Page 3 of Distracted

I might not have known who Patrick was eight years ago, but I knew him now. And accepting this in my life now was no longer an option.

I gave it some time in the accessories store, and when I was reasonably confident I had nothing to worry about, I didn’t hesitate. I made my way to the opposite end of the mall.

It had been eight years of feeling like a prisoner.

Eight years living someone else’s life.

I didn’t have any expectations about what would come once I got away, but I knew that this had to stop. If it didn’t, there was no telling if I’d be alive a year, a month, or even a week from now.

So, I left the mall from another entrance, tossed the phone in the trash on the way out, and hopped in the car I’d gotten for myself three days ago.

A car I bought for myself using my own money.

A car Patrick knew nothing about.

I turned it on and drove away, immediately heading to the place that I prayed would give me the last piece of the puzzle I needed to keep myself safe.

Because this wasn’t the life I had ever envisioned for myself.

Then again, I wasn’t sure that what I’d wind up with when I got out would be that, either. But what else did I expect?

All my dreams went out the window when I was forced to marry a criminal.

The only thing I could do now was hope that he’d never find me.

ONE

Ellery

Eight years earlier

One year down. Three to go.

One year closer to fulfilling my dreams.

As I made the turn onto the street I lived on, I felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment move through me.

I’d just finished my first year at college, and I was finally heading home. I’d enjoyed my freshman year immensely, but I had to admit that I was excited about the summer break, because it meant I’d have time to start and possibly finish what had been swirling around in my head for months now.

A new story.

For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to be a writer. As a reader, I loved thrillers. As a writer, I loved fantasy. I had at least half a dozen stories that I’d started prior to heading into college, but I hadn’t exactly finished any of them. I had intended to spend some time over this summer putting the finishing touches on one or two of them.

But it seemed plans were changing.

Because several months ago, in the middle of my Introduction to Academic Writing class, I’d had an idea for a new story come to me. It hit me out of nowhere, and I immediately pulled out a notebook, so I could start jotting down ideas.

If there was one thing I’d learned in my quest to become an author, it was that it was never a wise idea to assume I’d remember details of anything, no matter how good or unforgettable I believed they were.

I always wrote my ideas down.

Ever since I scribbled down those first few notes about that story, new scenes had been popping into my mind. Whenever that happened, I always pulled out my notebook. If that was unavailable, I typed them into my phone.

I didn’t care where they were, as long as I’d gotten them out of my head and somewhere safe.

And now that my summer break had arrived, I’d finally be able to organize everything and put it all together.

I intended to work on it every day until it was completed. I couldn’t wait to begin, so after I got home and caught up for a few minutes with my parents, I’d probably dive right in.

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