Her Story of Survival, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HER STORY OF SURVIVAL
First edition. August 1, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 J.A. Smith.
ISBN: 979-8201839055
Written by J.A. Smith.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HER STORY OF SURVIVAL
First edition. August 1, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 J.A. Smith.
ISBN: 979-8201839055
Written by J.A. Smith.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Further Reading: The Story of Her Life
Also By J.A. Smith
About the Author
Chapter 1
Marie
I wake suddenly, my eyes snapping open and choking back a sob as I gasp for air. I struggle against the sheets that have somehow wrapped themselves around my legs, barely managing to push myself to a seated position and pressing my back against the headboard. It takes me several seconds of near suffocation before the haze of confusion begins to dissipate and I realize that I’m safe. There’s no one standing over me, no hands wrapped around my throat.
Taking slow and steady breaths, I blink away the blurriness and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The movement causes my head to spin, and my stomach begins to revolt. I jump out of the bed in a rush, barely stopping myself from falling to the floor from my shaky legs, and stumble toward the bathroom just in time to keep from emptying the contents of my stomach onto the travertine floor.
I sit on the cold tile and lean my head back against the door while I concentrate on taking slow breaths, willing my stomach to settle. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my head and that isn’t helping my situation. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I rest my forehead against my knee. “This is getting ridiculous.” I say to myself. “Get your shit together, Marie. You can’t keep waking yourself up like this.”
I’ve been having nightmares off and on for the past four years. I don’t waste time pretending to analyze them, I know why they started. It was naïve of me to think the nightmares and sleepless nights were going away. I thought my days of living in fear were behind me and I was ready to move forward. They had at least lessened in frequency over the last year.
I wrote a story around that time for Metropolitan Weekly that was about Post Traumatic Stress in actors caused by roles they had to play on the screen. It’s not uncommon considering what some of them have to put their minds and bodies through in order to become the character they’re playing.
After several weeks of watching, researching, and learning how they come back to themselves after a particularly stressful role, I found one thing in common amongst the female actors. Yoga. A little more research and I found that yoga was good for relieving stress and helping with sleep. I found a yoga studio within walking distance of my apartment and got a membership to Celestial Beings. I’ve been going three times a week for the last year and it has been remarkable how much better I sleep at night. That’s why this nightmare from last night caught me off guard.
Yes, things have been more stressful for me lately. Brandi at work, was working on a story for Travis. She had been following the mayor’s son and trying to expose his adulterous affair with a younger woman. Unfortunately for her, she was in a car accident last week and isn’t able to finish her article. Travis handed it off to me to finish but in order to get a glimpse of the proof I need to validate the information, I have to go to a nightclub.
I’ve been dreading this night for the past week. I don’t like going out in public. My job is perfect for me because I can do most of my work with the help of the internet and telephone lines. I can be anonymous and hide behind my laptop for most of what I do. But being out in the public eye, not such a good time for me personally.
I moved to Los Angeles four years ago, which is a long story that I don’t want to go into right now. I took the job with Travis at Metropolitan Weekly within a few weeks of arriving in the city. If I were a normal reporter, I would be expected to be out and about taking interviews and chasing stories. However, because Travis runs his paper like a gossip rag, I can base most of my information on gossip from the internet and social media and get away with it. It’s not honorable but it pays the bills. And it keeps me hidden from the public view.
It’s not that I’m afraid of being in public, I walk to work every day since it’s only a few blocks from my apartment. I don’t own a car because I don’t want a driver’s license, so I don’t go anywhere that isn’t in walking distance. It may sound stupid, but a driver’s license is traceable. There are people in my past that I would prefer not to be able to track or find me. This is the same reason why I don’t have a personal Facebook or Instagram account. I left my past behind me when I got on a Greyhound bus in the middle of the night with only a bag full of clothes and $5000 stuffed in my bra and travelled halfway across the country.
Unfortunately, that kind of money doesn’t stretch very far in Los Angeles. Especially when you’re a nobody from Small Town, USA with no friends or family in the immediate vicinity. I spent a week in a motel when I first arrived, feeling sorry for myself and trying to figure out what led me to this point in my life.
When the money started to run out, I got desperate. It’s not something I’m proud of but I was able to keep most of my dignity intact. I didn’t sell my body on the street or anything if that’s what you’re thinking.
I had run into a lady one night while trying to beg a few bucks off passersby in front of a coffee house. I was hungry and didn’t have enough change to spare for food after paying for another week on my motel. Her name was Wendy, and she was like a goddess in designer shoes. She’d handed me a hundred-dollar bill and a business card with nothing more than an address written on it. She told me to come see her the next day and she would hook me up with a job.
