Copyright 2014 by Laura Dunaway
Paperback:
ISBN 13: 978-1493706211
ISBN 10: 1493706217
Cover Design by Angie Fields of i love it design studio
Editing by Jennifer Roberts-Hall of Indie After Hours
Interior design by Kassi's Kandids - Formatting
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
Social Media
Note To Readers
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Please be sure to connect with Laura Dunaway at:
www.lauradunaway.com and join her mailing list.
On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Laura-Dunaway-Author/310337762402769
On Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/laurabdunaway/
Laura’s Blog: www.lauradunawaypov.blogspot.com
Thank you for reading Discovering Lucy. This book means a lot to me, and I hope it has touched each of you in some way.
Abuse is a very scary topic and should not be taken lightly. For literary purposes, I have chosen to move the timeline at a speed that may not mirror real life accurately. Recovery takes time, and support.
No one deserves abuse. No one. If you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out to someone. You are not alone.
And you are stronger than you think.
With love,
Laura
In the US: The National Domestic Violence Hotline
http://www.thehotline.org/
In Canada: Battered Women’s Support Services
http://www.bwss.org/resources/transition-houses-in-canada/
In the UK: This is Abuse
http://thisisabuse.direct.gov.uk/need-help
I didn’t see the blow coming.
I was standing at my dresser, eyes focused on my reflection in the mirror as I pinned my hair into a bun when I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. Time seemed to slow down as the bobby pins dropped from my hands and I fell to my knees. I gasped for air, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me.
“Don’t you ever think of doing that again, bitch,” I heard Drake tell me in his menacing deep voice, his dirty brown work boots in front of me. I had no idea what it was I’d done.
Most of the time I hadn’t done anything.
I put my hands on the floor, still trying to take deep breaths. “Wh-what did I do?” I asked in a strained voice against the agony burrowing in my back.
Suddenly, my head was yanked back, and my hair was being pulled so tight that I yelped at the searing sensation. Tears stung my eyes at the torturous pressure as I balled my hands into fists, trying to resist grabbing at his hand.
I knew that would make my situation worse.
“I saw you. I saw you talking to that prick at the grocery store. You think I don’t know what you do every hour of the day? Huh?” He pulled back harder on my head, and tears streamed down my face as I tried not to scream.
I tried to remember whom I’d talked to at the grocery store. I had gone there to get a few items, but I didn’t remember having any conversations.
Unless…
“You mean the guy who took my cart when I was done putting the groceries in the car?”
He finally released my hair and the relief was immense. I fell to the floor and rubbed my scalp as he towered over me. I ignored the desire to scoot away from him because I’d learned the hard way that it only angered him more. Instead, I sat down and hugged my legs to my chest as I rocked back and forth.
“Yes, Lucy, the guy who took the cart from you. Do you realize how bad it looks when you talk to other guys? Good lord, how stupid can you get?”
He started pacing back and forth, swiping his hands through his dark blond greasy hair. His footsteps were strong and loud, especially when he wore those big, ugly, work boots that were always caked with mud. I did my best to stop shaking and rocking—I needed to appear as calm as possible. You would think I’d be used to his rage by now, but each time he assaulted me, it made me shake to my core.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong. I’d been taught that it was always better to apologize than to try to explain the situation. I’d been with him for three years, and it was all I could do to stay sane. The numbness that had taken over my mind and soul was the only way I survived.
He stopped pacing and turned to face me. “You’re what?”
I looked into his cold gray eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said in a louder voice.
He walked toward me and bent to his knees, his ugly eyes softening somewhat as he took my face in his sandpaper rough hands. I wanted to cower and throw up, but I looked him in the eye because I knew if I looked down, it would anger him even more.
“Lucy Jane, you know I hate having to lash out at you, but you give me no choice. I can’t have you prancing around town talking to every asshole you see. It makes me look bad, baby.”
I knew better than to try to tell him that the guy had just offered to take my cart for me, and all I had done was thank him. He wouldn’t listen anyway, and it didn’t matter, so I nodded.
He used his calloused thumbs to wipe my tears away, then stood and grabbed a tissue. Even though I knew it was dirty from his greasy fingers, I took it from him and blotted at my eyes. I started to wrap my arms around my knees again, but he extended his hand to help me up, so I took it, even though it made me sick. When I got to my feet, I winced as the pain ripped through me.
“Are you okay, Lucy Jane?”
I wanted to yell at him—You just hit me, you bastard! You about snapped my head right off, asshole! No, I’m not okay!
But I didn’t.
