*Untitled Novel*

Prologue

         A gentle snowfall had just covered a small town, hiding any green or brown left to be seen. It was soon a quieter night with nothing but a cold wind and the happy chatter of fleeing spectators leaving the football field of the local high school. Spotting his girlfriend against the alleyway wall under the bleachers with tears in her eyes had the quarterback run for her, celebratory beer in hand, soaking his cleets in the slush of the field. As he inquired what was wrong, she raised her teary blue eyes to him, holding her stomach but not out of sickness. Wiping tears from her eyes, she felt his gentle hands push her hair from her cold, wet face. In a voice of utmost sadness, she soon whispered.

“I’m pregnant”

         Blank in the face, so still, as if carved from stone, the young man looked down into his cup and sighed.

“Gonna need something stronger.”

Parole Granted

         The frozen cappuchino I drank while reading the newspaper’s sports page that day was perfect, or close to it. I felt so relaxed, sipping it slowly, reading about my favourite hockey team’s victory over their second biggest rival. I cheered them on in my head, I’d never actually attended a game. The cappuchino itself was not too rich, not too light and definitely not to fancy. I often shook my head watching others order “unique” coffees with special details or ingredients like a fussy child avoiding his vegetables. I mostly laughed at the frequent girls who order the low fat caramel-flavoured coffee with two or more sugars and whipped cream on top. It just seems a tad ironic to me.

         This was no Starbucks I was in. Just a small, locally-owned coffee shop across the street from the high school I would finally be graduating from. In a few months, I would be in college, a freshman in the arts and literature program with a few classes in music. As I looked across the table, I saw a young couple, likely my age, if not a year or so younger, holding hands and taking part in what looked like a deeply intimate conversation. The boy was well-groomed with piercing shamrock green eyes and short brown hair. He never took his eyes off her, gazing deeply into her eyes, nodding, holding her hands as tightly as he seemed to be hanging onto her every word. How I yearned for someone like that. As i inhaled the last of my drink, my watch beeped, a signal it was time to go back to school. In two hours or so, it would be time to go back home. Just the thought gagged me a little.

         Others I know often use the cliche “home is where the heart is” but for me, home is where the harm is. Every night, beer bottles and cigarette butts decorate our floor as my brother and I fall asleep to the horrible lullaby of my father, a brute by the name of John Winters, verbally abuse our mother. John, I loathe calling him Dad, often had no problem punishing us, convincing us daily that we were mistakes or accidents.

         “If only the damn rubber hadn’t broke, my life would be glorious,” he would often sputter drunkenly.

         When my mother Cecillia became pregnant with my brother Nathan, John threatened her, yelling that he would kill her if she got rid of the baby, something that never made sense to me. The idea of having kids makes him just as miserable as he used to be. Mom had told me that she was a high school freshman when she met him. He was a frequent customer at a small diner she’d worked at and always crushed on him as he hung out there with his football buddies. John at that time was a senior jock and the most desired man in town. The reason why, I will never know or be able to imagine. Under the pressure of looking like an irresponsible young woman with no morals, Mom agreed to wed the man who had given her the gift and curse of motherhood.

         Almost a year after Nate was born, Mom became pregnant once again with me. Unable to accept the responsibility of being a father to a second child, John accused my mom of adultery, spreading vicious rumors of cheating and prostitution. It was frequent that Mom had to go to work with bruises on her arm and face, making excuses and stories unrelated to her husband. Her supervisor, a kind gentleman whose heart broke at the loss of a chance to be with her, often gave her a shoulder to cry on and a hug to cure the pain. The frequency of such kindness ended with one of the encounters being witnessed by John who later beat on her by open hand later that night in their master bedroom, accusing her of sleeping with “Brad, the son-of-a-bitch supervisor” and how Brad was probably the father of their “bastard child”, also known as me. Since then, the house became an icon of spousal abuse and child torment, something John labelled as domestic dominance that was apparently deserved by those experiencing it.

