Dancing With The Devil

Chapter 15

I had always treated my workers well. It was one of the most important things to me. My company was my baby and it would not succeed if everyone who worked for me treated it as a nine-to-five. Each one of my employees needed to be treated with respect and given as much consideration as possible to they could be a part of the well-oiled machine that was my team.

I remembered my first job when I have moved to Canada vividly. I had worked at a big box store. Sophie had helped me as much as she could, but I knew she couldn't support me forever so I applied everywhere, but with no work record it was nearly impossible to get hired anywhere else. Customers were rude and snotty to me. My managers had been unable to perform their jobs properly or had simply chosen not to. My feet ached from standing on hard cement all day and I went home hating myself for continuing to go back, but knowing I had no choice.

Now, two months after I had made it to Glasgow, I felt very similar to how I had all those years ago.

True, the customers at the bookstores were usually much better, but the arrogant adults were much more stuck up than anyone who bought bargain socks could ever be. I spent a lot of time on my knees, stocking shelves full of books, which made my back and joints ache at the end of the day. My manager was a book fanatic to an extreme, though one of the kindest men I had ever met. It was hard to ask him a book related question without allowing him to go off on tangents that could carry on for hours. At least at this job I was paid a little better, I wasn't working for a massive chain that controlled half of America, and I smelt like old books instead of feet and sweat.

Still, that didn't stop me from being sore, achy and completely cranky by the middle of my shift. When I took my break I curled up on the small, worn out couch that was surrounded by unorganized stock I knew that sleep would be inevitable but I fought it anyway. I didn't want to fall asleep at work, but I was so exhausted. Between the long shifts and the sleepless nights the bags under my eyes didn't even begin to speak to my tiredness. I didn't last more than five minutes before a horrendous nightmare captured me.

I couldn't breathe.

I could feel my face turning a disgusting shade of red, shifting towards blue from the lack of oxygen. My feet weren't able to touch the floor, no matter how much I kicked and struggled. He was alarmingly strong, holding me up by my throat with ease. My eyes were watering madly as my lungs screamed inside me, desperate for air, but hand stayed tight around my neck, preventing me from inhaling at all. I felt my mouth attempting to suck in gasps but no air entered my deprived system. I could feel weakness flooding through my body, my struggles becoming less effective and my vision started to blur and blotch. I knew that I would lose consciousness soon and eventually, my heart would stop being and my brain would stop functioning.

My eyes drifted shut.

I knew that Josh uttered something, but I couldn't make out what he said. It didn't matter anyway. I wouldn't be here much longer.

When my eyes opened again I was stunned, then terrified. Was I dead? Had my fiancé actually done it? Had he finally snapped and killed me in my own home? Was I in heaven now? My throat was aching painfully and my head was pounding, people didn't feel pain in heaven, did they? Perhaps I was in hell then?

But my vision finally came back, bit by bit and I was able to see that I was not in heaven. I was in my bedroom, splayed out on the thick, white shag carpet. I had always hated that carpet, it was just asking for stains. For a moment I didn't understand why my nearly naked body was splayed out on the floor like I was trash that had been tossed aside. What I somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor?