Read The Story of You and Me for Free Online Page B

Indira reached for my hand and gently tugged me out of the room, down the hallway.

Chapter Five

    I paid Lizzie Sparks’s two hundred dollar consultation fee on my Nana’s credit card. And just like that I was back out in Venice proper. The sun had set and there was a chill in the air as the beach fog had rolled in, obscuring light and buildings and further confusing my sense of direction. Or lack of it.
    According to my research, Venice was this super cool place that was the surfer capitol of the world—Dogtown—like thirty years ago. I longed to see its funky boardwalk with tattoo parlors, grungy art and T-shirt shops, tarot readers and medical marijuana stores (I might or might not inhale), as well as Muscle Beach. But I wasn’t in that section of Venice. Technically, I was in the ’hood section of Venice—after dark.
    I squinted at my hand-written directions as I tried to walk back the way I came. But it just wasn’t happening. The houses looked different. The streets appeared similar, but dissimilar, all at the same time. Maybe because it was nighttime? I pulled my phone out of my purse to check an app for directions. But my phone was dead. The idiot from the night before now owed me a phone as well as the bill for my ER visit.  
    I paced down small blocks, rounding corners. But no matter what street I turned on, I still couldn’t find Lincoln Avenue. Lincoln was the thoroughfare with the buses that would take me back to my new temporary home close to USCLA. I trudged past a large, unkempt park where some older kids and young men in sleeveless T-shirts and shorts sunk low on their butts played a pick up game of basketball. “Hey guys! Could you point me in the direction of Lincoln?”
    Their game stopped for a second as they checked me out. “You a tourist?” A young twenty-something white guy with a shaved head whose arms and neck were tatted up asked, as he bounced the basketball. “You lost?” He cocked his head, eyed me up and down and licked his lips. He walked toward me, still bouncing the damn ball.
    I was not only totally lost, but now also freaking out. Crap.
    “No, not a tourist! Definitely not lost!” I said. “My ride’s on their way. I think I just missed the cross street where I was supposed to meet them. Where’s Lincoln? Could you just point me in the direction of Lincoln?”
    “I do believe Lincoln’s in a tomb some where and has been for a while.” His shorter, uglier and even more inked up friend also ambled toward me.
    “Hah!” I backpedaled. “You guys are hysterical.” I pulled out my phone and punched a number. “Hey, yeah, it’s me. You’re right around the corner? Great!” I said into my dead phone.
    “I’ll show you where Lincoln is, sweetheart.” The first guy smiled and kept moving toward me, a smug look growing on his face.
    “No problem. I’m cool. Thanks!” I turned and resumed walking. Fast. I broke into a sweat and reached the chain-link fence that surrounded the park. Passed it. Phew. I was in the clear.  
    There was a loud rapid shuffle of feet as two rough large hands grabbed me, spun me around and slammed me face first into the metal fence. Their owner pressed himself against me from behind. I felt one of the bandages on my spine rip away from my skin. “Most of the tourists are a little closer to the beach. You coming here, all by yourself tonight, is kind of a treat.” He ground his pelvis against my backside.  
    He was growing harder by the second. Not a turn on. Definitely not welcomed.  
    I was nineteen, and like most girls my age, I’d been groped a few times—at a packed dance club, in the stands of a football game and once at a high school graduation party. I’d managed to make it through these random assaults with a little dignity and maintained my choice for when I decided to have sex for the first time, as well as whom I’d share that crossroads with.
    “A treat that my buddies and I might not be able to resist.” The skinhead