I was nervous at first because I never would have found myself in the type of establishment that the address led me to the next day. Having grown up the way I did, you didn’t go to places like bars or strip clubs. And that’s exactly where I found myself standing outside of the next day. Wendy was part owner of a classy club called The Penthouse. Located in the business district of LA, you wouldn’t know that’s what it was until you went through the doors. The building itself was a classic brick two story with dark tinted windows and even had a doorman standing beneath a long black overhang and dressed in a tuxedo.
“I can’t dance.” I told Wendy as she led me into her office on the second floor. The wall behind her desk was made of windows which overlooked the dance stage and seating area.
“I don’t want you to dance. You’re much too skinny for that.” She said in response, cocking her head to one side and looking me over from head to toe.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I wrapped my arms around myself and turned my eyes to the floor. “Oh,” was all I could manage to say.
“I don’t mean anything bad about it.” She said, reaching her hand across the table and tilting my gaze to hers with her index finger under my chin. “I can tell you aren’t in a good place right now. It’s in your eyes. I don’t want to know what you’re running away from, but I want to help you. And the first thing we need to do is get some meat on your bones. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”
I gave Wendy a crooked smile and my shoulders drooped. “I ran out of money. I didn’t think I would go through it so fast.”
“That’s understandable. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No ma’am.” I answered her politely. I really didn’t want to tell her my story. I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself yet much less share it with someone that I’d only just met.
“That’s what I thought. Look,” She started as she stood and walked to the front of her desk. She sat on the edge and crossed her arms over her chest looking every bit the proper businesswoman. “I know what it’s like to have nothing. I’ve been there. If it weren’t for this place, I would still be right where you are right now. You don’t strike me as the type of person that’s desperate enough to take her clothes off for strangers though.”
I released a breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding. “No ma’am.” I couldn’t explain the amount of relief I felt when she admitted that I wouldn’t be one of her dancers. I’d only ever taken my clothes off in front of one person since becoming an adult. I couldn’t imagine doing it in front of people that I didn’t even know.
<
“I don’t have a degree in journalism or anything.” That was something that I wasn’t allowed to do, get an education. I’d always kept my grades up in high school, it was something my father demanded of me. I wanted to go to college and looked forward to living in the dorm. I wanted that sense of freedom that comes with new friends and bad choices. But Chas, who had graduated a year before me and was already in college, insisted that I move in with him. He had a small apartment and I thought we were in love. I jumped at the opportunity, deciding to put off going to college for at least the first semester. I never imagined that I wouldn’t have been able to eventually go. Chas had other ideas though. “I mean, I graduated high school, but I never went to college.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure we can work something out.” She walked back around her desk and picked up her cell phone as she sat.
That was how I met Travis. I gave both Wendy and Travis enough information to know that I didn’t have a valid driver’s license or a place to live. They were the ones that set me up with my apartment, paying the first and last month’s rent and deposit so I was able to move in right away. Travis agreed to pay me in cash so I wouldn’t have to worry about how to cash my paychecks without any identification. It was practically perfect.
Now it’s four years later, I still have the same apartment and I was able to pay them both back for what they fronted me to get me started. Travis might be a hard ass of a boss, but he’s become a close friend to me over the years. He even invites me to family holidays, so I don’t have to spend them alone and I get to see Wendy at the same time.
Over the years, Wendy and I have become close enough that she knows my history. The entire story. It’s amazing how much she and I have in common. I wouldn’t call us BFFs or anything. But she’s watched out for me over the years and made sure that her Uncle Travis was taking care of me at work. I’m grateful for both of them. I can’t help but wonder if she would think badly of me if I told her the nightmares were coming back though.
Lifting my head, I reach out a shaky hand and flush the toilet. My stomach is finally settled enough that I think I can move. I place both hands on the bathtub to help pull myself to my feet and shuffle over to the sink to brush my teeth and splash water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I can see the impact that my recent sleepless nights are having on me. It’s going to take some work to get ready to go out tonight. Good thing I have all day before I have to start getting ready.
I walk back into my bedroom after pulling my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and grab my phone from the nightstand. I shoot off a quick text to Julie reminding her that she’s my wing woman tonight. As much as I hate going out, I feel better at least knowing that I won’t be going out alone. She texts me back a little while later letting me know she’ll meet me there at six which is perfect.
