I opened my bedroom door and stepped into a street. The sun shone blinding my eyes and the pedestrian traffic walked into me like I wasn’t there, people jostling me and swearing at my sudden intrusion. The silent house to a frenetic street—car horns blearing, high-heels clipping and heavy shoes smacking the pavement—confused me. I turned into a heavy set man, then spun into a small dark woman, everywhere faces glared into mine, frowns expressing their mood.
Dazed, I was unable to rescue myself, so for a while longer I blocked people’s paths and slowed rush hour foot traffic, forcing detours and creating backlogs.
I gathered my senses and moved to the edge, clinging to the walls of the nearest building for security, waiting for his arrival. There was no question of his appearance. He would want the tangible experience of my fear.
Where was I? Anywhere, the place didn’t matter. Another busy street in another city, looking as if the engineers had used tracing paper and copied one set of designs onto another then shared it around the country. A cold wind jetted down the chute made by the tall buildings either side of the street creating a micro climate degrees cooler.
The wind caught my hair, still in morning style, unbrushed and loose. I glanced down now remembering where I’d come from and found my hair was not the only thing remaining the same on the way here. Yellow ducks waddled across the fabric canvas of my sky blue legs, some upside down, some wandering down and some coming up. My tank top clung close across my chest, looser around my middle. I wore no bra, and my nipples stretched the material as the cold turned them to points.
I tried to hide my breasts behind my arms, wrapping each tight as if it would cradle me and protect me, the effect empty compared to being in the arms of someone else. I turned my back on the wind and huddled up next to the building, noticing the stares I drew: the weirdo standing in the street, dressed in her quacky pyjamas.
A hand smoothed its way up my back, up to my shoulder, resting at the summit and gripping firm. It burned through my flimsy top, the imprint of each finger branded on my skin. Or so it felt. There would be nothing there to see if I looked—a sensation that left no physical mark but seared through my mind and into my memory, his touch destined to be stored alongside all the other longed-to-forget moments.
TJ Adams couldn’t decide what she wanted to be when she grew up and travelled instead. She returned from overseas with the thrill of adventure still inside, so decided to train as a commercial light aircraft pilot, flying out of the remote aboriginal communities of north Western Australia.
A badly damaged eardrum clipped her wings, and she returned to Perth to complete a BA of science. During this time she meet her husband halfway up a rock face, while engaging in one of her favorite past times, rock climbing.
Somewhat tamed, TJ Adams and hubby settled in the Perth Hills with their three children.
When her children were little, TJ Adams found her new passion—books. Countless books later and the idea of becoming an author emerged.
Her favorite genre is paranormal with her first novel Bound under contract with Eternal press. Hammond to complete the Hells Gate series. In His Keeping is her latest release.