Table of Contents
Advance Praise for MELT:
No Place Like Home
Part One: Munchkinland
One
Two
Three
Part Two: The Yellow Brick Road
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Part Three: The Great Oz
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thanks for reading!
Q & A with Selene Castrovilla
Saved by the Music
The Girl Next Door
BOOKS BY SELENE CASTROVILLA
Copyright
Advance Praise for MELT:
“Dorothy and Joey’s plight is both an inner and an outer struggle, a reckoning with a cold world, and a psychological drama about the stakes of truth-telling that ends with a gratifying act of mercy. A fresh, emotionally complex bildungsroman of young American love that looks long and hard at violence, and at what can overcome it.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Melt is evocative, emotional, vivid, and powerful. Beautiful, painful, and ultimately healing, Melt is a gripping read that will make you feel and care about the characters.”
—Cheryl Rainfield, award-winning author of SCARS and STAINED
“It was so well-written. If I were to meet Selene right now, I’d clap in front of her for she has written something painfully real and beautiful.”
—The Quirky Reader
“MELT was one of the most powerful, stunning books I’ve read all year … Castrovilla sets MELT against a Wizard of Oz backdrop and the L. Frank Baum passages offer a unique insight into the plot of MELT.
The plot was incredibly real, raw, and painful. Castrovilla takes on many different subjects, such as abuse, addiction, and first love. Despite the heavy subject matter, this novel reads extremely quickly and is amazingly well-written.
If you are a fan of realistic, contemporary fiction, this novel should be a MUST READ. Bravo to Selene Castrovilla on writing one of the best books of 2014.”
—Lady Reader’s Bookstuff
“Melt … reminded me of why I love to read. My heart was literally pounding … I couldn’t put it down.”
—Eve’s Fan Garden
“This is such a captivating read from the start. I got so involved with the characters that I was afraid to leave them, afraid that I might miss out on something big if I stop reading.”
—The Cursed Empire
“I get the writing style of Melt isn’t for everyone. It’s written as verse, poetic-like. But the book is so deep, but yet such an easy read. I’ll never forget it. NEVER.
And I’ll forever recommend it as a must-read. The fact that she could introduce these deep characters in such a structure and make me feel like I know them is mind blowing.
I have nothing but praise to the author … she created a powerful book that will forever hunts the reader. Poignant and entirely realistic, MELT is a book that should NEVER be missed.”
—Her Book Thoughts!
“All I could think was ‘God help them’. And I couldn’t stop reading.”
—Sheri’s Reviews, Goodreads
“Different. Intense. Perfect.
This story was all of these, and so much more.”
—Bibilophilia, Goodreads
Melt
by
Selene Castrovilla
“Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as Dorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall away.
‘See what you have done!’ she screamed. ‘In a minute I shall melt away.’
‘I’m very sorry, indeed,’ said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her eyes.
‘Didn’t you know water would be the end of me?’ asked the Witch, in a wailing, despairing voice.
‘Of course not,’ answered Dorothy. ‘How should I?’”
—From The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
For Joe Donovan
Thanks to my friends, who have been life support over the years. Thanks to my fans, whose connection with my work has provided me with satisfaction and happiness beyond all conceptions. Thanks to my sons, who give me joy, unconditional love and latitude when I’m writing.
No Place Like Home
“‘What shall we do?’ asked the Tin Woodman.
‘If we leave her here she will die,’ said the Lion.”
—From The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
Mom stopped crying a
long
time ago.
Now
she don’t even
whimper
when he does it. He comes
home
in his steel blue shirt shiny black shoes shiny tie clip shining
badge
he blows in and the screen door
slams
behind him like it’s pissed off
he’s
back.
He comes in shuts the front door clicks the lock closed
he wipes his shoes on the mat
back and forth
back
and
forth he pads across the shit-brown carpet without a sound
his eyes are empty his eyes are
dark his eyes are
wrought
lead like his
Glock.
I catch a whiff of his favorite mouthwash
Jack
Daniel’s
he used to smell of Listerine and Jack but he don’t bother trying to
cover
up
these days.