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t question me further as he walked out of our bedroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the black mascara lines running down my face from my tears, so I went to the bathroom and washed them off, then reapplied my makeup. I would be late for my shift at the diner if I didn’t hurry.
I gingerly grabbed the bobby pins from the floor and redid my bun. I gave myself one last look in the mirror and lurched at the sight. My dark-blue eyes were swollen, but I didn’t have time to put warm washcloths over them. It was obvious I’d rushed my pale, golden-blonde hair
into the messy bun, but I didn’t have time to fix it. I had to go, or I’d be late.
I walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. He was sitting in his chair, clicking the remote. He looked at me when I came in, and gave me a lazy grin. How his moods changed so excessively was something I had never been able to get used to.
“You look nice, baby,” he told me as he stood to give me a hug. I froze in his arms, barely able to wrap mine around him. He smelled of coffee and sweat, and it made me gag—I prayed he didn’t notice. “Go make a killing in tips, you hear me?” he said, giving me a wink.
I nodded, grabbed my keys off of the kitchen table, and walked out the door. Each time I left the apartment without him, I felt a freedom so immense that I wanted to bottle it and keep it forever. He wasn’t with me, keeping his hand around my arm, dictating my every move, and I was free to do and act as I pleased.
Well, that wasn’t quite true.
He still kept tabs on me, and he had his buddies keep an eye out for me too. But he wasn’t physically next to me, and it felt wonderful. I reached my beat up Ford Escort and threw my purse onto the passenger seat. I took another look up at our apartment door, and once again relived my constant fantasy of leaving here and never coming back.
Someday.
Six Months Later
I STOOD BEHIND THE COSMETICS counter at Armstrong’s department store in New York City. People were rushing by me in waves, a few stopping to look at our products. I smiled and offered help, but most shook their heads and went on their way. The few that had questions thanked me and said they’d be back later.
Yeah, right.
“Lucy, go take your lunch break, love,” my co-worker Kathy told me. I looked at my watch and saw that it was a few minutes past the start of my lunch break, so I grabbed my purse from behind the counter and checked my cell phone. No texts or voice mails—good.
“Thanks for reminding me.” I chuckled. “I’ll be back in time for you to take yours.”
“I know you will. Go put your feet up for a few minutes,” she replied, her light-brown eyes cheerful. I gave her a small wave and walked to the department store’s cafe—I was craving a deli turkey sandwich and a fruit salad. Once I’d ordered and paid, I took my food to an empty table and sat down, putting my feet up on the chair across from me. It wasn’t very ladylike, but I didn’t care, no one was there telling me what to do.
“Lucy Jane,” Drake chided. “Honestly, you have no manners. Didn’t your mama teach you not to slouch at the dinner table? And seriously, chew quieter. You’re driving me insane.”
I pushed the memory aside. The physical scars had healed the best they were going to, but the emotional ones were with me for the long haul. When I had first met Drake, I was convinced he was “the one.” He had been perfect the first six months we’d dated. He’d treated me like a princess, always holding my hand and holding doors open for me, giving me flowers and little notes of love and affection. He’d often leave a note on the dashboard of my car, telling me he loved me and to have a great day.
After a while though, little signs started showing that things really weren’t as great as they seemed. I’d always ignore them because he still treated me so well. He knew exactly how far he could push before retreating for a while, making me question the odd behavior in the first place.
The first time he’d hit me, to say I had been stunned would be an understatement. He’d been stressed at work for days, and had been short with me in his responses. He hadn’t been as affectionate, but I’d chalked it up to the stress. When he’d lost his temper and struck my cheek, I’d cried more at the action then at the pain it inflicted upon me. He’d instantly apologized, hugging me to him and crying with me. He’d told me he’d had no idea what had come over him, that he’d never do it again, and to please forgive him.
So I’d forgiven him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
As I finished my sandwich and Diet Coke, a guy in a blue T-shirt and jeans approached. He was good-looking with light brown hair and olive green eyes but I still felt my guard go up as I looked around to make sure there were witnesses. He chuckled, and I glared.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said, his eyes shining. “But when I see a beautiful woman, I don’t let the opportunity pass me by.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lucky me.” I started to stand.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Give a guy a chance. At least tell me your name.”
“That would be a no and a no. Sorry you had to waste an opportunity.” I picked up my garbage and tossed it in the garbage can, never looking back at him. As I walked away, I heard laughter and my admirer telling them to shut up.
