He wanted to know how this could have happened, where had I gone wrong with my birth control. I watched him, frozen, as he spewed accusation after accusation until finally he spit out, “I don't want any more fucking children, Olivia!”
Huh? More children? When had he gotten the first set? He turned and stormed out of my apartment and, eventually, my life. I had never been more broken in my life. I spent two weeks in a full-on fugue that then morphed into rage. Every day a little more bitter, a little more angry. By the end of the second week, I somehow found strength. Strength born by anger to be sure, but strength nonetheless.
After a doctor's visit where we discussed my no-longer-existing relationship and what was left of my options, my doctor started in on the “termination of pregnancy” talk. I listened to her speak, my mind reeling, my heart splintering. We talked about how abortions happened, what I could expect, did I have a friend who could take me? In that moment, I suddenly realized that I wanted to try and do this. This baby didn't deserve to not have a chance just because its father was a piece of shit. This baby was still part of me too.
I smiled the whole walk back to my apartment, eager to tell Charley I actually was as strong as she said I was. I was keeping this baby, damn it. So help me God, I was going to be such an amazing mother that I was going to blow all other mothers out of the water. We were going to do this together.
Two days later, I miscarried. I had barely gotten home from the hospital confirming the loss of my baby when I texted Jay.
No more worries. I lost the baby.
Have a great rest of your life.
There was no helping or consoling me. I would vacillate between deep, debilitating depression and almost manic work hours when I was trying to forget. My parents were devastated, my friends were full of sorrow and my heart was pulverized. From that point on, I had no interest in anything related to the opposite sex. Not dating, not sex, not marriage. Oh, in my heart, those were still things I wanted, but I mourned the loss of that dream lifestyle I thought I would have with Jay every day. It was safer to just close off.
The following months were a blur. It was as if someone had uncapped his bottle of lies and it came spilling out all over me. It turned out, people we had been friends with had all known. Every little thing I'd thought was real fell apart under his betrayal. I locked myself in my apartment for a week straight, crying and sitting in the fetal position on my couch. I didn't shower. I didn't eat. I didn't talk to anyone until my brother, Simon, and his fiancée, Reese, showed up one day and threw me in the shower, force-fed me some soup, and then let me sob in his lap.
For some reason, that pulled me out of my funk, and I returned to work. I threw myself into my research, everyone around me walking on eggshells and avoiding the topic of Jay. To this day, his name is not uttered by anyone I know, friend or colleague, with the exception of Charley and Simon. And good riddance for that.
***
I haul my bag out of the trunk of the cab in front of my gate at LaGuardia. The taxi driver doesn't consider helping me out of the cab. Thanks, asshole. There goes your tip. I'm early, but being that it was an evening flight, I didn't want to get stuck feeling rushed. I always carry on my bags. It's so much easier than having to wait for the carousel in an airport you've never been to before. I pop up the handle to my rolling suitcase and walk toward a bar I can see in the terminal. Charley suggested I get a drink since I hate flying-especially across the country. I decide that it isn't such a bad idea.
Other books by Zoe Norman:
Rescue Breathing (The Breathe Series—Book One)
Life Support (The Breathe Series—Book Two)
Where to find Zoe Norman:
Webpage: http://authorzoenorman.wix.com/zoenorman
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorZoeNorman
Twitter: @AuthorZoeNorman
Instagram: AuthorZoeNorman
Ransom by Faith L. Lynn
Present Time
Sage
“Amanda, where are you going?” I ask as I try to keep up with her long strides. It’s really hard considering I am wearing four inch heels while trying to navigate these damned cobblestone roads here in Savannah. It’s still fairly early for all the partiers out, and River Street is crawling with them. She doesn’t bother answering me, just keeps moving through the crowd until she turns down an alley. She stops at the bottom of a brick staircase that climbs the side of one of the buildings. The iron railing on the side is twisted, and doesn’t look like it would be much help if you started falling.
“Now do you want to tell me what you are doing?” I ask, again.
I watch as her lips thin into a smile that screams wicked thoughts. I look to the top of the stairs and the red door that needs a new paint job, when the sign above the door catches my eye.
“No, you have got to be kidding me. There is no way in hell I am going in there.” A chill runs down my spine just thinking about it. Somewhere down the alley, I hear a cat hiss. Fuck this shit. I turn to take a step back down the stairs to leave when Amanda stops me.
You know, for someone who doesn’t believe in this stuff, you sure are acting a lot like a pussy over it,” she sneers. Ugh, she royally pisses me off sometimes. Still, she has been my best friend for ten years, and is the only other person in the world that it doesn’t annoy me to be around for more than a few hours.
“I don’t believe in it, but that doesn’t mean I want to chance taking some freaky ass ghost or something home to haunt me forever. Nope,” I say shaking my head dramatically.
She pokes one of her neon pink nails at my face and says, “Look here, Sage. You owe me one. I went with you on that stupid double date so you could make your shithead fiancé happy. I had to put up with that guy’s incessant babbling about how he was God’s gift to women, when really, he was just disgusting. That goodnight kiss he laid on me was enough for you to owe me forever!” She finally draws in a breath.