Without a look he goes past me and Jimmy and Warren. Warren’s got his textbooks spread out across the couch but he ain’t studying
not
no more. Grim music drifts from our video game low
chilling
sounds like any second the reaper’s gonna
strike. Me and Jimmy we’re playing Halo on Xbox, least we were ‘til
he
came
back. It’s like we’re paused
we’re all on
pause whenever
Pop
comes
home.
We ain’t putting down the controls ‘cause if we look at him if we act like we’re paying attention to what he’s doing then he
might
come
after
us
next.
The freakish Halo music plays on and
on and
on. He heads through the arch to the kitchen his shoes
stamping on the green
linoleum he goes right over to
her
at the stove cooking his goddamn mashed potatoes stirring
stirring
stirring she don’t move don’t run she just stirs
stirs
stirs
he says
nothing
to her to the
girl he married to the
mother
of his kids he comes behind her at the stove
his shoes squeak he
grabs
her
the spoon plops in the potatoes no not even a plop not a sound it
sinks soundless
like
her.
He holds her against him blue sleeve on white apron
squeezing
squeezing
squeezing into her ribs like he’s doing the Heimlich
his tie clip presses in her back
he sticks his semi-automatic piece of crap weapon in her mouth clanks
it against her teeth shoves
it
down
her
throat clicks
off the safety and she don’t
make a sound
she
just
stands there and takes it. Not a peep not a flinch not a blink of panic
nothing she just takes it she
melts
for him
melts like the butter she stirred in his mashed potatoes made from
scratch
peeled one by one
eyes carved out
she
melts she just disappears
she’s
gone.
Like every husband in the world kisses his wife like this.
Like she
deserves
it like she did something that’d
make
it
for the man who
swore
to
love and cherish her
to do
this
in front of
me.
Hey, I saw the video.
There wasn’t nothing in those vows ‘bout guns or fists neither for that matter. Do you Caitlyn Ruby Shields promise to take a pounding anytime Joseph Thomas Riley damn well feels like laying one on? No, I don’t think Father Gallagher mentioned that.
God I
hate
that name I
hate that I’m
named
after
him. My pop I mean. Not Father Gallagher.
Mom in her satin white dress with the lacy veil and the puffed
sleeves the long
train
dragging
behind her the big-ass bouquet of white roses she
cradled
in her arms
poor
Mom she looked so happy no one told her ‘bout the guns. And
him
he’s standing there by Father Gallagher in his black tux black bow-tie
that
prick
he’s always
so neat
looking
so smug
hair slicked
back I could’ve killed him even then if
only
I was born.
That’s a
lie
I can’t even
kill
him
now.
I just sit here
pretending
to
play
Halo while my mom gets a Glock rammed down her throat I can’t even save my mom from this piece of shit who goes out to serve
and
protect
all day
some
joke.
She stopped crying like five years ago.
She stopped crying when I was twelve.
Me I never cried much not in front of him he warned me not to.
He told us me and my brothers not to let one tear drop on the carpet or we’d get it too. He don’t hit us much he just
says
he might.
Me and Jimmy we’re pussies I guess Warren’s nine what could he do but me and Jimmy we sit there
day
after
day fingers touching stupid useless buttons day after
day night after
night he hits her hits
her hits
her and we watch.
Week after
week month
after month we
watch.
She gets slammed
into walls so hard pictures fall she gets shoved
so rough his finger marks are in her arm she gets thrown
to the floor and kicked
kicked
kicked
and we hold our controls and we hold our breaths and watch we
watch
we watch.
Warren cries in bed. I check on him before I go to sleep, stick my head in his door. The blankets are pulled up over him he’s just a
lump
underneath. There’s no noise but the covers shake he’s under there holding it
all
in
He’s only nine.
He’ll learn to cut that shit
soon
enough.
Me and Jimmy we don’t cry.
And she don’t cry neither.
So
what’s the
problem maybe this is
normal maybe this is
life maybe everybody on Long Island does this behind the doors they close and lock when they come
home.
This’s all I know and
maybe
this’s right but it
don’t feel right I wanna help her
but
I
don’t.
I watch Mom suck steel and then we all eat. We sit at the
table slide our chairs in
we pick up our forks
like
nothing.
Pass the potatoes.
Part One
Munchkinland
“She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door.”
