Stray

by Solveig Yrsa

  Stray

  Solveig Yrsa

  Solveig Yrsa

  Copyright © 2021

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798519073592

  DEDICATION

  To my favorite person, thank you for always believing in me. Out of all the smiles in the world, yours is my favorite.

  I love you.

  Always & Forever.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  CHAPTER TWO

  15

  CHAPTER THREE

  35

  CHAPTER FOUR

  47

  CHAPTER FIVE

  67

  CHAPTER SIX

  87

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  101

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  115

  CHAPTER NINE

  141

  CHAPTER TEN

  165

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  180

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  199

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  216

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  238

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  257

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  272

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  285

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  299

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  312

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank everyone who helped me along this journey. I would also like to thank you for choosing this book and I hope it brings you joy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Drip

  Drip

  Drip

  Cold water landed on the dirty cheek of a young, slumbering girl. She flinched and rubbed the water off her face as she sat up and stretched her stiff bones. It didn’t seem to matter how many years she spent sleeping on the concrete ground; her body never got used to it. She looked around the dark area, her light blue eyes scanning over the sleeping figures surrounding her; some were stirring.

  She stood up and folded up her makeshift cardboard bed, and placed it in a corner of the dark, abandoned underpass. Grabbing an old, dented tin can, she made her way out from the underpass and through her camp.

  It wasn’t a very big area, there were two trashcans that would hold a fire at night, and a small, abandoned school bus. Her camp had maybe fifteen people. She was the youngest by several decades, and one of only three females.

  Her thin body slipped between the tiny opening of the fence, and she headed up the sidewalk a couple of blocks until the noise of the city greeted her. She watched as the busy people rushed up and down the streets. People in business attire running to meetings, couples headed to lunch; she noticed a group of girls about her age looking in the window of a clothing boutique while deciding if they should go in and try the clothes on.

  With a sigh, she looked from the girls down to her own clothes. Well, they were once clothes, but now they would be considered rags. She wore a pair of ripped and stained jeans that no longer had a button or zipper, and were about three sizes too big, so she had them tied with a piece of old rope. Her shirt wasn’t any better, it was probably white at one time, but now the raggedy thing was a disgusting yellowish brown. Her hair was a deep brown color, and long, unfortunately it hadn’t seen a brush in years; so it was twisted and tangled into disgusting snarls and knots. It was hard to look at her and tell what tone her skin was. She had so much dirt and filth covering her malnourished body; it hid the sickly grayish hue.

  As she looked at her reflection in the shop window, she took in her sunken cheeks, her wide-hollowed eyes, and overall dirty and wild appearance. Her name was Layla, she was nineteen years old, and she was homeless.

  Looking across the street, Layla saw Maggie. Maggie was one of the other women that lived in the nest. She was an ex-musician turned alcoholic, and in her late fifties or early sixties. She’d sit on the sidewalk and play her beat up guitar—that was missing a couple strings—for hours until she had enough change to buy herself a bottle of booze, and then she’d be right back. Maggie was newer to the nest; she had only been homeless for a couple of years, ever since her son passed away and could no longer support her. Layla was not Maggie’s biggest fan. Maggie would always set up near her, and most passersby would rather give money to a homeless musician over some dirty brat sitting on the corner.

  Layla had been homeless since she was about six. Her father died when she was five, and her mother couldn’t cope. She’d spend her time lying in bed and spent the money they were left with carelessly. They ended up homeless within a year of his passing.

  Layla and her mother spent the next several years in various shelters and squatter homes. When Layla was about ten years old, she came back to a shack they were squatting in after a day of panhandling, to find her mother lying on the floor. She had been brutally attacked and left for dead. Her mother survived the attack, but was never the same. She became cold, distant, and abusive towards Layla. Any money they got was spent on alcohol or drugs, and Layla was left with nothing. At twelve, she remembered her mother getting terribly ill one winter, and she ended up passing away. Since then, Layla had been pretty much on her own. She stayed with her nest because, even though they were not kind to her, they were all she had.

  Layla was ripped from her thoughts by the sound of something clanging in her small can that was always empty. When she was younger, people would take pity on her, and she never had a problem making a few dollars a day. Now, she looked like a skinny, dirty woman that most assumed was on drugs, and people were more inclined to give her rude advice rather than spare change.

  She looked down at her can and saw enough change to make a dollar. Tears welled up in her eyes. She could get actual food today instead of picking through the trash. She went to say thank you to the stranger, but as she tried to speak, all that came out was a coughing fit. She knew she was sick; she was always sick, but recently she felt like she was getting worse. She always tried to ignore it. After all, what could she do, it’s not like she could go anywhere for help. Her small, frail body convulsed as she continued with her coughing fit.