“Ugh. Fine! I swear to God, Manda, if I end up cursed or something, I will beat the shit out of you.” She laughs in response as I storm past her and push through the door. A bell above the door sounds off with a sinister ding, and a chill runs down my spine.
It’s dark except for the illumination of a few candles around the room. The shelf beside me is lined with old jars and leather bound books that look as though, if you were to touch them, they would turn to dust. Manda walks up beside me examining some of the items. One of her hands rises to skim over a tiny jewel, and I smack it down before she can.
“What the hell?” she asks.
“Are you completely insane? That crap could be hexed or whatever!” I say.
We both jump when a cackle like laugh comes from behind us. With Amanda’s hand in mine, we turn to see a tiny old lady sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t there when we walked in.
“Those are just some trinkets I keep around. I am no fool, the items that hold a hex are kept in the back,” she assures us. Her voice is scratchy as if she has smoked one too many cigarettes in her lifetime. Her silver hair is so long that the ends are touching her hands folded on her lap.
“Come and sit.” She extends her hand and points a finger to a small wicker couch across from her. A small table sits between it and her. Amanda tugs on my hand signaling that she intends to go through with this. We take a seat and I find my gaze going back to the old lady, whom I can only guess to be Roth, the name that was on the sign. She is so small. I bet she barely reaches five feet tall.
“What would you like to know, young lady?” she questions towards Amanda.
“I want to know how my life turns out. You know, the basics,” Amanda explains to her.
The old woman scoots all the way to the front of her chair and puts both of her hands upright on the table. “Give me your palm, Amanda.”
Amanda’s and my heads jerk towards one another. She looks just as shocked as I do. I lean in and whisper, “She had to have heard me say it on the way in.�
� My eyes shift to the old woman to see her thin lips turn up on the sides. Again, a shiver races through my body. I have always heard two superstitions for cold chills. We take our superstitions very seriously here in the south, which is not comforting considering that I am sitting in a witch’s parlor.
Slowly, Amanda takes her hands and puts them on the table. Roth reaches over, pulls them closer to her and leans over them. Her thumbs move over Manda’s palms, stretching and poking. She raises her head with an arched brow.
“My dear, your life is perfectly boring, to be honest. It turns out the exact way you want it. The man you are seeing now you will one day marry, and he will give you two beautiful children. The game that you two are playing now will come back tenfold in your futures. He will be miserable and cheat, because a zebra never changes its stripes, and you will be miserable but will stay with him for the status and money. The end.” Roth doesn’t even bat an eye as she tells Amanda of her supposed future.
“That’s a bit harsh. Don’t you think?” Amanda asks. Her face registers shock, but at the same time there is a sadness there, too.
“I am simply telling you what you already know to be true.” Roth pats Amanda’s hands before she turns to me. “Now what about you . . . Sage?”
Crap. Did she hear Amanda say my name, too? “I . . . uh . . . I came for moral support. I don’t want to know anything. Thank you, though.” I stand and grab at my still frozen friend. “Come on, Amanda. You got what you wanted, let’s go!”
“Oh but Sage, I really think you should hear how your life is about to completely change,” Roth says.
“No. No, I don’t,” I reply.
“Ok, then, but know this: Keep an open mind over the next few months of your life. Remember that you have had a very good life, but what you think makes you happy, the things you think you can’t live without, are not what you really need.” She takes a breath and continues, “He will open your eyes.”
“Sure,” I tell her, but it comes out shaky. Amanda stands and places a 100 dollar bill on the table and we walk out. We don’t say a word to each other until we are back on River Street.
“I’m just going to head on home. I’ll see you Sunday at the fundraiser. ‘Kay?” Amanda says with a sniffle.
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.” I tell her before we turn and walk in separate directions. I take an alley head back up to Bay Street. I have lived here my entire life, but will never get over Savannah’s beauty. Tonight I can’t seem to enjoy it, though. Roth’s words keep popping into my head. They don’t make any sense. My life has always been the same. My father is a partner in the biggest hospitality business in the Deep South and my mother is always high on pills because, well, she can be. My only real friend is Amanda, and that “shithead” fiancé she hates, is Richard.
We have been with each other since my sophomore and his senior year of high school. He is really handsome, in that whole prep school kind of way. Smooth features, dusty blonde hair and green eyes. He is really fit too, because he was a swimmer in high school and college. The most confusing thing that Roth said to me was the part about how he would open my eyes. She didn’t say a name. Could she have been talking about Richard?
A drunken woman stumbles from around the corner ahead and walks in my direction. She tries to smooth her kinky hair down with her filthy hands but only succeeds in making it look worse. Her clothes make her appear to be straight from some trailer park. Her top is a floral t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, leaving a gaping hole under her arms that shows off her leopard print bra, and her shorts could very well be men’s. As she walks past me, she loses footing and rams into my side, sending me fumbling with her a few steps before I catch my balance.
“Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going?” I shout at her as I shove her off of me to the ground.
