To You, Iyla, page 1
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Kate Lauren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: thewriterkate1@gmail.com
This book contains coarse language, dark themes, erotic scenes and mature subject matter. It is indented for those who are 18+. TW: death, grief, gun violence, addiction, domestic violence and drug-use.
First paperback edition July 2023
Book Design by Ashley Santoro
ISBN 979-8-3757-9049-7
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
This book is dedicated to those who escape through fiction—life exists from cover to cover.
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
Prologue
Celeste
August 31
From the moment we take our first breath, we begin to die.
I mean, it’s the truth, right? Think about it right now. Every passing second becomes another moment you’ll never get back—another moment that brings you closer to the end.
And I know that’s a morbid thought. Trust me, I do.
But the thought of death never scared me. It never scared me to know that when my time came, there would be one second when I’m here and the next I’m not. I guess there’s a lot of simplicity in death, unlike life’s complications.
He once told me that my destiny lay within the stars. That amongst trillions of small lights in the sky, my fate had been sealed. Frankly, I never knew much about the stars before him, nor did I believe these tiny specks of light could hold a deeper meaning. The thought itself seemed all too consuming.
Yet, here I am on the cold ground, looking up at the night sky—feeling inches away from death, wondering if this is what fate had suggested.
Is my destiny coming to a close?
Is this what the world had in store for me all along?
I don’t know. Instead, I’m gazing up at the stars, not because they’re the only thing I can focus on, but because they remind me of the night we first met. The night we first laid eyes on one another and the moment I knew my life would never be the same.
CHAPTER One
I Y L A
“What do you think of these?” I held a few of my favorite t-shirts against myself, turning to face my best friend, who was sprawled across my bed. Like most of my closet, they were bright, colorful, full of prints, and floral.
“Definitely not. You should have donated those ages ago,” Hallie muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Gee, thanks,” I responded with a roll of my eyes. Hallie’s opinion was nothing if not extraordinarily blunt or honest. In this case, her comment was both.
I tucked the shirts underneath my arm and reached back into my closet to find some alternative options. Ideally, something worthy of my best friend’s approval.
“Listen, all you need is the basics,” Hallie explained, placing her hands on her hips matter-of-factly. “You know, a good couple pairs of t-shirts.”
I noticed her emphasis on a particular keyword in that statement.
“Some tanks, shorts and comfortable clothes. We’re going to California, for crying out loud! We’ll hardly have to wear any clothes with that heat.” A wink escaped her hazel eyes as she danced her way over to my dresser.
“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” I scoffed. “Let’s show up on the first day of class in a bikini top and shorts. That’ll leave a memorable first impression.”
“Now, that, Iyla.” She pointed in my direction proudly. “Might be the best idea you’ve had all day.”
I shook my head in frustration, shooting her a glare as she grinned playfully. “Haven’t you ever heard of the saying ‘modest is hottest’?”
“Haven’t you heard of the saying ‘modest is’… wait, what was it again?” She paused, furrowing her brows in feigned thought. “Oh, I remember. Boring.”
“Why did I not see that one coming?” I groaned, kissing my teeth as I removed the t-shirts from underneath my arm and reluctantly tossed them into the donation pile, much to Hallie’s approval.
“In all seriousness,” she carried on. “This year will be all about you and me. The California sun, the endless memories, and let’s not forget about all the guys we’ll meet.” She reached into my drawers, a devilish grin coming across her lips. “Especially if you show up on move-in day in this little number.” She revealed my red bikini top, holding it oh-so-theatrically held up to her very full chest.
Unlike Hallie, I’d never been exceptionally blessed in the upstairs department. In fact, my bikini top resembled a nipple pastie I’d once seen lying on the inside of her dresser.
“You seem to forget that we’re going to school to get a degree.” I mentally steered my minor chest problems to the side and snatched my bikini top out of her hands. “This isn’t a four-year vacation.”
Compared to my overly optimistic best friend, I’d always considered myself much more of a realist.
Believe me, I knew more than anyone that going to UCLA was a dream come true—a miracle, for that matter. But that didn’t change the fact that this experience would also present its challenges.
“All I am saying is that you’ve worked so hard. Harder than anyone else I’ve ever met,” Hallie responded. “All I want is for you to have fun and for college to be one of the best times of our lives. Especially considering six months ago, packing for UCLA seemed like a figment of our imagination.”
This was true.