         Today was different. Nathan was planning on confessing to John that he would be leaving to move into his own place downtown. The thought put a lump in my throat. I’d be alone. Walking in the front door, I felt nauseous, wanting to fall to the ground shaking. Nate took my quivering hand into his as he called John into the room. He came with a stumble. Drunk bastard.

         “What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

         “I’m leaving, Dad. I found a place downtown and I’m moving out tonight. I’m sorry...but I just can’t play the victim for you anymore,” Nate stuttered, gripping my hand tighter into his, sweating and overly warm. John became fire red in the face with his fists clenched and shaking.

         “FINE!” he screamed, “you want to leave, LEAVE! After all I did for you, after all I sacrificed to raise you right! Get out of my house, you little bastard!”

         Suddenly I felt scared about what could possibly happen next, so frightened I actually managed to break away from Nathan’s death grip and run to my bedroom. Coward, said the voice in my head, I felt ashamed. How could I leave him behind like that, I pondered as I found myself screaming “stop it!”, plugging my ears, drowning out the horrid screams of John.
         What seemed like hours later, Nate came into my room, a mould infested cube him and I had shared since I was born. There were no signs of tears on his pale face, no specific emotion could be seen in his blue eyes. His name was the only whisper I could choke through my lips as he came closer to my bed. Collapsing onto my hard matress, he was finally close enough that I could wrap my arms around him. His head rested on my shoulder, I immediately felt tears streaming down my own face as I couldn’t help but cry and frantically apologize.

         “I couldn’t take the yelling anymore. I’m so sorry! I want out of here, please Nate, please take me with you!” I pleaded, choked up inside.

         I’d never begged for much, it even surprised me. Nate got to his knees and gripped my hands again, glaring straight into my eyes. I knew he was about to tell me an ugly, difficult truth, something I didn’t want to hear.

         “Lucy, I can’t take you with me. You are more safe here than with me. I promise to remain in contact with you and I will come back for you some day. Until then, we can’t stay together. Goodbye Lulu...”

         As he let go and headed for the door, I broke down, crying his name as if I’d just lost a loved one to something worse than a move-out, begging him not to leave me behind. It was too late. He’d already run down the stairs and bolted out the front door. I watched him tearfully from my window as his shadow disappeared from my sight. Burying my face in my pillow, I heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs. Had he returned? Did he decide to bring me along to his new home? No, of course not.
         My moment of glee came to an end upon the sight of John entering the room.

         “So,” he muttered, still obviously intoxicated out of his skull, “you wanted to leave with Nathan. Well...you know what? You’re not walking out, I’m kicking you out. You’ve got ten minutes before I beat you out that door, you little whore.”

         Before I could even stutter a word in response, he left, muttering about how I was a rotten little bitch to him, apparently just like my mother. So scared, so confused. Grabbing my backpack, I started stuffing it with my small amount of belongings and food I’d stashed under my bed. As I headed for the exit, I glanced over at what was once my family. Mom was in tears, holding herself tight in fear and agony but John made no eye contact and spoke nothing. Gripping my shoulder strap, I couldn’t help but sigh and walk away from the prison I once was forced to call my home.

         I ended up walking to the library upon my escape where I immediately typed up what would hopefully pass as a resume to some of the shopkeepers in town. Lukas hadn’t mentioned where downtown he’d be living and if I were to survive on my own until he was able to take me in, I’d need to have some financial protection of my own. After printing several copies, I relaxed on the nearby couch. I ended up dozing off.

         “Ma’am!”, someone was yelling in my ears.

         Turns out I’d remained unseen by employees and had slept in the library overnight. Dimwits. Once fully concious, I recalled my dreadful situation and rushed to the enarest bathroom to change clothes. That librarian had hastily escorted me out of that building like I was a book-eating disease. I tried to fix myself to look halfway professional, replacing my tattered old runners with some marked-up high heel shoes I managed to grab before leaving the house.

         Unfortunately, this was definitely not a lucky day either. The local clothing stores did not approve of my lack of fashion sense and style, the business offices did not like my lack of knowledge in electronics and the restaurants laughed at my lack of customer service experience and personal hygiene. Somehow a acne-covered grease ball with over-gelled hair and braces with headgear had passed me on the restaurant employee hierarchy. The big deal breaker for all the jobs together was that I didn’t have a permanent home address to write down. Damn...

