For the next two hours I compose a story where I pour my emotions out and share my shattered soul with this new manuscript.
My story took on a life of its own. Even after Mr. Stratton leaves for work, they’re taking up residence in my mind.
Preston, my leading male character, is an eighteen year old soldier who’s made it out of bootcamp and has been stationed overseas for his first assignment, leaving his teenage love, his sixteen year old girlfriend Camille behind, but not before they fell into each other’s arms and made love for the first time during his transition time. He was home on leave, spending a few weeks with his family before joining his platoon and hopping on the plane. Knowing they’d be separated by an ocean because she couldn’t follow since they weren’t legally wed and she was underage so they couldn’t cement their devotion by standing before a judge and exchanging vows—it was a beautiful sendoff and a way to shareoneof many of the first experiences they had together through their fruitful years. So far, I’ve outlined that she’ll be a teenage mom and I haven’t decided how she tells him or if she does. It may be a hidden pregnancy, hidden baby story since she’s young and her parents are more or less in charge of her life and decisions until she’s at the age to make those choices for herself. That’s something that’ll come to me the further into it I get.
A loud boom followed by a crashing sound from the front of the house has me jerking in the bed. I sit up, craning my head to the side as I concentrate on what it could’ve been and listening to see if something else will follow. We’ve had one helluva rain storm the last few hours, it’s affected my television so I’ve been laying here filling the silent void with how I want their story to play out.
The whooshing of wind has me wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly chilled.
“What the hell?” I ask myself as I begin to shiver. “That isn’t coming from the windows, it’s in the house.”
Did the door blow open?
Hope ignites in my chest so I spring up off the bed and sprint to the door.
I yank, I pull, I kick, but it doesn’t budge. “Shit, shit, shit,” I chant.
With no escape in sight, I crawl back onto the mattress and wrap the quilt around me like I’m creating a burrito with me at the center of it. Once I’m settled against the headboard, the lights flicker before going out. I’m not scared of the dark per se, but this far exceeds that, it’s pitch black out and I can’t see my nose on my face.
“Why?” I scream out. “One break! That’s all I’m asking for.”
I’m not sure how long I sit here, rocking back and forth in the dark when I hear a muffled voice call out, “Fire department! Call out if there’s anybody in here!”
Excitement strums through me as I jump up, getting tangled in my blanket as I shout, “Here, I’m in here!”
I run to the door and begin banging on it, using my entire body’s weight behind it.
“Help me! I’ve been held hostage by my professor. I can’t get out!”
I continue pounding my fist against the wooden structure as I hear feet coming up the hallway. Closing my eyes, I thank whoever’s been hearing my pleas that a rescue team has come thanks to this freak storm that developed out of nowhere.
A knocking sound greets my ears and the same muted voice asks, “Ma’am, is this the room you’re in?”
“Y-y-yes,” I answer, my teeth chattering from either being cold or the adrenaline rushing through my entire being.
“Stand back, Ma’am, we’re going to have to ram the door open because it’s dead bolted and we don’t have the key. Let us know when you’re on the other side of the room.”
Quickly, I maneuver my way into the corner on the opposite side of the room and crouch down into a ball, covering my head with my arms in case there’s any debris that’ll come flying my way when they bash the door down.
“Ready!” I holler.
And just like that, my world realigns.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
LoneStar
“LoneStar!”Booker bellows my name as he comes charging into the main room.
My hackles instantly rise, thinking there’s a threat that needs to be taken out. I pull my gun from its holster and turn in his direction, ready to execute whatever has put that freaked out look in my brother’s eyes.
“What?” I bark, scanning the room and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
“It’s Britton, brother,” he tells me, his breathing chopped from how fast he came running down the hallway.
I re-holster my gun and step closer to him. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I shake him and demand, “Tell me.”