  After several moments, her coughing subsided. She rested her head against the concrete wall and took a couple slow, deep breaths. This was why she rarely spoke. Any time she tried to speak, she would start having a coughing fit that felt like it was killing her. Sighing, she looked around at the people walking by, and then she froze. She wanted to get up and run away. She wanted the earth to swallow her whole, anything to make her disappear before he walked by. She believed she heard one of his friends call him Spencer before.

  Honestly, his name wasn’t important at the moment. What was important, was that Layla hated him. She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone in her entire life. Every single time he would come by her, he made it a point to stop and torment her. Especially when he had his girlfriend with him. Layla didn’t know the girlfriend’s name, but Spencer was like her little lapdog. The girl was very tall and very thin. Her skin was a perfect tan color that matched perfectly with her long, light-blonde hair. She was breathtaking, but her personality was absolutely disgusting.

  Layla’s light blue eyes accidentally met with Spencer’s emerald green ones. She quickly tried to act like she hadn’t seen him, but it was too late. A smirk crept onto Spencer’s handsome face as he headed towards her balled up figure.

  “Jesus Christ! Have you ever heard of a bath?” his voice boomed as the blonde behind him giggled.

  Layla kept staring at the sidewalk between her legs, hoping that this would be over soon. If she didn’t show any emotion, she figured he would get bored and leave sooner. She noticed three other shadows next to Spencer and the girl; she knew they were his friends. She didn’t mind them so much. The two guys usually w
ould get Spencer to stop, and the other girl would occasionally come back and apologize, sometimes giving Layla money.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Spencer inquiring about something. She looked up and gasped. Her eyes widened and filled with horror. Her small soup can that had her change in it, was now in Spencer’s large, tanned hand. Layla got up as quickly as her small body could and reached for it, but Spencer moved away and then childishly dangled the can over top her head. She was short in stature, but even someone of normal height would be too short against Spencer’s extremely tall frame. She made a jump for the can, but it ended in failure. Then he did the unthinkable; he reached in the can and pulled out her money.

  “Oh wow, would you look at that, a whole dollar and ten cents,” he mocked, while shoving the change into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks.” He grinned while giving her a two-fingered salute.

  Layla’s mouth hung open in shock. Had he really just taken her money?! That was her one chance at a proper meal, and he just took it! Tears filled her eyes, her small hands balled up into fists. She could feel the heat rising through her body. She couldn’t remember a time she had been this angry. What gave him the right to do that? She had done nothing to him, and for nearly a year now, he would walk by countless times a week and mock her; and now, now he was stealing her money!

  “I…” her small, light voice cracked as she tried to wet her dry, burning throat with her saliva. “I HATE YOU!” she screamed as loudly as she could muster. Spencer was taken aback. In all the time he had been teasing her, she had never once muttered a word, let alone screamed.

  “H-How could you do that?” Tears streamed down her dirty cheeks. “I-I needed that so I could eat!”

  Spencer felt a sudden pang of guilt and he looked as though he was actually going to give her the money back, until he looked over at the tall blonde standing there in her designer, plaid mini skirt. Her name was Rachel, and holy hell was he head over heels for her. She was definitely the hottest person he had ever laid eyes on, and after five years of begging and showering her with gifts, she was finally going out with him. He noticed her brown eyes were gleaming with smug satisfaction as she watched the homeless girl sobbing. He sighed inwardly; he knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t appear weak to Rachel.

  “Jesus, I was joking around, no need to act like a baby.” He rolled his eyes.

  Layla was in the middle of a coughing fit that was so bad her tiny body shook violently. “J-joking around?” she sputtered between fits. “Joking around?! Does this look like a damn game to you?” she yelled loudly, and then, with all her might shoved Spencer’s chest. Unfortunately, she wasn’t enough to budge his six-foot-three muscular frame. Layla looked from him to the snickering blonde behind him. She couldn’t take this anymore. Grabbing her now empty can, she took off running back to her nest.

  The pale girl that was standing behind Rachel shoved past her, walked up to Spencer, and punched him, hard, in the shoulder.

  “OW!” Spencer grimaced while rubbing his assaulted arm. “What the hell, Sam?” The girl rolled her hazel eyes, and placed her hands on her hips. “What do you think it was for, Spence?” She shook her head in a disapproving manner. Sam, short for Samantha, was Spencer’s cousin, the two of them, plus Samantha’s twin brother, Liam, had all been raised close together, so they were more like siblings rather than cousins. “You’re lucky I don’t call Aunt Cat,” she said while shaking her head. “She did not raise you like that.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes. “Okay, mama Sam, whatever you say.”

  “No, dude, I have to agree,” the male voice behind Sam spoke up. It was obvious that he was Samantha’s twin brother. The two looked very similar. Both were about five foot eleven inches, with pale skin, auburn colored hair, and almond-shaped hazel eyes. “I think you took it too far this time.”