I shuffle to the kitchen, phone in hand, and put a pot of water on the stove to heat for tea. My laptop is still on the counter from last night, the lid is still open. Running a finger along the touchpad, I wait for the screen to light up and sit on the stool. I browse Amazon for a few minutes while I wait for the kettle to blow its whistle and check my wish list to see if anything has gone on sale today, but nothing has changed since I looked at it yesterday. I close the lid to the laptop and walk around the counter to get my favorite teacup from the cabinet, grab a bag of English Breakfast to place in the cup, and stand to watch the water kettle. “A watched pot never boils.” I say to myself while tapping a finger on the countertop.
Just when I start to turn away, I hear the telltale humming of the kettle announcing that it’s starting to boil. Turning to the left, I open the refrigerator and grab the small carton of milk from inside the door and set it on the counter next to the teacup. I turn off the stove and grab the kettle right as it starts to whistle and pour the steaming hot water over the tea bag in my cup. Leaving the tea to steep for a few minutes, I walk back to the bedroom to grab my Kindle off the charger, thinking I may be able to relax on the sofa with my tea and a good book until time to start getting ready to go out tonight.
I set the Kindle on the coffee table since I walk right past it on my way back to the kitchen. After removing and disposing of the tea bag, I add a little milk and sugar, then walk with my cup of tea back to the living room to sit on the couch and hopefully relax. I’m still wound up from my rude awakening this morning and my mind is reeling with remaining visions of my dream. I need a distraction. I’m hoping to find that in my current book boyfriend, Tobias Greyson.
When I finally settled for sleep last night, I had just finished a particularly steamy chapter where Tobias introduced the heroine, Amelia, to his deepest fantasy.
I don’t know why I started reading erotic romances. They were always taboo when I was growing up, so I guess they kind of became a form of rebellion when I finally left home. A guilty pleasure.
I wash my teacup and put it away after having a second cup of tea. My Kindle lays forgotten on the couch cushion, having not been able to get back into my story without remembering more of the harrowing nightmare from last night. That isn’t something that I’m wanting to relive right now. I have enough to worry about with having to go to the club tonight.
After eating the lunch that I had delivered from the bistro down the street, I decide to soak in a hot bath hoping it will relax my tense muscles. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the water in the tub, waiting for it to get to the right temperature before plugging the drain. Bubbles aren’t really my thing, so I grab some essential oils and pour a few drops into the running water.
Leaving my messy bun on the top of my head, I peel off my t-shirt and leggings and let them drop to the floor. I’ll pick them up later. I climb into the tub and sink down into the water, letting the heat slowly wrap itself around my aching body. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the back of the tub, concentrating on taking deep cleansing breaths. I slowly feel my muscles relax one by one. Starting at my toes and working my way up my body, I let the heat of the water soak into my muscles and release the tension I’ve been holding on to since getting out of bed.
I’ve always been more of a quick shower person. Growing up, I was usually in a hurry and never took time to soak in a bath. It wasn’t until last year, after starting yoga, that I realized the benefits of being able to soak in a tub. I was grateful after my first week of yoga to have this tub in my apartment as I realized how sore I got after stretching and posing muscles I never knew existed. It slowly became another way of relieving tension and stress both from my daily life and my past.
I continue to relax, focusing on my breathing with my eyes closed until the water starts to cool. Then I slowly rise from the tub and grab the robe hooked onto the inside of the door. Wrapping myself loosely in the terry cloth robe, I step out of the water and flex my toes into the soft rug on the floor. Feeling much better, the tension finally relieved from my body, I bend and grab my discarded clothes from the floor and carry them to the other side of the bathroom to drop into the hamper. Then I walk into my bedroom and gasp when I realize the time. I spent nearly two hours soaking in the tub.
I rush to my closet and swing the doors open. Taking several minutes to stare at the dresses hanging on the far wall, I choose a yellow one that I know has pockets and will be perfect for going out to the club. I’ll be able to hide my money, phone, and keys in my pockets and won’t have to carry a purse. It’s a cute mini dress that hits me about mid-thigh, I love the way this dress looks on me. It has loose, off-shoulder sleeves and a tight fit bodice that accentuates my generous curves. The skirt is loose and flows perfectly for dancing. I complete my look with black fishnet stockings and pink heels that match my hair. Once my hair is pulled up in my signature pigtails and I’ve applied just enough makeup to remove the dark circles from under my eyes, I stuff my keys, phone, and money in my pockets and give myself a final pep talk before leaving for Club Blitz.
I round the corner to the club just after five and breathe a sigh of relief as I see there is no line waiting to get in. I won’t have to stand outside at all. I waive to the bouncer as I enter the club and go straight to an empty table not far from the door. I want to be able to see who enters the club tonight, so I sit in the chair on the side opposite the door, my back to the bar.
