Meant for Me (A Second Chance standalone) (31 page)

Here’s
a sneak peek of

Pretty
Little Dreams
by Jennifer Miller

Scheduled
to be released on Jan. 13, 2014.

I’M LYING IN bed with the man I
hate. I wake up, and for a brief moment I am at peace. Then, as fast as fashion
lovers rush to a sale at Bloomingdales, I remember. I'm painfully and vividly
aware that the peace I momentarily feel is not real and that the man I’m lying
next to is not the one my heart longs for.

Another day in hell. I have no idea how many days it has now
been. I don’t know how long I was out before I woke up and found myself bound
and gagged lying on a bed. Deacon injected something in my body to knock me out
initially, but I don’t know what. When I would arouse during our journey here,
he would force me to drink a liquid – water, I think, laced with some kind of
sedating drug. The drug would immediately impose a haze and then a deep fog
would engulf me, until once again, I was oblivious to everything. Just as
today, there was no rest or peace during that sleep, but rather a repeated,
tormented struggle: at times a longing to find consciousness and formulate a
plan for securing my freedom and, at other times, as fear suffocates me, a desire
to sleep into eternity.

I feel myself start to panic again, recalling those moments
of pure hysteria when I finally woke up. I can’t go there. I can’t let myself
feel what I really want to feel right now. Instead, I lock the fear in a box. If
I don’t, it will consume me. I can’t let myself think of the unknown, of the
what-ifs. When the fear starts to drag me into its dark abyss, I defy its grip
and force my thoughts to focus on the people I love. Pyper. My parents. And
then, with my heart twisting painfully in my chest, Luke. I roll onto my side
in a slow, deliberate and cautious manner, as close to the bed's edge as
possible, careful not to wake the living, breathing, nightmare lying beside me.
Putting my back to him provides me the illusion of placing even more distance
between us than I actually can. I hate being in bed with him.

My pulse starts racing as I give that too much thought, so I
quickly lock my feelings and thoughts up in that box again, putting them away
to pursue later. Effortlessly, Pyper again comes to my mind, and I could swear
it’s like she’s standing before me waving her arms to get my attention. I smile
at her image. I hope she’s okay. The last thing I remember before Deacon took
me is my best friend tied up, helpless, echoing the wide-eyed fear I also felt.
As our eyes met, I tried to convey to her how much I loved her. We both knew
what was going to happen. I begged Deacon to leave her, to not hurt her. Whether
he listened to me or not, I have no idea. I only know from asking him over and
over again about Pyper that he left her tied up on the couch, but in what
condition, I do not know, and he refuses to say. He only states that his major
objective was to take me. And he was willing to do so at any cost. I can only
hope he did not hurt her, that he merely left her as he said. But honesty is
not one of his strengths. Regardless, I pray to God that someone found her
quickly. I hope she’s alive and well and not worrying too much. I hope she was
able to tell Luke what happened.

Luke. During my darkest times when I’m most afraid, thoughts
of him are constant. He’s my happy place. I daydream frequently about him
holding me, whispering to me, kissing me. Sometimes, I even let my thoughts
venture to the life I wish to have with him some day. My favorite is when I
picture us in a home. Our home. Not an apartment or townhouse, but a house. I
know without a doubt that it will have to be a house, because Luke will want
something that is ours. In my daydream, our house looks like one of those old
plantation estates in Georgia. It has a wraparound porch, with his and hers
rocking chairs in front; our favorite spot. Luke and I sit in the chairs,
sipping iced tea on a warm summer day. Our chairs face each other and my feet
are in his lap. I smile, listening to him tell me about the new night club he
is excited about opening, while he rubs my feet, his enthusiasm evident. His
voice, combined with the breeze blowing through the trees brings me
contentment. A dog, a golden retriever named Dakota, is lying next to our
chairs. While we talk, I drop my hand down to scratch the top of his head. I
think even the dog smiles with contentment. I don’t know if dogs actually smile
or why we have one, I just know there is one in my perfect day dream; the
daydream and the life I hope and wish to have with Luke. I miss him so much
that the ache in my heart nearly crushes me, takes my breath away and I find
myself gasping for air. The pain is incredible. It’s worse than a punch in the
gut, the unfairness of it all. After seven long years, we have finally
reconciled, and then Deacon comes and ruins our plans. Ruins our dreams.

I still thank God that we found each other again. After
hearing him tell his mom I meant nothing, when I took off and married Deacon, I
really never thought I would see him again. Thoughts of Luke would venture into
my mind often, but I always stubbornly pushed them away. While painful, the
best thing that could have happened for me and Luke was the time I caught
Deacon cheating and finally took a stand against him and his abusive ways by
divorcing him. Moving back to Chicago was the right choice because eventually,
surprisingly, and unexpectedly, it brought me back to Luke. And I was finally
happy again.

I confess that at some level, I am still in denial. I had no
idea that Deacon would do something like this. I knew he was angry and has been
obsessive and borderline crazy over my leaving him, but I never thought he
would go this far. I never thought he would take me - kidnap me - from my own
home. I’ve tried to reason with him, to ask him what he’s thinking, to make him
feel guilty, and to try to scare him. I’ve begged him to just let me go. I’ve
promised him that I won’t tell anyone, that it will be our secret. I’ve told
him to just leave me here and save himself before it’s too late. He refuses. He
shakes his head, laughs. Instead, he makes me do things I don’t want to do, and
makes it clear that I am far from being in charge here.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted as I feel Deacon moving
next to me, his fingers touch my back, and I stiffen, acutely aware that he’s
awake. He asks me the same thing each morning, “Have you come to your senses
yet? I’m tired of your refusal, no more games.”

