blackshire
Moderator
(back in SCW, i started this story, but never got to finish it. this is a re-post/re-edt that re-starts the story, so ... if you were in scw and read something i wrote near the end, this may look a bit familiar. but it's gotta be done )
Bridget Monroe wondered if she had made the right decision. Standing on the curb, surrounded by strangers in a strange city, she clutched her heavy coat tighter around herself, her right hand finding it’s way to her belly, which she gently caressed.
“It’s going to be okay”, she silently whispered to the unborn child she was carrying.
Rubbing her stomach in a circular pattern, she felt her baby settle down. It took a moment for Bridget to notice that the mob of people she was standing with were moving forward, across the street. She awkwardly stepped off the curb and quickly crossed, horn blaring just behind her.
It was frighteningly cold on the isle of Manhatten on this November evening. A stiff and angry breeze whipped through the wind tunnel that was Times Square. It was a Saturday night, and the sidewalks were packed with people enjoying the nightlife, or on their way home from work. Or, like Bridget Monroe, on the run for her life and the life of her unborn child.
Her eyes scanned the neon lights and signs hanging from the awnings. She needed someplace to stay. Somewhere to blend in. Somewhere to hide. Every fiber of her being was at it’s limit, exhausted beyond possibility. Her body ached for sleep, for the comfort that a warm bed and a safe place to rest would afford her. It was a precious commodity that she had forsaken seven days prior – when she made the decision that would impact not just her life, but the lives of several others - some of which haven’t even met Bridget yet.
There is much that lies ahead.
Ducking into the first building bearing the word ‘HOTEL’ on it since emerging from the 42nd Street Subway terminal out of Penn Station, she quickly checked in under the name ‘Belinda Janks’, telling the desk clerk that she wasn’t sure how long she would be staying. Something else ‘Belinda’ wasn’t sure of, was how she was going to pay for the room ... but she kept this fact to herself as she quietly found her room, closed the door behind her and - without turning the hotel room’s light on to survey where she would be staying - peeled off her clothes and crawled into the bed, clumsily pulling the sheets over her as she sunk into the mattress.
Finally content. Finally asleep.
Bridget Monroe dreamt of happiness and beaches, while her real, true everyday life was far from either. Instinctively, her hands held her stomach as she slept - protective to the end. She was bound and determined to get her child away from the monster she had once loved. Sonny was after her. And when he found her...
...there was no telling what he would do.
But for now, she slept. Not knowing what lay around the corner, or who would come into her life - praying that, whoever it was, that it wasn’t Sonny Monroe.
Across town in a surprisingly comfortable loft, sleeps Max Blackshire - laying on top of the sheets on his back, head to the side. Unlike Bridget, Max doesn’t dream. Nor does he know how dramatically his life would be altered in just a matter of weeks. For now, his life was rather simple. His goals; clear cut.
But soon, everything would change. For everyone.
Bridget Monroe wondered if she had made the right decision. Standing on the curb, surrounded by strangers in a strange city, she clutched her heavy coat tighter around herself, her right hand finding it’s way to her belly, which she gently caressed.
“It’s going to be okay”, she silently whispered to the unborn child she was carrying.
Rubbing her stomach in a circular pattern, she felt her baby settle down. It took a moment for Bridget to notice that the mob of people she was standing with were moving forward, across the street. She awkwardly stepped off the curb and quickly crossed, horn blaring just behind her.
It was frighteningly cold on the isle of Manhatten on this November evening. A stiff and angry breeze whipped through the wind tunnel that was Times Square. It was a Saturday night, and the sidewalks were packed with people enjoying the nightlife, or on their way home from work. Or, like Bridget Monroe, on the run for her life and the life of her unborn child.
Her eyes scanned the neon lights and signs hanging from the awnings. She needed someplace to stay. Somewhere to blend in. Somewhere to hide. Every fiber of her being was at it’s limit, exhausted beyond possibility. Her body ached for sleep, for the comfort that a warm bed and a safe place to rest would afford her. It was a precious commodity that she had forsaken seven days prior – when she made the decision that would impact not just her life, but the lives of several others - some of which haven’t even met Bridget yet.
There is much that lies ahead.
Ducking into the first building bearing the word ‘HOTEL’ on it since emerging from the 42nd Street Subway terminal out of Penn Station, she quickly checked in under the name ‘Belinda Janks’, telling the desk clerk that she wasn’t sure how long she would be staying. Something else ‘Belinda’ wasn’t sure of, was how she was going to pay for the room ... but she kept this fact to herself as she quietly found her room, closed the door behind her and - without turning the hotel room’s light on to survey where she would be staying - peeled off her clothes and crawled into the bed, clumsily pulling the sheets over her as she sunk into the mattress.
Finally content. Finally asleep.
Bridget Monroe dreamt of happiness and beaches, while her real, true everyday life was far from either. Instinctively, her hands held her stomach as she slept - protective to the end. She was bound and determined to get her child away from the monster she had once loved. Sonny was after her. And when he found her...
...there was no telling what he would do.
But for now, she slept. Not knowing what lay around the corner, or who would come into her life - praying that, whoever it was, that it wasn’t Sonny Monroe.
Across town in a surprisingly comfortable loft, sleeps Max Blackshire - laying on top of the sheets on his back, head to the side. Unlike Bridget, Max doesn’t dream. Nor does he know how dramatically his life would be altered in just a matter of weeks. For now, his life was rather simple. His goals; clear cut.
But soon, everything would change. For everyone.