         Suddenly I remembered that today was also a school day, I’d likely been pinned as suspended for missing it, yet again. Ordeals with my family had always caused me to miss many days there and if I were to miss as many days as I currently have, I’d be suspended without much formal notice. My life is now officially a complete mess.

         I feel so confused and completely flustered.Taking shelter on some steps outside a nearby building, I felt myself tearing up. I hate crying. I riminisced about any good times I once had, making me more upset at the thought of being a hopeless, jobless failure. Oh my god, I’m becoming my father. All that’s missing is some bastard child and an emotional spouse with no self esteem left. Breaking the silence of my own personal misery, I heard a voice directed towards me, asking if I’m alright.

         Looking up, a man was standing above me, approximately in his forties and in a nice suit with a cigar hanging from his mouth. Before I could even mutter two words, he requested that I should come inside and warm up.

         Normally I wouldn’t accept such a creepy request but who was I to judge the supposed kindness coming from this man, especially in my situation. The building turned out to be one of the clubs I’d heard so much about from some of the seniors at school. Taking a seat, I let a cola he offered me slide right down my throat, so refreshing. Apparently I was looking pale or “white as a ghost”. He was feeling obligated to ask me what was causing me so much sorrow. I bit my lip, here I am, starting to cry again, eventually blutrting out the beans, crying about my fleeing brother, my homelessness and lack of options. Looking pretty stunned, he smiles at me, creepy.

         He was sounding more excited than I wanted him to be after hearing my earful of drama but I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of happiness, something I hadn’t felt in a long time, happiness yet confliction. Eek.

         “To be honest with you, dear,” he continued, “you’ll be serving my club’s mostly male customers. The tips are exceptional, something hard for any young girl to turn down.

         I was unfortunately realizing that I was either to except the controversial offer and somewhat survive life or follow my annoying conscious and be poor, likely in the streets if not some terrible shelter or cardboard box. I would accept the offer, despite the lump in my throat and the feeling of my heart nauseatingly beating in the pit of my stomach. If my mom could just see me now.

         “Perfect,” he replies, as if it was a planned destiny or something, he had such an odd grin on his face, again, creepy.

         The club wasn’t opening until later that day so the man now known to me as Dave took me to his apartment on the upper floor of the club. The club itself must have made quite a profit for Dave because the apartment was nicely furnished with all the luxuries a person like me could ever dream of. Hot tubs, big screen televisions, electric massage chairs, large music systems, this was heaven.

         “Make yourself feel at home, after all, you are now at home,” Dave happily comments, “I’ve got to run some errands, feel free to grab some money off the coffee table and buy yourself something to eat downtown.”

         I felt amazed, a complete stranger offering me such care and good and as much as I wanted to just let go and call the place home, memories of the place I came from wouldn’t shake. If only my stomach would stop gurgling like I just drank a vial of acid.

         I grabbed some change and headed down to the coffee shop again. I’ve always wanted to try the smoked turkey sandwich I’d always seen advertised in the window I regularly sat across from in turkey-related agony. With the now-bitten sandwich in my grasp, I hoped that the delicious mayonnaise-filled bite would never disappear from my taste buds. Before I even realized it, I’d consumed the whole sandwich in a matter of minutes as if I’d just inhaled it in one foul swoop. My eyes were now closed and a feeling of pleasure ran through my body and veins, I wiped my lips when I heard yet another male voice talking towards me.

         “I wouldn’t eat those sandwiches too fast, you might start growing feathers and a beak soon.”

         Looking up, my eyes were lying a gorgeous young man sitting across from me, smiling at me. I couldn’t help but notice his beautiful green eyes. Another form of pleasure consumed me, unlike the feeling and adrenaline I was feeling from eating the sandwich. God, he’s beautiful, so flawless sitting there. Soon I realized I was beginning to go into a stare. I felt my body let out a twitchy reflex, a schoolgirl giggle and a reply.

         “Gobble, gobble.”