Eluding Fate
Delilah Mohan
Contents
Introduction
Foreword
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
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Eluding Fate
By Delilah Mohan
ELUDING FATE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Wilde Designs
Editing by Leticia Sidon, In-Depth Edits
© Copyright: Delilah Mohan
Published: October 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Created with Vellum
Due to adult situations and language, this book is recommended for readers 18+.
Chapter One
MARI
And they lived happily ever after . . .
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Incorrect. No one ever lives happily ever after. If I’ve learned anything in life, it's that. There's always something that gets in the way of happiness. Medical bills. House fire. Cheating spouse. Or maybe some other unpredictable bullshit that would ruin their joy. I stared at my screen for a moment contemplating the cliché ending I was about to type. No, it wouldn't do. It had to be real because life is real.
And they lived.
That had to be the only option when ending a modern-day fairy tale with a romantic twist. They lived. They had their happy, they had their sad, they had their extremely frustrating, borderline psychotic moments . . . But they lived.
Despite how it all seemed, I was optimistic. I wanted to believe that this life was full of possibilities and pure, unforced laughter, but I also knew life was full of truths. Cold hard truths, wholesome, untainted, glorious truths, frightfully beautiful truths, that walk the line between pleasure and pain. The realist within me, dictating the never-ending war between my heart and mind, reminded me that although I loved unicorns and rainbows, unicorns didn’t exist and rainbows only came after the rain.
I took a sip of my coffee; large, heavy cream, three pumps of vanilla . . . and let the warmth travel through my limbs. Just like the first time, with the final sentence I typed on my current work, I got a shock of giddy excitement to my system. I’d done it again; I’d created a masterpiece of my own standards, and the thought of it being released to the world both thrilled me and caused a solid knot in my stomach.
Checking my watch, I saw that it was nearly eight on a Thursday. Any moment now the gothic-clothed dog walker would walk by with her two labs, three terriers, and one Great Dane. The moment she was out of my sight, the bell on the door of Jolts, the community coffee joint, would ring signifying the entrance of one very mysterious television personality. He would order his coffee - black, three sugars - and leave, signaling the entry of the mommy yoga group. Yes, that’s how often I was there people watching, I mean . . . working.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. As I turned my head, my vision was filled with the petite dog walker; her black pants tucked into her black combat boots, her arms covered in a black sweater with weird zippers placed at what seemed to be random locations, and her hair dyed a mesh of unnatural shades. My eyes followed her to the end of the block. Just as she turned and was no longer visible, I heard the chime of Jolts’ door. I tilted my head to the door watching as Mr. Mysterious television personality, the one and only Spencer Sully, entered the lobby. His strides were purposeful as he walked to the counter and placed his order, tossing a tip into the oversized jar before walking over to look at the Jot Wall.
The Jot Wall, a wall dedicated for Jolts’ patrons to pin up their thoughts, poems, and inspirations, always caught his eyes. The massive wall beckoned all who entered to take a piece of the wall and leave a bit of themselves in return. This was the only time when he would stop staring at his phone screen or talking on his Bluetooth. I wondered what it was about the wall that could draw this usually focused man away from his tasks for the mere minute or two before they called his order. What made him tick? What consumed a person already wholly swallowed by the life he lived?
They called his name, and he grabbed the cup getting lost again, phone in hand, Bluetooth in ear, as he walked to the door. As much as I wanted to dwell on the enigma that was Spencer Sully, I couldn’t because right on cue the Thursday class from the local mommy yoga group flooded the shop, engulfing the peace with chatter about banana bread recipes and children’s whines and screams.
The interruption to my peacefulness triggered my time to leave. I packed my laptop, notebook, and pens into my messenger bag and decided to make a quick stop at the bathroom before heading out. I had reached the end of the Jot Wall when a piece of yellow legal paper caught my eye. I stopped, read the neatly penned words, and suddenly felt the need to do something I had never done before.
Taking a pen and paper from my bag, I scratched out my own contribution to the wall. I took the yellow note from the wall and placed it into my bag, then replaced it with my own hastily scribbled piece. Looking back in satisfaction I continued to the bathroom, the note that peaked my interest never quite leaving my mind.
Chapter Two
SPENCER
I looked at my watch as I approached Jolts and saw it was eight a.m. sharp. I pushed open the heavy engraved glass door and walked inside, instantly assaulted by the smell of roasted coffee and sugary pastries. Right on schedule, just the way I liked it. No line, immediate service.
