"You know you have to make a choice. Your parent's dream or yours."
For a good portion of her life, Bentley's mind was made up. She was going to follow in her parent's footsteps and continue the family business, but something changed along the way...
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July 14th, 1981
Houston, Texas
⚠️Content warning: Domestic Abuse and Violence. Proceed with caution if you are easily triggered.⚠️
If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic abuse please contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or text BEGIN to 88788
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The party had long been put to rest as Bentley sat in her truck under a serene blanket of stars, biding her time to enter her home. She had rounded the neighborhood more times than she'd want to admit until the telltale light of her father's office had finally gone out. By the time this occurred, the clock on her dashboard had struck ten minutes until three in the morning.
The young woman almost winced when she laid her tired gaze upon the timepiece. No doubt her mother would wake her, or worse her father, once they realized she finally returned home. She didn't allow this thought to linger longer than necessary if she planned to get some sleep.
The night, or rather the night before, had been more fun than she anticipated. Bentley made a mental note to show her appreciation to Angel as she took her heels into her hands, the shoes causing her soles to ache. Her braids had long been removed from their hairband restraint, now sashaying down the curve of her bare back.
Bentley felt her senses heighten as she prepared to enter her house. She took extra care to close her car door, not wanting to arouse anybody who might not be as asleep as she thought they'd be.
Every noise made her jump as she padded her way to the front door, from the rustle of critters in the bushes to the distant hustle of late-night drivers on the nearby highway. Not even the gentle brush of wind against her now sensitive skin soothed her rapid heartbeat.
Maybe this was her body's warning to her that something was amiss, that something about this night should bring an ill feeling to the young woman's conscience. And that it did.
Her keys felt cold against the warmth of her hands as she fished them out of her clutch purse. She stood on the top stair of the porch, the space between her and the door not being as far as she hoped.
The red entryway taunted her with its saturated tone, trying to persuade her to let her guard down. Part of her wanted to, but Bentley knew better. With a bated breath, she crossed the space, moving her arm to insert the key into the lock. But it swung away from her when she aligned it to the opening.
A barely there gasp escaped her mouth when from the darkness an appendage protruded, latching onto her forearm and dragging her into the shadows of her childhood home.
Air whistled past her ears as she was pulled through the threshold. Unable to gain purchase since her dress had slipped underneath her feet, she fell to the waxed floor with a thud.