—From The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
One
Dorothy
He looks like a sculpture by Michelangelo. Like his body was intricately carved, chip by chip until it was perfect.
He’s beautiful.
When I saw his muscles—even half covered by his Metallica T-shirt they couldn’t be denied—when I saw his arms, I knew they could keep me safe. Funny, I never thought I needed protection, but there it was, that thought, and just like that everything changed.
He was sitting with a bunch of guys in Dunkin’ Donuts when Amy and I walked in. Dunkin’ Donuts is apparently the mecca of teen society in Highland Park. Not that there’s much to choose from in this one-square-mile town. There’s a pizza place, a Chinese restaurant, a laundry … well, you get the picture. Manhattan, it’s not. Anyway, the cool crowd gathers in Munchkinland.
Personally, I find the bright fuchsia and orange colors a tad aggressive on the eyes, but what the hey. When in Rome …. And it looks like I’m going to be in Rome for a while.
So Amy—the one friend I’ve made thus far in my two days here—she headed right past all those guys, just ignored them and headed for the counter. I meant to follow, but those biceps … they held me back.
Imagine if they were holding me.
The rest of the guys, they were yammering away, making crude jokes and cracking themselves up. He sat slightly apart, leaning his wrought iron chair back against the oh-so-pink wall.
My eyes scanned higher, rising over his thick, strong neck to his finely chiseled jaw, lips, cheeks, nose.
He’s a work of art.
To his eyes then, to his smoky-grey eyes that stared back at me. He had the look of an animal caught in a trap. It was like he was caged inside that beautiful body, like he was asking me to carve deeper and set his soul free.
“What are you doing, Dorothy?”
I guess I didn’t answer fast enough because Amy grabbed at my arm, pulled me closer to the counter. “Those guys, they’re jerks. We don’t talk to them.”
“I wasn’t actually talking to ….”
“Listen, they’re losers. Get your donut and come in the back room, that’s where everyone is.”
I turned and looked at him. He was still watching me, tracking me with those eyes ….
“Are you insane?”
Amy yanked me around again. “That’s Joey Riley. He’s the biggest loser of them all.”
“He doesn’t look like a loser.”
“Hel-lo, do you think losers come with big ‘loser’ signs attached? No, they can come in some exceptional packaging. But when you unwrap them and you peel away all that plastic coating stuff and rip off the safety tags, then guess what, it’s too late to return them.”
“Could you be more specific?” I asked.
“How about Joey Riley beats people up for fun, sends them to the hospital. How about Joey Riley drinks and smokes weed. How about Joey Riley’s been arrested, sent to jai— Oh, crap, he’s coming over …. Hey, Joey! What’s up?” Amy’s lips widened into a faux smile. I was beginning to not like my only friend. Maybe it was time to make another.
I turned around, faced him.
Faced those muscles, faced those eyes. If Amy was correct about him fighting he must’ve been awfully good, because he didn’t have a visible mark. I tried to think of him as bad; I tried to shut him down in my head, but who was I kidding? He didn’t answer Amy, he didn’t even glance at her. He was all about me, and it was reciprocal.
“Hi, Doll,” he said in a voice low and husky.
“Doll?” I echoed. “Are we in some sort of 1940s gangster movie?”
“What? No, I … I didn’t mean anything by ….” His face tensed, reddened.
“It’s okay,” I jumped in. “Doll should be the worst name I’m ever called.”
His jaw loosened, and he smiled just a little, around the edges. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he said.
“I just moved here, from New York.”
He nodded, his long brown hair brushing ever so slightly against his shoulders. Lucky hair. “That’s cool. I’m Joey.”
He hesitated, then offered me his hand. It was calloused, kind of bent and bumpy-looking. His knuckles were uneven, bruised. I guessed he did punch people.
I hesitated, then took it.
A warm energy moved through me when we touched. It was all I could do not to melt into his arms, and I’m not the melting type.
I swallowed deeply. “I’m Dorothy.”
Joey
She looks like a
doll
like one of them
porcelain
dolls something so
fragile and
precious
you should put
high
on
a
shelf to keep
safe and never
never
touch.
Mom had a bunch of them three shelves full ‘til Pop had
enough
he said he couldn’t stand them all