I ordered my coffee, the same coffee I order every Tuesday and Thursday, then paid. After tossing a tip in their tip jar, I made my way over to the Jot Wall, which was the real reason I showed up twice a week. Definitely not for their low grade, overpriced coffee. I strolled the length of the wall at a slow pace, reading the thoughts and secrets of those who surrounded me, before locating a piece of art that had caught my eye. Finding it perfect for the trade I reached into the pocket of my slacks and pulled out a piece of paper, swiftly making my change before anyone noticed.
My name was called by the barista, and I followed her voice to the coffee bar to collect my coffee. Removing my phone from my pocket I glanced at the time, eight-oh seven. Three minutes ahead of schedule. Tapping call on my phone I adjusted my Bluetooth earpiece while I waited for my intern to pick up. I heard the click of her answering, and I didn’t wait for a hello.
“Nicole, I’ll be there three minutes early, have my notes laid out on my desk.” I hung up before she could say a word. She didn’t need to re
spond, I knew she would have it done and on time.
Exiting the coffee shop, I turned right and headed toward the news station I worked at. FTS News was the number one rated broadcast, and although I don’t want to, I have to admit it’s because of me. Women go wild for me, men want to be me, and well, it’s influential. They hung onto every word I spoke like raindrops in the Sahara.
The station was exactly a ten-minute walk from the coffee shop, and as predicted I arrived at eight seventeen, three minutes ahead of schedule. I wove my way through the bustle of people to my office located in the back corner. As anticipated, Nicole was waiting with my plans and notes spread out in order on my desk. I didn’t really need to go over today’s plans. I get up at four every morning to study and be prepared, but the last-minute refresher never hurt.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall, eight twenty-four. I lost a minute navigating through the building, and now I was only two minutes ahead of schedule. I’d take it. Being behind threw my whole day off and as much as I hated it, my mood as well. Taking my seat, I cued Nicole to begin and sat back and listened as she droned on about the latest segment, the decrease in public school funding and the effect it had on our children.
She then gave me the rundown on the latest ratings and ranks, summarized what would be under scrutiny at our next staff meeting later in the day, as well as key points I needed to remember to persuade my audience toward my targeted opinion in my next segment. She was all over the place, jumping from subject to subject, then skipping back again. I wanted to stop her and make her organize herself before coming back to me with this ill-planned garbage, but I couldn’t because it was eight forty-four, and I had a minute to get to the makeup room if I wanted to make my scheduled bathroom time.
Makeup was quick and efficient as always, but the artist, Danika, wanted to chat, and I wasn’t the chatting type. I didn’t have a use for small talk. I didn’t care to talk about subjects such as my best lighting angle, the growing bags under my eyes or the possibility of a single grey hair. I didn’t get grey hair, I’m Spencer Sully damn it, perfection to the fullest.
Danika’s chatter caused me to be a minute late for my scheduled bathroom break, souring my mood. I had four minutes left of my break, and halfway through, I got a text from Victoria. My mood was no longer a little soured, it was spoiled. Completely and utterly ruined and with only three minutes before airtime, no less.
Victoria: I’m going to Janie’s house after school
Me: No. We didn’t plan for this.
Victoria: I forgot about a project. It won’t take long, pick me up at 7?
I inhaled deeply trying to reign in my anger and anxiety.
Me: I shower at seven, you know that.
Victoria: Shower at seven fifteen. It’s not that big of a deal Spencer.
Me: Victoria. We have schedules to keep if we want life to continue to run smoothly and efficiently.
Victoria: I can’t live life “smooth and efficiently” if I don’t pass science. See you at seven.
“Are you ready? Airtime is in 60,” Nicole said from behind me as I left the restroom, startling me a bit.
I shoved my phone into my pocket and tried to smother my irritation at Victoria’s complete disregard for my schedule and life. “As good as I’ll be,” I responded, giving Nicole my award-winning smile. No, seriously, it won an award the last four years in a row for being the most dazzling smile on television.
I made my way to the stage and found my designated seat. I sat down, adjusting my notes and moving my glass of water a safe distance away from me. No one wanted to spill on air, which would be career suicide. My co-host Jillian Spokes took her seat next to me and winked. I fought not to react to her baiting and instead focused my attention in the direction of the camera.
“We’re on in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1,” came Marcus’ voice seconds before the intro music blared.