Throughout high school, I’d started to think about the next stage in my life, attributing that proactive nature to my parents’ successes in their own respective careers. But still, when it came time to make a decision, I felt lost. I had no real sense of direction, leading me to apply to five general arts programs across the country.
Three in-state: the University of Cincinnati, Toledo, and Ohio State, along with two out-of-state: the University of Louisville and Indiana. Two schools within a reasonable driving distance from Columbus should I ever “need anything.”
“We should be close by. It’ll be better that way! You never know when you might need us.” My parents’ voices floated through my mind.
My parents had always been highly protective of me—which was just a nicer way to say they were hover parents.
Something still didn’t feel right, though. I was excited about going to college and taking the next leap into my future, but frankly, I wasn’t at all excited about what I’d signed myself up to study.
The guidance counselors at school tried to remind me that sometimes you just need to test the waters, but all I wanted was smooth sailing—and to not disappoint my parents. After all, I knew how much my parents had given me my whole life. My life with Lance and Amanda Larson had been beyond compare. Although I knew I wasn’t biologically theirs, they loved me as if I was. They’d had that conversation with me from an early age. I think they both understood the importance of a truth like that.
“Mommy and Daddy adopted you when you were a tiny baby.” I recalled my dad’s words.
“So, I didn’t grow in mommy’s tummy?” I’d surveyed them both, slowly realizing I’d never seen a photo of my mom pregnant.
“No, you didn’t. You grew in someone else’s tummy,” my mom clarified with a gentle smile. “But you were always meant to be ours.”
A six-year-old Iyla had smiled back, feeling a sense of peace accompany those words. It was a sense of peace that had withered as the years went by, and I’d slowly begun to uncover three details of my past, despite my parent’s secretive nature.
One: I was born in Los Angeles, California, prematurely.
Two: my biological mother’s name was Celeste Kinney.
And three: Celeste Kinney passed away shortly after she gave birth to me.
That’s it.
That’s all I knew.
And you could say I was okay with that for a good period of time. Content, if you will. However, as my peace withered, my contentment soon followed suit. I started to form questions about my father, whose name I’d never been told.
In an attempt to answer those questions, I learned one more thing—the most crucial detail of all.
The fact that whenever I’d ask a question about him, it would be quickly dismissed.
“He wasn’t around,” my mom would respond hastily.
“You wouldn’t want to know him anyway. He was a deadbeat,” my dad had once mumbled under his breath before quietly being shushed by my mom.
Eventually, I realized that was just how things were in my family. A lot of empty words and dead ends. Somewhere along the way, I stopped as
But as the saying goes, old habits die hard. In the final weeks before college applications closed, I fell back into my curious ways—only now, with even more deep-rooted questions.
I’d managed to squeeze out of my parents that my birth mother was only a few months shy of 23 when she’d given birth to me. It was an age that suddenly felt within reach—feasible.
With that realization came another, more morbid thought. The thought that I was going to outlive her, replace her, without ever knowing a single thing about her.
“Can you please tell me more about Celeste?” I’d asked my mom one day after finally building up enough courage. “Please, Mom.”
She’d placed a hand behind her neck, rubbing it in a soothing motion as an eerie silence fell over the room. I immediately regretted the words that had taken the liberty to fall out of my mouth.
I had never once thought Amanda and Lance weren’t enough to be my parents. As a little girl, I’d always believed what they said to me was true—I was always meant to be theirs.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t someone else’s first.
I’d always known they’d withheld some information about my past. What I didn’t know was why they kept it from me.
“Well,” my mom finally spoke, hesitation seeping through her voice. “What do you want to know?”
I let out a relieved breath, taken aback by her willingness to entertain the conversation.
“Um,” I stuttered, realizing I was completely unprepared. I didn’t think I’d get this far. “Do you know what Celeste did? You know, before she gave birth to me? Did she work or…go to school?” I asked nervously, playing with my hands as I attempted to coherently express my questions.
Mom leaned back in her chair, “Celeste was a very smart girl, Iyla. She studied pre-law at the University of California. Graduated with one of the highest grades in her cohort.”
She then told me that Celeste had written the LSAT shortly after graduation, scoring high enough to guarantee her a Stanford spot. “The school of her dreams.”
“Did she get accepted?” I probed, eager to grasp at anything I could learn about her.
My mom paused at that, leaving the conversation hanging with an aura of hesitation. I couldn’t ignore how heavy that made me feel.