When I got back to my counter, I was startled to see my manager. Priscilla was in her mid-fifties, bleached blonde hair, and wore the heaviest eye make I’d ever seen. She had been with Armstrong’s for over twenty years and loved letting us know it. When she’d hired me, she’d told me she liked my high cheekbones and “dazzling” dark-blue eyes, but that I may want to consider bronzing my “too pale” golden-blonde hair. I told her I’d think about it, but knew I never would. I was happy with my hair color, and didn’t need to “bronze” it, whatever that meant.
“There you are, Lucy,” she said when she saw me. “Kathy had to take her break early to deal with something at home. Are you comfortable working the counter by yourself until she returns?”
I shoved my purse under the cash register, then turned to face her. “Sure, I’ve been here for a while now. I’m definitely comfortable.”
She tapped her pen against her bleached teeth, then gave me a tiny smile, which made her very thin lips completely disappear. “That’s what I like to hear. I knew I liked you.” She turned and started to walk off. I was just breathing a sigh of relief when she turned back around.
“If you do come across a problem, just have me paged. I’ll be making the rounds for at least an hour so I won’t be in my office.”
“Okay, I will. Thanks.”
“Ta ta,” she chirped as she continued walking away.
If Priscilla liked you, then you had it made. If she didn’t…well, that was another story. I was glad she seemed to like me.
“Excuse me?” I heard an older woman’s voice say. I put on my best smile and turned to face her.
“Hi there, how may I help you today?”
“I need your darkest black mascara and a deep-blue eyeliner. I’ve run out, and I can’t live another day without them. If you tell me you’re out of stock, I’ll absolutely die.” I swear her voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard. I wanted to cover my ears, but figured it would be frowned upon.
“Well, let me check. I’m pretty sure we have what you’re looking for.” I bent down to pull open the cupboard, and moved some boxes around, looking for the ones she’d requested. I started to panic when I couldn’t find the mascara, but eventually found one hidden in the back. I grabbed the eyeliner box as well, then rose to my feet.
“Here we are,” I told her with a big smile.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she exhaled, putting a hand to her heart. “You are such a doll. I have a big gala to attend tonight, and when I discovered I was out of these I about cried. I really did. Bless you for saving an old woman’s sanity.”
I laughed as I scanned the items into the cash register. “I’m glad I could help,” I responded, giving her the total. She gave me her Armstrong’s credit card, and my eyes widened when I saw her name.
Mathilda Bresden
I had heard her name mentioned all over Armstrong’s. Her late husband was the former CEO. I was glad I hadn’t put my hands over my ears after all!
“Here you go, Mrs. Bresden,” I said as I gave her the receipt to sign. “Would you like the receipt with you or in the bag?”
“I’ll keep it, thank you.” She looked up at me. “You’re new here. What’s your name young lady?”
I gulped. “Lucy Simmons.”
&n
bsp; She gave me a wink, then smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Lucy. Welcome to the family.” She grabbed her bag of makeup and wandered off. I sagged against the counter, glad that I hadn’t made a fool of myself.
“Hello, Mrs. Bresden,” I heard Priscilla call out. “How are you today? Have you found everything you need?”
Mrs. Bresden stopped walking for a minute and addressed her. “Hello, Priscilla. Yes, I have. I see you have a new girl at the cosmetics counter. I really like her, keep her around.”
They started walking again, so I wasn’t able to hear Priscilla’s response, but she did turn around and give me a smile. It felt as if I had passed some sort of big test.
“Very impressive,” I heard a deep, male voice say from behind me. I straightened my black pencil skirt and turned around, my mouth open to greet this new customer, but when I saw him, I forgot all about the greeting.
He was absolutely beautiful.
His eyes were a stunning dark hazel with flecks of gold, surrounded by long, dark, thick lashes—intoxicating. I ignored the flutter in my belly when I saw him looking at me like that. His hair was a deep brown, longer on the top and shorter on the sides, styled in messy waves. I had never seen a better looking man in my life.
I heard him clear his throat, making me finally remember where I was. It was doubtful that ogling the customer was on the top of the list of how to greet them.
“May I help you?” I asked in my most professional tone of voice.
A grin slowly appeared on his face. “You’re new.”
Great.
“Sort of,” I responded, my voice turning cold. “I’ve been here for a while.”
He raised his brow. “How have I not seen you here before?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, remembering he was the customer. “You know, I have no idea. That’s something you’ll have to answer for yourself I guess.”
He chuckled and looked down, shaking his head a bit. It was like he wasn’t sure how to react to me.
“May I help you with something?” I asked again.
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