I wanted to share something about the story I'm currently working on, Catch Me, on Friday but my kids had other plans for me. Then that night a storm came through here and I had no electricity for the night. Then, my internet went down, along with the rest of my plans during the stormy weekend. Don't worry though, I'm back.
So, Catch Me. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago. I wrote it in third person and showed it to some people who suggested I should change it to first. When I went back to "fix that", I decided to trash it. I liked the story, but hated the writing, hated that there was a love triangle, etc. Recently, Brooklyn came calling (she's the main character in the story). Her life started seeping into my thoughts, my dreams. While I showered, there was Brooklyn whispering about her messed up life and I thought...okay, Brooklyn, I'll give you a chance again.
Catch Me is very different from the Darkness Series. It's not a romantic suspense novel. I guess if I had to, I would classify it as contemporary romance or "new adult". I would love to say Catch Me is a funny, light hearted book, and although at times it is...it's not. It's real, it's life, or at least somebody's life.
I was going to wait and "share the prologue with the cover" but first of all, I don't have a cover. Secondly, I'm not sure when the story will be finished (as I'm still working on it). And thirdly, I don't have a thirdly, but my husband always nags when I say "first of all---" and only have one thing to say, so I figured I would say three. Okay. Enough. Here is the prologue for Catch Me.
Remember: UNEDITED & subject to change.
Claire Contreras ©
Eight Years Ago
It was chilly that day, more so than usual, I thought as I shivered, wrapping my arms tightly around my middle. I held on to the red metal railing and closed my eyes as a gust of wind hit my face causing my hair to swoosh wildly as my heart beat erratically against my chest. I blinked my eyes open sniffling back tears as my chest heaved in broken whimpered sobs and tilted my head, my eyes squinting to read the hazy sign beside me.
There is hope.
The word lingered in my mind for a moment, so foreign and out of place there that I couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that escaped my lips. I tore my gaze from it and looked back out, focusing on the city, the buildings that looked so small from this angle. The world looked endless from the larger than life bridge I stood on. At the sound of blaring horns, I clumsily let go of the rail and ducked behind a large column as I went back to admiring the last I would see of this world. The ocean was a dark shade of blue today, mirroring the gray and gloomy sky above it. I made slow waves with my hands in front of me, scissoring the fog that was clouding my body. Nature always had a way of expressing the emotions I couldn’t.
I shuffled my feet forward again, leaning into the rail and taking a deep shaky breath. As I thought of my older brother, the tears that escaped me quickly became loud sobs. Hendrix was the only person who would miss me, the only one who would care that I was gone. A terrible sense of guilt flowed through me as I thought of the way he used to take care of me when we were young. The way he held my hand when our parents had arguments at the dinner table, the way he would assure me that everything would be okay when they left us behind and went on business trips.
I bent forward, placing my weight on my forearms and my face in my hands as sobs raked through my chest. A myriad of memories played in my head, guaranteeing that my broken heart was would be impossible to nurse. I couldn’t understand why things happened, why people acted the way they did, and why I was never enough for anybody.
I was jolted out of my thoughts when a large hand cuffed my shoulder, making me yelp and jerk up quickly. My eyes felt heavy, exhausted, as I wiped them with the sleeve of the oversized hooded sweater I was wearing. I looked at him then, saw his dark eyes and had to blink twice more to clear the fog from my vision, to make sure I wasn’t still looking at the ocean below me. My chest was rising and falling rapidly at the frightened jolt that rushed through me as the sounds of my ragged breath was swallowed by the ocean waves and cars around us.
We stood there staring at each other, him trying to figure me out; me trying to convince myself that he wasn’t real, wasn’t there. I was definitely hallucinating from mixing the different drugs I had taken.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his deep voice somewhat snapping me out of my reverie.
“You’re real?” I breathed in a half question, half statement that he didn’t reply.
He tilted his head to examine me, his long black hair falling into his eyes for a second before he brushed it back with his hand and hid it under a gray beanie. My eyes squinted as they searched his face, cataloging every inch of it. My mind wandered again to yesterday, to the breaking point that brought me here to begin with and my shoulders slumped, the reminder stabbing at my heart.
“What are you doing?” he asked, repeating his question.
I swallowed back my sadness and took a breath. “What are you doing?” I countered in a shaky voice.
His eyebrows knit as he looked at me, his eyes reaching into me, trying to take something, everything. But there was nothing left to take. There was nothing left of me. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Looking for you,” but could’ve been my imagination playing tricks on me. Or effects of the drugs. Either way the sound of those three words, imaginary or not, made hope ignite within me.
“Jogging,” he said moving closer to me.
My eyes fell over his body and I noticed he was dressed in sweats and a thin black sweater. The sweater sticking to his body, not leaving much to the imagination. He stepped closer, making my head swim in the mix of his sweet yet musky scent.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, making my drooping eyes widen.
“Huh?” I asked dumbly.
“Talk about it,” he repeated, my eyes followed his hand that signaled at the bridge, the ocean, the city of San Francisco below us.
My breath hitched and I shook my head rapidly in response, suddenly feeling horrified.
The rest of my morning was a blur. And by a blur, I mean...a complete and utter blur. I don’t remember what happened or how I got to the hospital bed I woke up in. I don’t remember him telling me his name, or me giving him mine.
I don’t remember if we had a conversation. I don’t know if he looked the way I think he looked.
I don’t even know if I really met him.
I just know that I owe him my life, whoever he was.