She struggles to get back to her feet and when she finally does, she runs the back of her hands across her eyes and keeps her head tucked down. “I’m s . . . sorry.”
“You’re apology is worthless. What would be useful is for you to go back to the hole you crawled from,” I bite out. She shrinks into herself more before she bolts down the street. Some people should really learn where they do and do not belong.
I am about four blocks from my house when I get the feeling of being watched. My mom has always told me that because Savannah is so old, there are all kinds of things lurking in the night. I stop walking and look around at the dark street. What light the street lamps put off isn’t much but I use it to my advantage. There is a couple across the road leaned on a car making out and a man further up the sidewalk walking his dog in the other direction. I take a calming breath and tell myself it’s just my imagination running wild from the night’s events.
I continue walking when I am yanked backwards. I scream as I fall for what feels like forever. Pain shoots across the side of my head and down my neck. I blink a few times, but everything is a blur. A tall figure walks into my line of vision and bends down. I try to push him away, try to kick at him. It doesn’t work. My limbs are like limp noodles.
Darkness is taking over. I do my best to stay conscious, but lose the battle. The last thing I remember is strong arms picking me up, and the scent of whiskey and honey.
Jag by Stevie J. Cole
Chapter 1
My mouth was dry, like someone had shoved a fistful of cheap off-brand cotton balls in it. I ran my tongue over my teeth in an effort to wipe the film of bourbon off of them. Yawning, I rolled onto my back and stretched out in the king-sized bed before lifting the sheets back over my body. The smell of the detergent floated up to my nose, and my lips curled up. No matter how nice the suite was, the sheets always smelled like that damn hotel laundry detergent. I couldn’t stand that smell.
I heard someone next to me pull in a deep breath, and then the covers shifted off my body. Seconds later, I felt warm skin against mine, and then a hand wrapped around my stiff-ass dick. Fingers skimmed along its length, stopping to play with the metal bar lodged through the head.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. The sun was beaming in through one of the windows, and all I could see out of it was an overly crowded skyline. The sun glinted from the windows of the grey concrete skyscrapers competing for space; only a few slivers of blue sky managed to peep between them. I’d almost forgotten that I was in New York City. I couldn’t really recall how she’d ended up with me, and I certainly had no idea what her fucking name was. To the best of my knowledge, I guessed she’d been at the club the night before. It wasn’t out of the usual at all for me to wake up with an unknown woman beside me; it was habitual. One day, I’d probably luck out and bring back a psycho that’d try to off me, but I’d worry about that when it happened. Most of the time the sex was worth that small risk—at least it usually was when I could remember it.
Do I want to look over and see what she looks like, or not? That’s one of the pluses about not letting them stay with you; you don’t have to look poor judgment in the face.
Her grip tightened, and she gently stroked me in her hand. “Good morning,” she whispered.
I grunted and closed my eyes again. I hated when they ended up staying the night. That was never the plan because it was so fucking awkward the next morning when I was sober and trying to piece together what all we’d done. I hated having to talk to them; having to listen to them go on and on about what a big fan they are, how this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to them; and, worst of all, having them ask me if they can post the pictures from last night on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Fangirls, they’re just dying to brag about having been bent over backwards and rammed by me, and rightfully so. It was quite the achievement.
Peeping through one halfway-opened eye, I saw a woman. Okay. Well, at least I got that right despite being completely wasted. She looked to be about twenty-four. And thank God. She’s legal. Her platinum blonde hair stuck up in all directions, and black rings of mascara were smudged underneath her eyes. This girl was an abs
olute mess. It was obvious I’d been there and had a good time marking my territory.
She wasn’t bad looking, but she was absolutely no different than the rest of the other privileged rich girls whose daddies bought their horny daughters’ way into the VIP areas. When she smiled, nothing on her face moved. When she abruptly sat up and slid her way down to my dick, her unnaturally round tits didn’t budge either. It was evident she’d already started with the plastic surgery addiction. This was the kind of girl I was used to: fake, horny, and willing to do anything for a brush with fame.
A slight giggle bounced from her lips as she tugged the covers off my naked body, and then her warm, slimy tongue, coated with morning breath germs, traced up my shaft. The sensation sent a small tingle shooting up from my groin. I looked down to find her staring up at me, her eyes locked intimately on mine as she sucked half of me back into her throat.
Letting out a short sigh, I leaned back and shut my eyes, no hint of a smile on my face. The way she was wrapping her tongue around me felt damn good, and even though I really had no interest in her being there, I wasn’t going to deprive her of the joy she’d get from watching me get off one more time. I tried not to be selfish with that privilege.
After just a few minutes of her head bobbing up and down, her hand twisting at just the right moments, and her choking on my length a few times, I felt my body relax. My legs stiffened up, and then my entire body heated from the overwhelming rush of endorphins coursing through me. It’s amazing how quickly orgasms come when you’re not strung out on coke, or a bottle of oxycodone, or speed. Quicker, but weak compared to the euphoria that drugs granted me.
In the Mix Page 32