I am working on a piece of fiction, which is based upon a true story. My true story. It promises to be raw and honest. Names changed to protect the innocent and all that jazz. It is a story from my heart that I feel I must write. I plan to share little snippets as time goes by.....I hope you enjoy...Michelle
An Excerpt, Snippet One
It's the same dream. I'm wearing a long, floating, white sundress. My long hair is being whirled about by the wind as I run down the beach terrified. My bare feet sting as sharp shells dig into my flesh. I turn to look back at my pursuer who is getting closer. Oh my God he's going to catch me! I can hear his breathing. His effortless gait and his footfalls are rhythmic. This is easy for him I think miserably. He's playing with me. God. My breath is ragged but I run on. Not knowing how I am going to outrun him, my fierce determination to survive pushes me forward. I turn again to look back and stumble over a large piece of driftwood and fall hard onto the sand.......
I wake up.
The pain exploded in my head and a wave of nausea washed over me. I keep my eyes closed. The room was too bright to open them and I knew my head would hurt even more. Groaning I roll on my tummy and press my face into the pillow willing the pain to go away. I knew it wouldn't. I need coffee.
I stretch onto my back and slowly peel my eyes open. Where the hell am I? The room was completely unfamiliar as was the man sleeping next to me. Holy shit. I sit up, my head throbbing, and slowly climb out of the bed. My clothes are strewn on the floor leading to the door, but my shoes and purse are nowhere to be seen. Shit. I pick up my panties, my black silk dress, my red scarf and slowly open the heavy door. The apartment was enormous, the floor a dark hardwood, the furniture white and beige. Nice digs, I think. Who the hell is this guy? How the hell did I get here? I stumble down a long hallway. My plan was to find a bathroom as far away from the bedroom as possible. I did not want to wake him up.
I enter a large open great room, with floor to ceiling windows revealing the New York City skyscrapers towering over the other side of Central Park. Ah, of course this place is Central Park West, I mutter. I find the powder room located off the gleaming granite, stainless steel kitchen and close the door.
Greeting me in the mirror was a wild looking girl, her long blond hair resembling cornstalks after a tornado. Fabulous. I get dressed, splash cold water on my face cleaning off the remaining make up from the night before. I wipe my face onto an unbelievably soft, beige towel that probably cost more than my next paycheck from the newspaper would cover. I laugh as my father's words rang in my head "you're too pretty for all that make up". Right, Dad. I try to smooth my hair somewhat, so as to not scare the doorman when I do the walk of shame through the lobby and out the front door. God my head hurt.
I exited the bathroom, tiptoeing back into the great room, on the hunt for my things. Not necessarily in that order. I did not have the luxury of taking time to enjoy the surroundings, or for my journalistic nature to kick in to get to the bottom on who this guy was. It didn't matter, I just had to get out of there. I find my things on the beige sofa, grab them and head for the door. My Christian Louboutin pumps were lying askew next to the door. I had gotten them for a steal at a sample sale, yet they had cost me my previous paycheck. Worth every penny. As I turn the door knob I distantly hear the sound of another door opening. The bedroom. He was awake! I hurriedly step through the door, crossing the small hallway to the elevator. I had been in the penthouse.
Another wave of nausea hits me, my hangover settling in for the long haul. It was going to be a long day.