  Samantha nodded in agreement. “Exactly what Liam said. Usually, I keep my mouth shut when you tease the poor girl, and I just give her a couple dollars later on, but damn, Spencer, you’re acting like a…” Samantha paused for a moment while she struggled to find the right word. “A bully,” she finally said, though she didn’t seem too excited about that choice.

  “Oh please, Samantha.” Rachel smacked her lips and put her cellphone into her purse. “She’s obviously a drug addict or something. Spencer probably just saved her from getting a fix.” Samantha rolled her eyes and started walking away.

  Spencer looked at the other male in the group, who had been silent the entire time. He was Spencer’s best friend, Jensen. He had a similar muscular build, and was the same height as Spencer, but while Spencer had messy black hair and green eyes, Jensen had shaggy sandy colored hair and brown eyes.

  “I don’t know, Spence,” Jensen muttered to his friend. “You were pretty rough, I mean, you made her cry.”

  Spencer felt crappy for the way he treated the girl, but he couldn’t show that. His friends would get over how he acted later, but if he acted weak now, Rachel would, for sure, leave.

  He shrugged and muttered a, “Whatever,” before motioning the group to follow him down the street. Spencer took one last look behind him to where the homeless girl was. His heart sank when he thought of her crying. He sighed and shook it off before turning back to his friends and heading to the restaurant.

  ***

  Layla stumbled and fell to the ground as she wiggled her way back through the fence. She quickly got up and ran through the camp, making her way towards her little corner. Her lungs were burning, but she ignored it as she ran to her area and curled up into a tight ball.

  She couldn’t stop coughing. She placed her hands over her mouth to try to quiet the coughs down. Most of the members of the nest didn’t like her, for what reason, she didn’t know; but there were a few men in the group that absolutely hated her, and when she would start her coughing fits, they would scream or get violent. She remembered once, when the nest’s leader, ‘Old Man Marcus’ threw a plate at her for coughing through the night. The plate hit her forearm, leaving a horrible gash.

  Old man Marcus terrified her. He was in his early seventies, his curly salt and pepper colored hair was always wild. His dark eyes always held so much hate. Layla figured that her coughing fits and lack of money were reasons he had it out for her. Marcus got most of the money that was brought into the nest. It was seen as fees for living in the group. Marcus got the money, and he would give you what he felt like you needed. Every member of the group had a quota they needed to meet. Layla hadn’t met hers in a very long time.

  Not only was the money considered fees for getting to live in the nest, but it was also for protection. After her mother was brutally attacked, they found Old Man Marcus and, for the right price, he made sure that no one touched them. So, to this day, Layla would give him anything she made to keep that protection. She was terrified to live outside of the nest. Even though she would get hit, she didn’t get food or water, and everyone hated her. She knew it was better here than if she was on her own.

  Her coughing finally stopped, and her weak body relaxed. She looked around the dimly lit area. The sun had gone down and some members were lighting the trashcans for the night. She closed her eyes and listened to the surrounding noises. The fire crackling, the snores of some group members sleeping, the footsteps of other members heading out, and of course, the rats that liked to roam the area. Layla hated rats; she was always fighting to keep them away from her area and off of her body. They were constantly biting her; she subconsciously rubbed a bite mark on her arm at the thought.

  Her mind wandered to the men heading out of the group. She sighed; she could never go out at night and do what they did. She tried when she was younger, but it didn’t work. Which is why she slept on a cardboard box in the dampest area of the nest, starving, while they had sleeping bags and food. They were the criminals of the group—pickpockets and robbers. They would break into businesses after closing and steal stuff or money, or they would rob old ladies, or sell dru
gs. Layla wasn’t like that; she didn’t want to be a bad person. She wanted to be nice, and hoped that, in return, others would be nice to her. Unfortunately, so far, that wasn’t working.

  Rolling over, she choked back a sob as the day’s events came back into her mind. She couldn’t believe it, it had been nearly three months since she last had fresh food. Her diet had been strictly whatever she could pull out of the trash. She knew that was what caused her constant vomiting and the burning sensation in her throat. There was talk of a homeless shelter with a soup kitchen a town over, but she didn’t know how to get there, plus if she tried to leave without paying Old Man Marcus, he would probably kill her.

  Her stomach growled loudly. She groaned and forced herself to go to sleep so she didn’t have to think about the hunger pains. Her last thoughts were of that stupid guy, Spencer, and how he stole her money.

  ***

  Spencer grunted as Rachel pushed him back, rejecting the kiss he just tried to start.

  “Rachel,” he groaned. “Come on.”

  Rachel laughed. “No! I just put on my lipstick and it is flawless! Besides, what have you done recently to deserve it?”

  He knew what was coming; he hung his head in defeat and sighed. “Okay, what do you want?” He knew whatever it was, it wouldn’t come cheap. Luckily, besides coming from an extremely wealthy family, Spencer was a well-known author, and sold multiple best-sellers that ended up making him his own fortune.