PROLOGUE
SAMANTHA
I quickly throw the last of my things into the bag and scan the room. Clear. Checking my watch, I know I’m cutting it close.
Even if the toxic dick knows it is over, and I’ve told him again and again, he’s still under the illusion I’m his. Maybe because we both have access to the apartment, but I am not his. We have not had sex, or even touched, for several months. We have also slept in different rooms for several more.
Moving quickly down the hall of the small apartment, I pause at the front door.
Exhaling, I finally let go, and I touch the wall. “Thanks for having me.”
As I shoulder my second bag and exit, I close the door. I run down the steps, passing our messy neighbor’s mail on the ground.
The car has most of my things in it already, the furniture is his to keep. The few boxes of personal, non-critical stuff, including my childhood books, are hidden in the shared garage.
I do not have time to get them, so they are hidden behind old furniture.
I’ll come back for them, but only when I find time and it’ssafe.
A smile covers my face as I keep my head down and climb into my sedan. Putting on sunglasses, I lock the door and do a quick sweep of the area. He is nowhere in sight.
Gunning the sedan, excited about the exit, I peel off and head out of Los Angeles. I then start my long driveacross America.
And into my future.
After too manystates to remember, too many average coffees to recall, and never enough old music hits from the sixties, seventies, and eighties, I pull over.
I stopped on Route 66 and a few other key places and took the odd pic. I messaged them to Mom and my best pal, Cassidy, to tell them I was safe and still on the road.
There is one more day to go. One more day to go before my new, big job.
Make that new, small job, but who cares? Not me. I just need a change, but I also need this.
Stability.
As I stretch on the roadside, I tie my dirty blonde hair up and click my stiff neck. I inhale, lean in, and turn up the old Stevie Nicks song.
I grin wide, look down at my shabby comfy driving clothes, and get back my old sedan. I drive on thinking of my new job.
After years as a young but highly respected chef at world-class restaurants in Rome, London, Paris and even one in Miami, I decided it’s time for a change.
Time for less pressure and also less stress.
I started at the bottom, and it was a long, hard road. It took a decade to get in the zone. From flipping burgers aged sixteen in LA, to preparing mains in London, which cost around two hundredpounds a plate.
After I returned to LA, I met him, and I picked up bad habits.
Like loaning him money, letting him mess with me, making me feel worthless, and worse.
The poisonous, energy thief will have to find someone else to prey on. I can’t remember the number of times he told me I wasno good. That I was not skinny enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough.
That I wasno good.
Thank God the job offer came when it did, but in the future, I will need to be more alert. No more poisonous guys, and no more getting trampled on.
Shaking my head, I clear it and look ahead. I am now free, and I am starting afresh.
As I head towards upstate New York and push on, I breathe deep. I need to head north of NYC to a fancy remote area.