Jaw clenched so tight my teeth grind together, I roll over
and bravely stare into his eyes, “Let me go, Deacon. Each day you keep me here,
you’re only digging yourself deeper and deeper. There’s still time for you to
do the right thing.” I respond the same each time too.

“I have plans for us tonight.” Ignoring my comment, Deacon
rises from the bed, completely naked. I avert my eyes from his body.

“Plans? What kind of plans?”

“We are going to have a nice dinner together, for starters.”

I scoff, “I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

“Too bad, you don’t have a choice.”

The room I’m being kept in isn’t bad. We are in some house
in the middle of nowhere, as far as I can tell. I’m in a room that has the bare
necessities. A large bed and a dresser, there is also an attached bathroom, but
it too has the bare minimum. There isn’t even a mirror. I can, however, see
where the wall paint changes color, indicating that at one time, a large one
had hung above the sink. I wonder if Deacon removed it, and if so, when that
was. How long had he been planning this? Each time Deacon leaves me alone,
which isn’t often, he locks me inside the bedroom. Sometimes I hear him talking
to someone through the door. There was a time when I wasn’t sure if he had
someone helping him or if he was talking on the phone. I think back to the time
when I found out the answer to that question.

Rolling out of bed, Deacon pulls on a pair of pants. “I
will be back. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“Be back? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? Are you concerned about me? Are you
going to miss me, princess?” he asks, walking over to my side of the bed.

“No. I don’t care where you go. I’m just surprised you
would leave me alone.”

An angry look flashes across his face and he leans over
me, grasping my wrists hard, holding them up near my shoulders. I turn my face
to the side trying to avoid him. “You better start caring, princess, or you
aren’t going to like what happens.” Then he moves his hands to the side of my
face, forcing me to face him again. He kisses me hard on the lips.

As soon as he lets go of me, I wipe my face with the back
of my hand. He laughs as he walks out of the room, slamming the door behind
him.

Throwing the covers back, I run to the door and press my
ear against it – all I hear is murmuring on the other side. He must be on the
phone again. It isn’t long before I hear a hard slam which I assume is a door
closing. I think I’m alone; this could be my only chance for a while.

I run to the sliding balcony doors and creep out onto the
balcony. This is the first chance I’ve had to come out and take in my
surroundings. Deacon told me when he locked me in this room that we are in the
middle of nowhere and I could yell and scream as much as I want – no one will
hear.

Looking around, I see he was telling the truth. There doesn’t
appear to be anything for miles. I’m too high up to jump down and tying my
sheets together would be useless; I couldn't even reasonably reach the ground.

Frantically, I start running around the room, looking for
something, anything, to use as a weapon. I search the dresser, the top of the
closet, under the bed, the bathroom cabinets. “Dammit.” I can't find anything.

Running back to the bed, I rip the sheet from it and wrap
it around my hand. Heading to the balcony doors, I brace myself. If I can manage
to shatter the door, I can use the glass as a weapon. Please let this work. I
take my fist and slam it against the door as hard as I can. I scream. Not even
a scratch and all I managed to do was hurt my hand. In anger, I beat against
the door over and over until I’m a heap on the floor. I pull my hand out of the
sheet and glance at it. It’s beginning to swell, but I hardly feel it.

There’s nothing here. Nothing. Feeling defeated, I walk
back out onto the balcony and decide it’s worth a try, no matter what Deacon
said.

“HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE! HELP ME!” What do I have to lose? Maybe
I will luck out and someone is around.

I wait a moment and then try again.

“HELP! I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED. SOMEONE HEL…”

Suddenly, I am grabbed from behind and dragged into the
bedroom and thrown on the bed like a rag doll. I try to roll onto my back but
instead a weight settles on my back, and my face gets shoved into the mattress.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

The voice is not Deacon’s. I freeze as shock runs through
my body from head to toe, paralyzing me in fear.

“Lover boy isn’t here to save you. It might be worth
facing his anger to shut you up permanently.”

I don’t speak. I’m afraid to move. Who is this man? He
moves off me so he can roughly flip me over. I stare up into his hard eyes. He’s
not an attractive man. Light hair, pointy nose, and lips so thin they’re hardly
there at all. He has a scar that runs from the tip of his eyebrow to the middle
of his cheek. “Leave me alone.”

“I don’t think I will… what does he call you? Princess? I
don’t think I will, princess.” He says mockingly. Then, to my horror he runs
his hand down the front of my body, squeezing my breasts painfully and then
gripping my hip. His breathing starts quickening.

“No, please don’t touch me.”

“That’s right, beg, you bitch. Next time you will think
twice about breaking the rules and trying to yell for help.”

Oh God. He’s going to hurt me, or worse. I do the only
thing I can. I start struggling. I kick my legs like a three-year-old having a
tantrum. I throw my head back and forth and get one of my hands loose and
scrape my nails down the front of his face. “Let go of me!” I scream.