Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“We’ll be back, Dovey. I’ll hear you when you speak. I’ll see you where you dance. I’ll always be watching you…” His voice sounded juvenile. Not as old as what I would think they all were due to their size and shadows.
Another man stepped into the pact. This one I felt was older. He was wearing a fedora that shaded his mouth and a cigar was hanging between his lips. “Leave.”
I felt him in places that I shouldn’t have felt. Through foster home after foster home, he was there, existing between the furnishings and oxygen. I could sense him when I thought I was all alone. The Shadow was everywhere I was. It existed between what was real and what was in my mind. It tormented me for what felt like all of my life, and the worst part about being tormented by something you didn’t know, was that you never knew when that torment would end.
Present
I was fourteen years old when I stopped expecting the world to soften its edges for me and learned to roughen mine instead. I learned that if you find yourself in a dark day, it only means that the sun is about to rise. Well, it was a mantra that I became accustomed to as I was growing up. I had to bring it down to that simple paragraph to strengthen my mind and remind it that I was going to survive. Bouncing from foster home to foster home until you hit eighteen isn’t ideal, but I’m an optimist, so the way I see it, I never had to really rely on anyone.
Not. At. All.
And besides, I’ve managed to keep a fairly positive outlook on life, despite my current circumstances. Once I hit eighteen, I emptied my bank account and hitched a ride way the hell away from where anyone would know me, or where most people like to call Miami Beach. Okay, so it’s not a terrible place to live, and it’s probably one of my favorite places to be, but eventually, I want to bail. Maybe settle in the PNW or somewhere with a little more frost in the air. I prefer cold to the heat.
“Dove!” Richard calls out from behind the bar. I work in a bar right on the outskirts of the city. It draws in the right crowd for good tips. Rich folk who just want to splash some cash.
I raise my eyebrows at him in question, so he continues to jog toward me, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Sorry. I always forget about the speech thing.”
They always assume that because I don’t talk much that I’m incapable of doing so. Humans are so quick to slap a label on someone who doesn’t conform to the norm. I do talk, but I don’t talk much here where I’m scared and shackled to the reality of always being watched. I knew it wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. “I’ll hear you when you speak.” I shiver, zipping my leather jacket up farther while slipping my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. “Are you able to work at the bar tomorrow? Jules called in sick, and we usually have a backup, but we can’t get ahold of any of the temp girls.”
I shrug, nodding my head. “Sure!”
“Good!” Richard murmurs. “I appreciate it, Dove.” I watch as his back disappears into the dark room, strobe lights flicking and flashing, cutting through the obscurity like light sabers during a Star Wars movie.
I quickly slip through the thin crowd of people, heading straight for backstage.
“Dove! Hey, girl!” Natasha waves at me from her makeup cubicle.
I nod my head at her, slipping off my clothes until I’m standing in nothing but panties and a bra.
“You up second tonight, boo!” Tash further says, swiping blood red lipstick over her soft lips.
I smile, gathering up my belongings and placing them in my cubicle. I begin on my makeup and hair, making sure I go extra on both. Peering back at myself in the mirror, my lips curl between my teeth. My skin is silky smooth with a natural tan, and my hair is a deep red. Girls used to be envious of my skin because it’s never seen one freckle or imperfection, and unlike most redheads, I don’t burn in the sun; I tan.
I pile my hair onto the top of my head and get started on my makeup. Lining my dark green eyes with black liner, I giggle as Tash begins rapping beside me. It’s what she does to warm up every night. I love Tash, but I feel sorry for her. She has a five-year-old daughter and a shit excuse of a husband. I know that if she could, she wouldn’t work here. I’ve asked a couple of times why she does, but she shrugs me off as if she’s made peace with her fate.