Chapter 11: Five years ago

Laura's POV:

Go down slow,

Put your hands in the air—

I wanna feel the softness of your hair

Whipping my face.

I never thought I was gonna

Spend the night in your bed.

I never thought you were gonna

Be the one, to get this girl.

I stomped on the stage, shaking my hair in a frenzy to the thumping of the drum.

My long black hair poured all over my face, giving it a dark hue under the pale club light.

The audience roared.

They wanted more. More.

And I was gonna give that to them all.

My soul? I was gonna pour it out to them.

I turn around, backing the stage and did a slow twerk: heaving my hips to the drums rhythm.

Slowly.

The audience exploded in loud screams.

I bent lower, twirling every spine in my back. As I danced, I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins, blood pounded loudly in my ears— I was going to have a terrible migraine after this show.

But who cared? I just needed the money.

I gripped the microphone more firmly.

“Look the girl, with the blue eyes

She's screaming uhh ahh

I'm gonna end her misery soon.

Pick her up and drop her— in the moon.”

I barked into the microphone, my voice hoarse and tired, every muscle in my body was acheing.

But I had to this. For the money. For my little baby.

I closed my eyes tightly, as a wild flash hit me square in the face and disappeared the next second.

Silly stage lights. Disco lights.

Whatever they were.

Sweats poured all over me, like I had just finished a marathon. Well, this wasn't any different.

I stood weakly on my legs and smiled at the wild crowd in front of me.

And a face flashed into my mind, like I was looking through the crowd.

Stop Laura!

His hands clawed at my throat, pinning me on the cold floor.

“No!” I screamed in to the mic. The crowd didn't even notice. Their voice drowned mine out, like I was sinking away in mud.

Stop!

I threw the mic to floor, pulling myself together and eyeing the crowd warily.

I was angry with them.

With the world.

Every fcking body in it.

Fck club Runtown!

I rarely sweared, but right now I didn't care.

I bounced off the stage, stepping behind the curtains—The crowds' boos following me all the way backstage.

I ignored them. Everyone of them.

“Hey, what's wrong with you?” The club manager yelled.

I side stepped him.

“Hey.” Someone else called, a man.

“Fuck off.” I snapped, slipping in to the dressroom to grab my jacket and then get my pay for the night.

“At least you should hear what I have to say.”

Damn men. He followed me in to the room.

He sure had some balls. I smirked.

I turned to face him, pulling my jacket over my exposed skin.

The dim light in the dress room fell on his face, he looked to be in his thirties.

Not the tall type. Potbellied, short and beefy like all of them cowardly men.

I hated men.

“What do you want?” I asked, assessing him carefully in his black baggy pants and tee-shirts.

He cleared his throat. I folded my hands waiting for whatever he was going to say.

He dippdd one hand in a pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack and a lighter.

“You smoke?” He asked, lighting a stick and sucking at the end.

I glared at him. “What do you want?”

I repeated, probably he was deaf or just daft. I didn't want to waste my time on men. Men who felt like the whole world revolved around them.

“I just want to talk, okay?” He puffed out a gust of cigarette fume.

“Talk.” I snapped, I was running out if time and need to get money from the club manager and get my ass back home to my daughter, Ria.

He took out the cigarette and surveyed me closely from the array of fumes, dancing in different spiral shapes round him.

“I work for a label in town, and I think you just have the talent we need.” He sucked on his cancer stick again. “You can make a lot of dough if you work for us.”

“And how do I know, you're not some Hollywood fraud or conman?” I said, still eyeing him warily.

He chuckled. He shouldn't have done that.

He bent over, coughing loudly. The cigarette fume had choked him out draining the color from his face.

Still, he managed to pull out a card from his wallet and handed it to me.

“There.” He said, coughing some more.

I took the card, glanced at it.

Montreal Record Company

Wasn't that where all the Hollywood folks and celebrities hung about?

I looked up at him, my eyes almost fallen out of its small socket.

This couldn't be true, right?

“Is this real?”

He finally howled the last of the cough out of his throat and steadied himself.

“It's as real as I am.” He threw the cigarette butt on the floor and stomped on it, twice. His other hand tucking away his wallet.

“With your voice, I can put you on the big screen. I can make you famous, luxury cars. Money, every thing you need”

He paused. My hands clutched on the card tightly, like a long lost treasure.

I couldn't breathe.

All this seemed too good to be true.

“You will get your money, good cars. And the best lawyers around. You should think about this.”

What was there to think about?

Although I was quite shaken and unsure of the offer. But he was here, and he wouldn't give me this card if he was just bluffing.

I swallowed hard, at the same time taking a deep breath to calm myself.

This is real Laura.

It just had to be real.

I think he sensed the conflict from my eyes or something about the way my breath caught in my throat or just my face.

His next words poured out “You can come to the office anytime you want if you are interested. The address is on the card.”

He paused.

“Okay.” I said but it came out in a whisper, probably from how sore and hoarse my throat and voice were.

He didn't need to ask if I was interested. Because I was interested. How could I not be?

My eyes were already moist and threatening to burst out any time soon. Thank God for the dim light in the room.

“I'm Ryan, by the way.” He extended his hand for a hand shake.

Slowly, I lifted my small ones and wrapped them in his fat, larger one.

“I'm Laura.” My voice trembled in my throat.

Life was giving me a chance to live again.

To start again.

How could I Ignore it.

I gripped his hand more tightly and smiled weakly. “I'm Laura,” I repeated. “I hope you can forgive me for how I reacted earlier.”

He smiled.

My eyes sparkled with a strange unfamiliar glint, that I had lost in the many months after that monster tore me apart.

For the first time, I felt a jolt rush through my whole being. Not the regular ache from performing stunts on the stage.

This felt different. Like hope.