Chapter 3

Lynn POV

Saturday afternoon, and I was feeling excited to write. With a cup of coffee in my hand, I nudged my sliding reading glasses back up my nose. I was not an author. Authors are liars who create fake scenarios only to write about it for a living. If you ask me, those types of people are dangerous. You wouldn't catch me with a werewolf novel or any genre that was out of the ordinary. What I loved was a good romance novel—contemporary, office, erotic, whatever—that involved two people who were going to beat the odds and end up together at the end. Even though I loved reading such excitement, I could never find the courage to narrate them. I was a writer, one who wrote inspirational quotes, and poems, with insights into my life and struggles.

Hearing a light knocking on my door, I closed my laptop, wondering who could it be. I wasn’t expecting anyone; it's not like I was one of those girls who had plenty of friends and distant family members. I was alone, and probably that was the reason why I craved men like I did. I was adopted. I didn't know my birth mother, and I don't wish to. For years, I had asked myself why she gave me up. Did she hit a rough patch? Was I the result of the abuse? I don't know, and I don't wish to know. As for my adoptive parents, things started well. As soon as I could understand, they told me the truth that they weren't my biological parents, and I was okay with them for a while. But then they got a kid, a boy, and things got bad. They would treat him like some trophy because their blood coursed through his veins, not mine. Then there was an incident, where I told my adopted mother when I was 16 that her brother, my so-called uncle, was touching me. But she didn’t believe me. Instead, soon after that, I did something, because something was about happen to me, and that's how I became an outcast. I was verbally abused until I left, and I never went back.

"Who is it?" my voice cracked as I leaned against the door.

"Babe, it's me."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Fred."

"Come on. Don't be like that. Let me—"

"No. Leave before I call the cops."

"Really, Lynn... We both know you're not going to do that."

Forcing my eyes shut, I bit my lower lip. Fuck, he was right; I wouldn't.

"What do you want?"

"I just… I just need to talk to you."

Opening the door, I stared at him in the doorway.

"Talk."

"Lynn, I am so sorry. I was hanging out with my boy, and my phone slipped under the couch cushion, and it was on silent... I’m sorry."

"You are full of it." I walked away from the door and back into the apartment.

"Full of what?" he mumbled, closing the door behind him.

"Bullshit, Fred. You keep doing this to me. Why?"

"I’m sorry,"

"Yeah, I know." I stood by the window, staring out at the street.

"I’m sorry, Lynn." I felt his hot breath against my neck, his fingers trailing up my dress, gripping firmly on my ass cheek.

"St-stop, Fred. I don't want to." I moaned. I wanted him to stop, but my body was betraying me. Was this what I was to him? Just a piece of ass, his personal cum dumpster whenever he needed a release? But where was he last night and all those other times when I needed him?

"Stop," I said, a little more irritated than before.

"Come on." He continued to place light kisses on my neckline. "You know that you want to." He chuckled against my skin. Damn cocky bastard.

"Stop!" I turned around, shoving him to the ground.

"What the fuck, Lynn!" He groaned in pain.

"Get out, Fred," I said softly.

"Babe, I said I was sorry—"

"Get the fuck out of my apartment! I don't want you here!" I screeched.

"You know what," he rose to his feet, "Fuck you. Yeah... I saw your calls last night, and I know you’ve been thinking it, so might as well come clean, right? I was with another bitch. Are you happy now? Huh? That's it. I’m out of here." He walked away, slamming the door behind him.

Bursting into tears, I lowered myself to the floor, hugging my knees and thinking. Will I ever be happy? Do I even deserve to be happy? Blinking a few times, the tears burned my eyes, and I laid there crying until I fell asleep.

Bolting upwards, the constant ringing of my phone startled me out of deep sleep.

"Shit," I mumbled, rubbing my forehead. I had a headache—must be from all that crying.

Standing to my feet, I picked up my phone from the table, rolling my eyes when I saw the caller ID. Fred. Was he delusional? Did he really think I would take his calls after disrespecting me like that? That was his last chance. I was done. Deleting his number from my contacts, I went right ahead and added him to my block list as well. This time, it was over.

Walking over to the kitchen, I opened the cupboards, cursing inwards when I found them empty. I had crackers, but I needed break-up food, so I had to go to the local grocery store and grab a few things before I both starved and cried myself to death. Grabbing my purse from the counter, I took my jacket from the coat holder, grabbing my keys and cellphone as I slid my feet into a pair of leather sandals before I left.

The streets were busy. It was near evening, and people were rushing home from overtime, extra shifts, or maybe their daily hustle. It was one thing I knew about life; it got harder every day.

Pushing the door open, I realized how quiet it was. An elderly couple was in the back, but other than that it was just me and the cashier who popped her gum louder than she should. The loud ringing of the phone filled the mart. I didn't even have to look at the screen to know who it was.

"Seriously, Fred, you not only confessed that you were with another girl, but you also disrespected me in the process. I blocked your number, and I am sure this one belongs to one of your little buddies too, right? Stop calling."

I hung up, scooping up a basket to carry my goods in. I didn't need a cart because I wasn’t planning on buying that much stuff. As I walked off, the cashier glared at me. I probably got her attention with Fred's phone call.

Walking around, I grabbed a jar of coffee, a bag of wheat bread, and jam. I have this thing about me and shopping; I always know what I want before I leave the apartment. But now that I was here, I couldn't remember what I wanted. I wondered if that was a thing for most people or just me. I looked around. The elderly couple was still behind me, but the cashier wasn't at her station. Why would she leave her station so open and—

"Get down on the fucking ground." I heard a voice barking behind me. "Get down on the fucking ground now, or I will shoot this bitch."

There was a term my adoptive mother would always use about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, and I was guessing this was one of those situations. I should have stayed home, cried, and ate crackers, whatever I had to do to not be a part of a fucking robbery.

"Hey, you!" I flinched at his words. I got this feeling in my gut that he was talking to me.

"Hey, I am talking to you." He tugged my arm, making me to look in his direction.

Disguised in the mask, he wore thick winter gloves and pointed a gun in my face.

"Get down on the fucking ground." He shoved me to the floor.

My keys and phone fell out of my pocket, and the fear in my heart made me act fast by shoving them under the shelf.

"Alright, I assume you know the procedure of a robbery. If not, place all phones in this bag.” He marched around with a brown paper bag.

Lowering their phones into it, the elderly woman cried softly while her husband tried to comfort her. The cashier did the same, and now it was my turn.

"Phone."

"I-I don’t have one."

The cashier stared at me with wide eyes. She knew I had a phone; she saw me with it earlier.

"I mean... I have one, but it's not with me right now."

"Okay, stand up."

I did as I was told, and of course, he didn't believe me, so he searched me and found nothing.

"Alright, you," he pointed to the cashier, "Come with me." He walked off with her,

Listening to his disappearing footsteps, I pulled out my phone from under the shelf, trembling as I unlocked it.

Feeling the cold metal pressed against the side of my head, I swallowed hard as I shifted my gaze at who was behind the trigger. He wasn't alone. There were two of them robbing the store.