My Fiction Fix #01

Writing Idea #14: Forever On The Run ❤️

Blurb:

I used to be popular. I used to have the clothes, the style, the boys gushing and the girls glaring. All of it would have been perfect if he hadn't stepped in the way, demanded what he had and looked at me, so intimidatingly when he asked me to be his girl. I'd spent seventeen years wanting it and yet the second he asked, I only needed an interrupted phone call to tell me how much I needed to leave and I did.

I took my life into my own hands and it truly slapped reality into place for me.

I lived in New York. One workaholic Dad, one cheating Mother who was a famous fashion designer. Not only that, but also the perfect man to whisk me to my never-ending romance, intimidating and downright gorgeous, with money and a level-head on his broad shoulders.

I left all of it.

You want to know why?

Read the book, love.

CHAPTER 1

I was breathing heavy, holding the two bags as the cold whisk of the night trapped me into this fearful, ridiculous girl running down a lone street in nothing but the clothes on her back and a breathing heavy shadow running straight after me. I sprint for the bus that was just about to leave and throw myself on. It was a bus going to Philadelphia, one where I'd take the underwater train to Germany, or London, whichever one came first.

I pull one of my brother's runner jersey's over my blonde hair and immediately move straight to the back of the bus, my heart racing as I stare out, my phone nothing but broken glass outside on the wet concrete in the outskirts of New York City. I swallow and lean back against the soft texture of the long bus ride.

I calm my breathing, "You alright there?" A male says on the other seat, reading an old, tattered fictional novel, a simple yellow raincoat on and a slightly concerned look on his face.

I nod, "Yes, thank you."

"Whatever you say, Miss." He had a southerner accent on his tongue, bulky boy with tanned skin. I turned away from attempting to study his features, leaning against the back of the buss sofa and calming my breathing down, I had more than enough money, more than enough cards with outside, untraceable accounts, yet I still felt unsafe, afraid, petrified. Probably the aftermath of leaving the night before Alexander Carson asked me to be his girlfriend after seventeen years of jealous looks sent my way whenever I spoke to another guy and the odd kiss stolen, only once in a janitor's closet of the school, to which I found more disgusting than anything, but I didn't tell him that considering he asked me how it was a few weeks later. The only time he ever blushed because he confessed that it was his first kiss and I felt as though his slimy tongue had done most of the work and the entire time I just wanted to gag when he did kiss me.

Or the time his pack of wolves would follow me like guards to my class.

Sure, I found it cute at first.

I should've known I wasn't living in some fantasy, romance novel where such possessive halitosis didn't reiterate to violence in the future. And No, he hadn't ever hit me, but I still loathed being near him after realising how stupid I was, after watching my brother ignore me for eight years because he thought I was some attention-seeking whore for his friends, or that I was some crack-head that needed rehab. The fact my Father didn't stop working in his main manufacturing car company that he couldn't see Mom sleeping with another guy at a hotel he didn't know about. Not even Rowan, my brother could see that and he slapped me when I told him.

The first time I'd ever been hit. And hopefully the last now.

Where was I going?

London. Perhaps France. Maybe even Germany.