Chapter Three
MARI
The insistent pounding through the paper-thin apartment wall had me up earlier then I wished to be on a Tuesday morning. I’d been trying to have patience, knowing that the construction wouldn't last forever, but when they began working at six thirty sharp every day, patience was something I forgot existed. Whoever bought the place next door had to be paying them extra to work on the weekends because I swore these guys never had a day off.
Being forced awake to the sound of hammers had me going into the Yoga class at the YMCA in the early morning. I’d been telling myself each day that I needed to lead a more positive life, and that’s what I was currently doing, putting my body in the downward dog position. Positivity was hard to find this morning, so when Raylee, my best friend, suggested yoga in her text, I reluctantly agreed.
“How much longer before the release of this Macie in Wonderland?” she asked with a gasp from her awkward position next to me. She was referring to my take on Alice in Wonderland, only this was a much more adult type fairytale.
“I’m working on editing and tweaking it now. I promised my editor it would be in her hand first thing next week.” I sounded out of breath which was ridiculous because we were literally just in one single position talking.
“What are you doing next?” she mumbled with a struggle. The yoga instructor called out something I couldn’t hear and next thing I knew I was following the room into the Cobra.
“I haven’t decided. I thought about continuing with the current theme. It’s been popular and it did land me a spot on the best sellers list but . . .” I let my words drop as a thought about the piece of paper still sitting in my messenger bag popped into my head.
Raylee let out a long breath, “But?”
“But I don’t know,” I finally replied.
The whole class moved positions again, and we followed them, always one step behind. “What exactly don’t you know?”
“I was at Jolts last week . . .”
“Because you practically live there,” she interrupted.
“Yes, because I practically live there. Anyway, I was walking to the bathroom, and I saw this paper pinned to the wall. I had to have it. For the first time ever, I jotted down something and switched it out because this piece of paper . . . inspired me.”
Raylee snorted. “Like you need inspiration. You’re a damn rock star in the book world.”
This time it was my turn to snort. “Hardly.”
“Seriously.”
“Thanks, babe. But seriously, this single scrap of paper has been making me think. I can’t get it out of my head.”
She scrunched up her nose. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to write about it, of course.” The instructor signaled the conclusion of class, and we lay back on our mats, too lazy to do much else.
“Of course, you are,” she sighed. We lay in the empty yoga room for another ten minutes, totally lost in our own thoughts. “If we don’t leave now we will get stuck behind the Mommy and Me yoga class.”
I jumped to my feet, reaching my hand down to offer her help. “There is no way they are taking the last chocolate chunk muffin. I earned it.”
“You earned nothing. We are crap at this whole exercise thing, and you know it.” She took my hand and pulled herself up, then reached down to grab her mat.
“Well, I put effort into it, and I think that earns me a reward.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder as we walked through the door, out of the YMCA and down the block towards Jolts. “As long as you’re buying, I think it earned me a reward, too.”
The walk to Jolts was quick, and when we entered the shop, there was only one other person in line before us. Actually, it was Mr. Mysterious TV personality himself. He ordered his coffee, paid, then walked to the other side of the wall. He was an enigma. I found him interesting and always had more questions that I wished I had the answers to. Maybe it was the writer in me, making him out to be more than he was, but I wanted to know if he enjoyed his nine to five job or hated his boss with a passion. Did he go fi
shing on the weekends and dance in the rain? I wanted so badly for him to be one of those people. The ones who dance in the rain without a care, the complete opposite of what his suit suggested.
We placed our order and found a table tucked in the back where we could enjoy our coffee and savagely scarf down our chocolate muffins without the glares and accusations of those around us. I knew I didn’t need to be eating that muffin. With hips and meat on my bones, I wouldn’t be considered thin even if I lost some pounds. So no, I didn’t need to eat that muffin and perhaps I should take on something a little more strenuous than yoga, but chocolate was my Achilles' heel. Also, my hair didn’t look nearly as pretty when I sweat, so hiding seemed like the best idea.
“What do you think they accomplish in their yoga class?” Raylee’s question jarred me out of my own thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
“Like how much can you really accomplish when you have a kid attached to you? What do you do with them? Do they ride your back during the Lotus? Do you use them as your mat? Like seriously . . . isn’t yoga supposed to be peaceful? I can’t imagine being at peace while my kid hangs awkwardly off me.”
“Maybe it’s code,” I suggested.
A slow smile spread across her face. “Code for what?”
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