2,994Hello Ladies,
So I am back with a brand new story. I am so excited for this one, and I hope you will be too. I was going to wait to post it until next week, but with some encouragement (and not much) I decided, what the heck. So here goes another ride.
This will be a MafiaWard, and may touch on several delicate issues. If I decide to be too graphic I will post some warnings for you all. Anyway, without further ado, here is the prologue. I really look forward to hearing what you all think. Thanks for reading.
Please drop me a line, and let me know what you think.
Prologue
Bella
I was sixteen years old when my dad kicked me out into the streets. I'd believed the hype. I'd believed the school when they told the class you could go to a trusted parent, and tell them the horrible truth. I'd bought that bullshit so much, I'd gone straight home and sat my dad down, and with acid burning in my stomach told him. Tears had collected and poured from the corners of my eyes, and with each word that left my lips, I witnessed the transformation of my father. In the space of a few heartbeats, I realized my error as his eyes took on a hard disbelieving glint.
The softness in his features tightened to granite, and my heart froze. Huge mistake. This had been a huge mistake, and the words were out there in the universe. In that brief instance, I'd wanted to take them back, but I couldn't. They swirled in the space between us, and nothing I ever did would change it.
Suddenly, I was facing a stranger. This wasn't my dad who'd sat with me before the Christmas tree with presents in his lap. This wasn't the dad who taught me to ride a bike. On my tenth birthday, I cried against his chest when James had pushed me from the monkey bars, and he'd soothed his hand down my back, telling me everything would be okay. Nope, that hadn't been the dad, I grew up knowing and trusting beyond anyone else.
Instead, he'd told me how fabricated my story was. I was a liar. I was a slut. I was making up stories, and I should watch what came out of my mouth. My throat closed up, and I felt as though someone was choking the fuck out of me. He'd taken me by the forearm and ushered me to the door. He'd shoved me across the threshold, and told me not to come back until I forgot the absurdity of my ridiculous claim.
For the next hour, I stood on the front porch, staring at the door that had been bolted behind me. Wiping the snot from my nose, a fresh wave of tears ran down my cheeks, and I cursed my foolishness. When I realized, Charlie, my devoted pops, wasn't coming back to open the door, I turned to stare out at the street.
What was I supposed to do? I had no job. I didn't have any close friends to go to. No couches to sleep on, or fuck, dinner to eat. Despite the gravity of my situation, I disregarded the housing and food, thinking of my dad. I trusted my dad more than anyone in this world, and he'd thrown me out into the street with nothing. It was beyond obvious I couldn't trust anyone. After all, if you couldn't trust your dad, who the fuck was there?
Salt from my tears lingered on my lips. I licked them away, suddenly thirstier than I'd ever been, my mouth feeling like I'd swallowed cotton. I could knock on the door, and tell him I'd lied. I could feed him bullshit. With another round of tears, I lifted my hand to the solid oak standing between me, and the only home I'd ever known.
I should've just caved. Knocked on the door, and said I made it all up. I should've been the bigger person, and swallowed the pain. It'd only be for another two years before I was free and prepared for a world on my own. Even as my knuckles hovered an inch away, I froze. I couldn't retract the truth. Whether my dad wanted to face it or not, it was the truth, and I wouldn't be silent anymore. More scared than I'd ever been in my entire life, I turned away from my childhood home and wrapped my arms around my chest.
If no one would hold me, and give me the comfort I needed at that moment, I would hug myself. I would be strong, independent, and determined, no matter what the odds of survival were. Three hours later, I sat huddled on a park bench in Millenium Park, watching the last of the sun go down.
I had nothing. No home. No food. No water. No damn money.
Just on the other side of those trees, nightlife and traffic raced by me, but I was oblivious to everything but my predicament. Blindly, I watched the traffic lights change, headlights from passing cars, and every once in a while a jogger whiz by. I saw none of it. The city I'd grown up in, and loved became my own personal hell that night. I pulled my legs to my chest and propped my folded arms on my knees.
My eyes had been full of grit and stung from lack of moisture. Finally, I'd cried until there were no more tears left. Several times, I thought about retracing my steps back to the house I shared with my dad, and Uncle John. The idea of facing my father who'd called me a liar and a slut, and the guy responsible for all of this, didn't sit well, however. That left me with very few alternatives.
What the fuck was I going to do?
No ready answers dropped from the velvety black sky. I should've left the park, it wasn't safe after dark, but where would I go? There was nowhere to go. I couldn't stay in the middle of this park, however, I would be vulnerable to any number of crimes, and none of the perpetrators would care that I was a teen down on her luck.
It was almost eight o'clock when I left the park, looking for any dark hole to crawl into. Wandering down a semi-lit alleyway, I found a doorway deep enough to burrow out of sight.
I returned to school the next day just to ensure a meal. I ate breakfast and lunch with the money left on my account. All-day long I waited for the principal to call me to the office and tell me Dad had left a message, or come to check on me. There was no such luck. He'd left no messages, and aside from the peeks in my direction from other students, nothing unusual happened.
By the end of the week, I smelled rather ripe when I hurried into the locker room to take a quick shower. Three days of living in a doorway in the alley were starting to take their toll. My left side and my ass were one solid bruise from sitting and sleeping on concrete, and I would give about anything to change my situation.
Except for one thing.
I wouldn't give up my integrity, and retract my statement. Regardless if my dad ever talked to me again, or if I wasted away to nothing from starvation, I wouldn't go home begging for forgiveness.
Now, two years later, I leaned over the banister, staring down into Lake Michigan. Sometimes I wanted to leap into those murky depths and float away. How much worse could life be? I'd lost everything the night I'd bravely told my father about Uncle John. Gnawing on my lip, I avoided the dull eyes staring back at me, and pulled at the tank I wore.
It was Saturday night, and far past the time to get to work. I cringed at the thought. Two years ago, I'd become everything my father accused me of. Well, almost.
Looking down at my stilettos and short skirt, I turned my attention to Michigan Avenue. It's funny how much a person changed in two years, and led them to do things they never expected to do.
Maybe it wasn't funny. Not funny at all.
Please tell me what you think. All comments are welcome. Thanks for reading.