Restraint

Chapter One - Adeline

Three Months Ago

The rustling of creaking doors seemed to whisper in the wind, singing in cacophony. The platinum light of the moon shined down on the old and dilapidated street of Dow, highlighting its pitiful reality. Rain slammed into the battered pavement, the absence of people haunting every corner of the deteriorating road and contaminating the atmosphere like a thick smog, eerily freezing time as it captured each living second and stole the life from every sentient thing. The only audible noise was the distant humming of street lamps which towered above each corner, their lights flickering on and off due to the violent wind that fluctuated between the rotting buildings on either side of the road.

I quickly trekked along the cracked pavement. My heels clicking with each determined step, wind blowing the strands of hair which managed to escape the hood that was conveniently placed atop my head.

Darkness accompanied me everywhere, especially when I ventured into the savage and precarious parts of New York. That is why it seemed more an accessory than a threat. I was not frightened by the unnatural lack of life that colonized the city, nor did I find the silence unsettling.  The cooing whispers of my mind, however, sent my heart into a panic. It seemed that my decomposing path held secrets that carved their way into immortality. The same secrets that plagued my soul like a parasitic disease. The cracks that held beautiful, silver tongued lies. The stones that remembered every footprint and broken promise. Everything had been permanently etched into the rotting core of Dow Street.

My Friday had already been recked. From start to finish, I was grasping on to the little humanity I had left within me. I had always had a temper. My emotions had a way of weaponizing my tongue and going straight for the kill. A defense mechanism, really. One that often dug my own grave. But it was today that things truly got out of hand.

Perhaps it was the shitty coffee I drank this morning or the pain that ensued from my clumsy tumble down the apartment stairs. Maybe it was the puddle that the taxi had splashed onto my coat, staining the white leather and leaving me drenched in mud on my way to an interview. A first interview. No matter the reason, before even stepping foot within Macmillan Publishers, I was already fuming with rage that seemed to leak from my pores. Not particularly an excuse for my behavior, but nonetheless an explanation.

Mr. Wright.

From the moment I walked through his door, I could feel the air go stale. I was told he was the best in the business, a man of dignity. That if I were to find my name chiseled amongst the great, he was the one to help me get there. That Mr. Wright was a god, in every sense of the word.

Due to prior gossip, the last thing I expected when walking into that office was a 5' man with no understanding of personal space.

It was the light touch on my lower back, the all too often wandering of his eyes. And his breathe. Oh his breathe had smelled of sardines. Was I wrong for shouting at a man for simply asking me out on a date? Perhaps. Do I hold any regret? Only that which encompasses the deal in which I lost.

My manuscript was my most treasured possession. Granted, the things I possessed were far but that of gold and silver. However, I would argue that the works of a future best - seller are far more valuable than any form of payment. Sadly, that is not how the rest of this monetary world views the work of artists. And so I had ventured to Mr. Wright. And while I would like to believe that he "saw potential in my work" simply because it was good, I cannot say his behavior helped sooth my qualms. And now I was without a deal.

My history nipped at the backs of my heels, forcing a scattered pace to emerge from my feet. Quickly, the buildings began to blur behind me as I laid sight on the swinging screen door that fought for permanence against the raging storm. My pace slowed to a stop.