragments of dust floating around them.

  My mouth flapped in shock, like a fish stranded on the beach, out of water. No words would come out. The couple continued on their way and I flinched as they passed through me too. I shook my head in disbelief, turning to watch them go. I hadn’t felt a thing.

  “What is...are we…?” I couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence. Ryan laughed again.

  “Oh, come on, Josh. You must have figured it out by now.” He rolled his eyes at me. He sounded like Ryan, he talked like Ryan, but I just saw someone walk right fucking through him as if he were a―

  “Are we dead?” I choked on the final word. Ryan smirked at me and shook his head. “Not yet, bro. Not yet.” My brain tried to scramble for a logical explanation.

  “So, we’re...in between?” I wasn’t sure what I was asking, really.

  “Yep. Not quite dead, but not quite alive. I’ve been walking around this place for ages, wondering when you’d turn up. Took your bloody time!”

  “How are you acting so―”

  “Normal?” he interrupted. I nodded, stunned that he seemed to be coping with our strange situation far better than I was.

  “Like I said, I’ve been here a while. I’m used to it now.” I nodded again as if what he had said made sense, but it didn’t. There was an awkward silence as I tried yet again to process what was happening. I felt like I was going to throw up. Was that even possible right now? This was fucked up.

  “Do you want to see Izzy?” he asked after a minute or so, grinning. Just the mention of her name had me smiling. I momentarily forgot the weirdness around me an
d pictured her face in my mind, her smile.

  “Come on, this way.” Ryan led me back towards the open doorway I had been making my way to before I had spotted him. He was a few steps in front and he walked in a dead straight line. I couldn’t help but wince every time he walked through someone. People really couldn’t see him. He turned to look over his shoulder at me when he realised I wasn't close behind.

  “Josh! Keep up!” He rolled his eyes again and I sped up. I moved around people, staying out of their way out of habit. Ryan paused at the doorway, waiting for me. I stepped beside him and immediately saw Izzy sat next to a bed.

  “Izzy!” I ran, stumbling as I tried to throw my arms around her. My hands slipped through her body, floundering at the air. I straightened up, frowning at her back, frustration coursing through me. Ryan chuckled and I threw a glare at him over my shoulder. He folded his arms and leant against the doorway, smirking.

  Izzy was gripping someone’s hand, staring at her fingers entwined with theirs, hardly blinking. I tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that bolted through my chest. How badly I wished I could hold her hand right now. Her hair was piled up high on her head into a bun, loose strands hanging down around her ears. Her face was bare of makeup and she had dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks red and blotchy. She was hunched over in the chair, leaning as close to the bed as possible.

  A combination of joy and relief hit me as I spotted little Georgie in front of her, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. There was a pad of white paper resting across his legs. Coloured pens lay next to him, twisted up in the sheets. His tongue poked out as he continued to colour in some kind of animal that he had drawn. Judging by the pictures stuck all over the walls, Georgie had been doing a lot of drawing lately.