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About the author:
She hopes you enjoy the glimpse into the naughtier parts of her mind.
What inspired you to write your book?
This book is split POV and I wanted to try my hand at doing male and female voices in the same story. Plus, the characters wouldn’t shut up! 🙂
Here is a short sample from the book:
Life is bullshit.
Don’t get me wrong. I know life isn’t fair.
I’ve never expected anything to be handed to me.
I ran away from home at age fifteen. The place that was intended as a safe haven from the world, where a child is loved and cared for, didn’t exist for me. I endured unimaginable torture and sadistic abuse in every form imaginable at the hands of those who were supposed to love me.
After a few traumatizing events, I went from place to place, looking for somewhere I could call home, getting involved in things I shouldn’t have. For a while, I didn’t know what time it was or where I slept. I would wake up in stranger’s beds; sometimes dressed, sometimes not.
Five years in, a rude awakening in my world of despair had me seeking help.
I dragged myself out of the trenches with the help of a few friends and finished high school, went to college, got a good job, and finally found stability. For years, I’ve thrived.
Only to have it ripped away from me with one phone call.
Now, here I am, sitting in my living room a week later drowning my sorrows in alcohol.
So drunk I can’t see straight, but what does it matter?
I didn’t do everything right, I know that. I did shit backward and I paid for it.
Either way, I didn’t deserve to still pay for it.
But it wasn’t going away.
All my hard work down the drain.
Life is a bitch and if she were a person, I’d smack her so hard she hit the floor.
Then I’d kick her for good measure.
Instead, life is kicking me and laughing all the way out the door.
And now, I’m left wondering what the point was.
Why did I work so hard to turn shit around if life was just going to keep knocking me down? Am I missing something, and if I am, how the fuck am I supposed to know what the hell it is?
My chest feels as if it’s going to burst as I sit here staring at the wall.
With a roar, I throw the glass bottle at the wall; half filled with alcohol, it shatters and I stare at it, mesmerized as the liquid rushes down the walls to the floor.
Then I rock back and forth as my chest aches with the tears I know won’t flow.
With the knowledge that nobody is able to rescue me from my fate and I’m going to die alone.
So I figure what the hell, I may as well finish the job myself.
Grabbing my keys, I stumble out the door and into my car.
Tonight, my life as I know it will end.
And finally, I will have peace.
God, she looks like shit.
Fifteen years have passed since I last laid eyes on Danita, but I’d recognize her anywhere.
It’s a fucking miracle she showed up at my door. I don’t believe in much, but seeing her standing at my door last night made me want to fall to my knees and thank who-the-fuck-ever for delivering her here safely.
Especially since she’d been so drunk, I don’t know how the hell she hadn’t hurt someone.
I don’t know how she found me, and I don’t fucking care.
Fifteen fucking years since she’d disappeared into the night.
And now, here she is, sleeping in my bed, looking as if she’s had a real hard time.
Difficult times that never left.
Watching her is torture, yet I refuse to look away.
Her hair — pale and blonde — is fanned out on the pillow as she lies on her side. Her skin is dirty, her nails disgusting, her hygiene indescribable.
Even sitting here in a chair across the room, I smell her; a nasty mix of alcohol, stale cigarettes, and fuck knows what else permeates the goddamned room.
I’m going to need to sanitize my whole fucking bed, but since she passed out in my arms minutes after her arrival, I didn’t want to chance waking her by dousing her in the bathtub.
And she doesn’t just need a shower.
She would probably do well to have an hour soak in a tub filled with disinfectant followed by having every inch of her sickeningly skinny body scrubbed with soap until her skin is red.
I feel dirty looking at her.
I should shower since not even two hours earlier she clung to my body, refusing to let go to the point I had to call for assistance from my staff, but I won’t even waste my time.
I’ve plans to drag her ass into the shower the moment she wakes up and I’ve a feeling I’m going to have to physically keep her in there.
Tossing a glance at the clock to discover it’s nearly two a.m., I sigh while debating whether or not I want to lay next to her to sleep. My eyes travel down her body, covered by a sheet she’s clenched in her hands — having pulled it up until her bare feet were uncovered —and eye the locked cuff around her ankle.
A cuff with a chain I’ve attached to the bed so she can’t run off in the morning if she awakens before I do.
Knowing I’ll need all my strength and wits about me to deal with her, I give in and head toward the bed. Deciding to keep my clothes on, I climb into bed.
She doesn’t move, so I lean over enough to make sure she’s still breathing, before lying back down on my side and closing my eyes.