𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗶 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼: 𝗨𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱

SDL Discontinued Version: Chapters 1-3

I decided to take this book down because I didn't like how the story was flowing. I lost interest in writing it, but I still kinda like what I wrote, so here are the first three chapters. I'll be posting the rest, including the unseen chapter 7 that I never finished, so I hope you enjoy it and I'll update this when the rewritten version is up.

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Chapter One

Exhausted would be an understatement for what I was feeling as I sat on a stool in the cramped recording studio I was in. I'd been here for five hours now, working on a single song. My beloved, but sometimes bitchy assistant, Janie, kept wanting me to redo one verse over and over.

I could feel my voice getting scratchy, so I only spoke when I had to.

The producer I was working with went by the simple name of DJ and he looked tired as well.

Janie was asking if we could try again, but he shook his head. "No, we're done for the day." He shot me a look through the glass telling me to come out.

I hung up my headphones and pulled my hair out of its messy bun and tied it up again, a few of the black strands framing my face. When I came through the door, Janie shoved my purse at me and we left.

"What? No 'you killed it'?" I asked sarcastically.

"Adrienne..." She sighed. "You know you can do better," she said as we made our way to her car.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm running on four hours of sleep and I have work tonight." My plan was to nap and take a shower and hopefully earn enough to cover rent and maybe have some left over for food.

My move to Los Angeles hadn't been easy. I spent a month living with Janie while I worked to get the small apartment I was in now. I'd sold most of my things and only had the bare minimum-a couch, a TV, and my bed, along with a few appliances-but I was still just barely getting by.

I had moved from a small town in Nevada, with dreams of becoming a singer. If only I'd known how hard it would be just to survive.

Janie dropped me off and I went up to my apartment. It was home, and had been for a few months now, but it didn't feel like home. It had none of the personal touches my old room did when I lived with my parents. Coming home felt like walking into a friend's house for the first time.

I changed into some sweats and checked my phone for messages as I laid in bed. All I had was a reminder from a girl I worked with to come in. I told her I'd be there and curled up under my blanket.

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When I woke up, it was just starting to get dark.

"Fuck," I muttered. I grabbed some jeans and a shirt, running to the bathroom. I shaved my legs and underarms, rinsing off with hot water and slathering myself with rose-scented lotion after I dried off.

Work would probably be a nightmare, as always, but I had to pay bills somehow and eat somehow.

Returning to my room, I pulled a suitcase in front of me as I sat on the floor. I sighed, reminding myself this was only temporary as I searched through my wigs, tightly sealed in Zip-Loc bags. I grabbed my worn out denim tote and shoved one of the plastic bags in it, along with my skimpy clothing and heels.

I slipped into some sneakers before grabbing my bags and keys.

My car was an old two-door that had seen better days. Much better days.

I threw my stuff in the seat next to me and started my drive to work.

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