Jessa's POV

The harsh ringing of a telephone woke me up. It didn't matter,no matter how hard I'd tried, I hadn't been able to fall asleep. I'd only managed to doze off for a few minutes.

      Tired, I stretched my taut muscles. I sat up, brushing stray hairs out of my face and cringed when I caught a whiff of my breath as I yawned.

     I reached under my worn out pillow and grabbed my phone. David had called. The thought brought a smile on my face. Nurse Millie had also called. My smile disappeared.

        After six rings I gave up and decided to call Millie instead. I'd try to call David again later. He was probably in an important meeting.

    How I met Nurse Millie was quite simple, nothing like how I met David. A few years after running away from my home back in California, I decided to call after mustering up enough courage.

       It was after the incident had happened and as much as I didn't want to, I was missing home. I was missing the only family I had left. So I went to a payphone next to the club I was working at at that time.

     When I called Nurse Millie picked up. At first I was relieved because I didn't know what I would have said had it been my mother. At the same time I wished it had been my mother.
   
     Nurse Millie filled me in on everything that had happened after I told her who I was. My mother's condition had worsened. My mother had diabetes and wasn't taking good care of herself.
   

          It had gotten so bad that she had been admitted to the hospital and was only discharged after she had been given a full time nurse. That night I mourned, I cried because I was so scared.

That night I wanted to go to the airport and take the first plane back to LA. The shame and guilt held me back. I couldn't, I had left for a reason. I was scared that she would die and I'd true be left alone. I'd really have no one left.
 
       After deciding to keep in touch with the nurse, I sent her money as often as possible because I knew my mother wouldn't have enough money to pay for Millie's services.

        But that was back when I lowered my morals, or should I say when I was possessed. When I was a stripper in a night club, a prostitute on the streets and a drug trafficker.

Those were dark times. Sometimes I think about going back. Then I see the faces of all those that had died and I see the light again. It doesn't get easier.

I still crave the feeling, the sex. As disgusted as I feel now when I think about it, I miss the feelings.

    The sensations, the mind numbing pleasure produced from the erotic combination of sex and drugs. I'm ashamed to say that I'm not over it.

   I dialed her number, softly humming along to the caller tune that played. "Jessa?" A voice called. I recognized her British accent that reminded me of the caretakers at the orphanage in Oliver Twist.

         Yet, her soft personality made me think otherwise. I imagined her as a strict tall woman in a nurse's outfit with glasses on her long pointed nose and her hair fixed so tightly in a bun that it hurt just by looking at it.

       And she'd wear formal black shoes which would make a distinct click clack noise that would follow her around. I'm pretty sure I'm imagining a character from a children's book I once read but, ah well.

     "Hi Millie. Yes, it's Jessa. Erh....you called earlier but I wasn't around. Is something wrong?" I asked my heartbeat speeding up as I paced back and forth on the worn out dirty brown carpet. The rats had chewed a few holes into it.

       "Well..." She hesitated, as if unsure of what to say. The line went silent, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. "Millie, you're scaring me. Whatever it is, just spit it out." I told her, my voice trembling.

If anything had happened to my mother I'd never forgive myself. "Well...your mother's condition..it's gotten worse. I'm sorry but she doesn't have much longer." She blurted out.

         My knees trembled and I fell to the floor, a harsh moan of pain escaping my lips as tears rolled down. I hadn't even began to process what she'd just said, my heart beating at a faster pace.

   "She doesn't know...I don't want to frighten her but Jessa..I think you need to come back home, spend her last moments with her.." Millie said softly, reminding me of my mother. She was rubbing off on Millie.

       I sniffed as the pain increased. It felt like a bone had lodged itself in my throat making sure I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating. "I can't come home..you know I can't...not after everything.." I said as I burst out crying.

    "Nothing in this world is easy, but it's not impossible either. You won't know the outcome till you try. I'll give you time to make your decision." She advised before hanging up.
    I couldn't go back to LA. I loved my life in New Orleans. Sure it wasn't the best, sure it was in shambles, but it was better than going back to LA.

         Getting up, I walked towards the tiny bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror, instantly horrified by my ghastly appearance.
   
  Frazzled black hair, pale green eyes with dark bags around them, my cheekbones sunken in, a testament to the fact that I was starving. I turned my head to notice a dark bruise on my neck.

      Wincing in pain when I touched it, I remembered exactly how I'd gotten it.

A few nights ago.....
It was almost late afternoon. My grumbling stomach forced me to go out to buy food. I was short on money and couldn't afford a square meal a day, then again when was I not shot on money?

   I smiled at my own misery. I didn't look my age. Twenty six year old women were radiating youth and beauty. I looked sickly thin and scrawny, like a homeless cat. I looked old. I'd been forced to grow up too quickly.
       
Life was just not fair, at least not to me. All my dreams had been crushed. Even the funds I got for writing short stories for publishing agencies had been withheld. Nothing I did was good enough.  Good! What motivation to get me to stay alive!

         Getting to the little store, the storekeeper glared at me. She was a thick black woman, tall and mean looking. Her big black braids cascaded around her. I didn't blame her though. Based on the rags I was dressed in, I looked no better than a common thief.

As if there was anything worth stealing in this upbeat rust bucket she called a store. I bit my tongue to keep my thoughts to myself. I didn't want any trouble, I reminded myself.

"What do you want? If you don't have any money, get out of my store!" She yelled harshly. This was normal, I was used to it. I bought a muffin and walked out of the store. It wasn't much but it was better than starving.

This was the harsh reality of the neighborhood I lived in.

   
  An arsenal of guns, a drug trafficking ring and a brothel. There wasn't anything wrong but this neighborhood in particular, it was fucked up.

Children are already engaged in high rate crimes by the age of ten.

    Girls work in brothels by age fifteen. I walked slowly back to the apartment, keeping my hand on my pocket, ready to bring out my pocket knife at the first sign of trouble.
    
   Out here you had to be tough. Weak people didn't survive here. Weak people ended up dead in bushes, their killers nowhere to be found. The streets were a bit deserted, only a few people walking around.
   

  The whistling wind blew wrappers and leaves along the dirty street. It'd be March tomorrow. For such a noisy area it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

      
Finishing the muffin, I put both hands in my pockets, grabbing the knife while simultaneously surveying the area with the sides of my eyes.

My heart beat in anticipation and fear of what could happen if I wasn't alert and careful. I could end up another dead body left in the bushes.
         
           Suddenly a strong arm grabbed my arm roughly and shoved me against a wall in an alleyway. I brought the knife out and held it against the person, not caring where exactly as the pain produced when I hit the wall made me groan momentarily losing my balance.

    My heart was pounding in fear, tension encompassing my whole body as nausea twisted deep in my gut. The person wrapped a hand around my neck and squeezed.

I stiffened immediately.

"I missed you sweet. Did you miss me?" He whispered into my ear. His face was so close to mine that I felt his breath on my cheek, the horrible stench of liquor in the air.

   I shivered in disgust. I knew that voice. I would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that occasionally haunted me in my sleep, never letting me forget the things I'd done.

The horrible things I'd done, things I'd seen. That voice reminds me of the old me, the part of me that I hate because she was a weak coward.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still weak. But at least now I don't shut up and watch innocent people die.

I'd stand up for them.

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So what do you think? First official chapter. I'm sorry about the mistakes...I'll work on them, I promise.

Who's this mystery person? What is he gonna do to Jessa?
Who the hell is Jessa anyways? Why can't she go home?

Vote, share and comment. But don't copy  😁😁😁
Love ya peeps...

-Daisy