“I don’t know, sweetie. She passed away before finding out.”
And just like that, I now carried the burden that was never mine to begin with. Had I been the reason her life was cut short? The reason she never got to fulfill her dreams?
“I’m sure she got in, though,” my mom added in an attempt to reassure me. Her words stung like a double-edged sword.
On one end, she’d finally answered some of my long-awaited questions. On the other, her response carved a new wound that felt much worse.
It was a wound that longed and desired to know more.
And that’s when it hit me. The clarity.
Maybe the only way not to replace her was to retrace her. Get a chance to learn who she really was and what her life was like. Walk in her shoes.
But how?
The answer was simple.
I needed to go to UCLA.
I needed to take the pre-law program.
And I needed to make it to Stanford.
That night, I secretly submitted my final college application. For once, a tiny light was at the end of the tunnel.
“California?” My mom debated as I broke the news at the dinner table with not five, but six letters of admission on the counter. “What do you mean you applied to UCLA? We thought you were going to the University of Indiana.”
I’d initially shied away from their disapproval, but in the following weeks, all my time and energy was spent convincing my parents that UCLA was the right choice.
As terrible as it sounded, I backed my parents against a wall. They had one of two options. One, let me go to UCLA; or two, share their real reservations about why they were holding me back. I knew it had more to do with being “too far away.” The choice became abundantly obvious to them as the deadline to accept my offer approached, and they “realized that UCLA was the best option for me after all.”
Unwilling to let them backtrack on their decision, I promptly accepted the offer, inciting a weird state of being in our household. One that until I announced that my best friend, Hallie Jennings, would join me at UCLA in the fall wouldn’t come to pass.
Hallie Jennings.
How do you describe someone like Hallie?
Hallie’s the type of girl everyone knows. The girl that, despite having a million things on her plate, still manages to do a million and one. She’s the friend you see in the movies. The supportive one. The funny one. The one who gives out all the boy advice you could ever imagine, solicited or not. And a total hopeless romantic at heart.
But Hallie had always been more to me than that. It’s as if the universe knew that we had to be best friends if we couldn’t be sisters.
So, by some miracle, everything had managed to work out. And now, I was in my childhood bedroom, packing my entire 18 years into boxes with my best friend.
“So, you agree, right?” Hallie’s voice pulled me out of my deep thoughts and back into the rant she was still so clearly in the midst of. “This is going to be the best time of our life?”
I smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I can promise you this, Hallie. This is the start of the first chapter of many.”
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
The
First Entry
Celeste
June 21
I’ve never proclaimed to be a writer, nor did I ever think I could be a good storyteller. But in law, the whole goal is for the truth to prevail, right? The facts need to be accurate, consistent, and well-executed. The defendants’ story deserves justice.
So, I guess becoming a lawyer was a lot like becoming a storyteller. The ability to take on the narrator’s role to support your client, all in an effort to convince a jury that their story is correct and worth telling.
You see, before him, I never thought I would have a story that I wanted to share. At least, not one that was worthy of telling.
Don’t get me wrong—I’ve gone through my fair share of ups and downs. Stories filled with drama and heartache, stories that are entertaining and chaotic in nature. But those stories are about a girl that doesn’t exist anymore. A girl that, over time, has done her best to grow into a new and better version of herself. A version where her scars didn’t define her but allowed her to be brave.
Brave.
A simple word that always reminds me of something my favorite professor at UCLA, Dr. Sanders, would say:
“Bravery is a virtue possessed by all but only used by some.”
And that’s what I wanted to be when I was with him.
Braver.
Who’s him, you may ask?
Good question.
Where do I even start?
When I was given this journal many years ago, I was told that sometimes, to move forward, we need to re-discover the past. And to do that, I suppose I need to start right from the beginning, on one day in particular.
The Friday before spring break and the night before it all began.
“Look, I’m staying in-state this year.” My roommate and best friend, Claire, prolonged her antagonizing lecture as I sunk my head deeper into my textbook. “I’m only going to Long Beach. Just an hour away.”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, dismissing her comment. “Going away for spring break doesn’t sound like the best idea. You know I really need to ace these finals,” I added, throwing out a lie that even I had a hard time believing.
I knew that going on a spring break trip wouldn’t jeopardize my chances of acing my exams. In fact, I’d practically memorized each of my textbooks, considering that’s what you do when your whole life revolves around school.
