The Light In His Dark

TRIGGER WARNING AGAIN: I have said this in the description and I will say it again since some of you don't see it. If you are sensitive to triggering subjects, please do not read this. I also do not romanticize this in anyway at all. This is not something that should happen in a relationship and I do not support it at all. 
Also, I will not tolerate the hate of readers reading this book. You are more than welcome to be upset with the characters and such, but I WILL NOT tolerate the hate you have towards I as an author. I have worked hard on both my books, and yes, I know they are not the best. 
Again, if you get upset easily by books with sensitive subjects do not read this. 
And enough with the hate comments and how it's all a waste of time. If you are the type of person that likes to leave hateful comments for sport, then kindly exit the book. 
Thanks. 

Skylar's POV

150 million people. There's 150 million homeless people in the entire world and sadly, I'm one of them.

Nearly a decade ago, my family of 5 (not including me) was killed in a bombing while I was sent out to the market to retrieve our Saturday breakfast of fresh, chocolate, croissants. When I came back, our small apartment building was just dust and ashes on the once beautiful street we lived on.

We lived a simple, yet vibrant life in Colmar, France. My father, Victor was a mechanic for a repair shop just a few blocks away from our home, while my mother, Charlotte stayed home and watched the children most days. Since we could just barley afford living in the apartment we did, my parents could not afford proper schooling for us and decided homeschooling was the best option for us.

Even though we struggled with money, my parents always made sure our bellies were warm and full, even if it meant theirs were not. My parents would do anything to make us happy. But now, I would do anything to get them back.

"Skylar, dear.." I hear an old woman croak and I feel her boney hand latch gently onto my worn-out jacket. I turn around and see Mrs. Bisset clutching change in her hand shakily. "You're getting awfully thin," she states with her thick French accent. "Go to the bakery down the street and get yourself a brioche au café et à la cannelle."

I smile kindly back at the elderly woman and wrap my hand around her stone cold hand. "Merci, Mme Bisset, but you take it. I will make sure I feed myself today, don't worry," I assure and the woman nods uneasily as she continues to shiver. I frown to myself at the sight of her having to be this cold, especially in this kind of weather. She has no one other than me on occasion. I remove my jacket from my apparently 'thin' body and wrap it around her. At first, she is taken back, but I insist she keeps it so she mouths a, 'thank you' to me and I continue on my way.

Rubbing my arms up and down, trying to keep blood flow going, I make my way down the alley while also looking for any spare change that was left on the ground. The last time I ate was when I luckily found some uneaten fries on a plate in a restaurant; that was nearly 3 days ago now.

Everywhere I look in these back allies, I see stolen shopping carts filled to the brim with things such as sleeping bags, canned food, old clothing, and other stolen goods. Some people living out here on the streets own musical instruments from when they once had a home. These people will almost always be out on the streets playing for spare change, just to get some processed canned food at market. 

The broad daylight begins to creep it's way to the tips of my run-down shoes as I near towards the end of the alley and to the busy street; cars zipping by and people speaking loud and clearly into their mobile devices. Rich people are EVERYWHERE.

Looking both ways before I completely exit my 'home', I attempt to seek out a stand selling hopefully cheap croissants or maybe even a small loaf of bread. Sadly, there seems to be none in sight today.

I sigh dreadfully at the certainness I will be hungry once again and continue on down the sidewalk. I stuff my hands into my pant's pockets and fiddle with the loose change dancing around as I walk at a steady pace.

One day, I'm going to die out here.

That's when it hits me. No, not metaphorically. Something actually HITS me.

The weight of the person who has just ran into me, makes me stumble over dramatically onto the sidewalk and nearly loose my shoes. When I peek up to see who the culprit is, I oddly enough, see two wealthy looking men in suits expensive enough they could feed me for an entire month.

"We're so, so sorry, Ma'am," the man in the grey suit apologizes with a different accent other than French and lends out a hand to me. I smile politely and kindly take the mans hand who then carefully pulls me to my feet. 

The second man, the one in a brown/burgundy suit nods his head and eyes me worriedly. "Are you alright? Did we hurt you?" He has the same accent as well. Hmm.

I shake my head and laugh it off smoothly. "No, I'm perfectly fine," I explain dust off the dirt from the sidewalk. "See? Not a scratch!"

Both men smile then look to each other. Now they see they've 'hurt' a homeless woman.

"Would you like to go into that café?" The grey suit asks and gestures towards the restaurant on our left. "I heard they have some delectable baked goods that are made fresh every single morning!'

Usually, I would say no and tell the opposing person to save it for themselves, but I feel like my stomach is starting to eat itself.

"Sure, why not?" I accept the offer and both men smile and we head into the café.

The both of them guide me to a table and brown suit pulls out a chair for me which I happily take. I sit on one side while the both of them sit together on the other.

"Can I get you all started on a drink?" A waitress asks as she walks up with her notepad in hand. 

I scan over the menu and clench my teeth at the high prices. Wow, this place is very overpriced, even for drinks.

"You can have whatever you'd like," Brown Suit urges and sets down his menu since he probably knows what he wants.

"I'll have a water," I finally say and so do the other two.

"Alright, and are we ready to order as well?" The waitress asks.

"Hmm, yes," Grey Suit says, also setting his menu down. "I'll have the coq au vin."

"Me as well," the other says and the waitress nods, scribbling down the orders.

"And you, l'Mademoiselle ?"she asks.

"Uhhh," I hesitate while scanning through the sandwiches. "The tuna sandwich, I suppose."

The waitress nods and writes my order down as well. "I will be right back with your drinks," she says while picking up our menus then scurries away to the kitchen.

Once the waitress is out of sight, Grey Suit clears his throat and extends his hand towards me. "I'm Dimitri," he introduces himself and he shakes my hand firmly. 

The other man extends his hand as well and I shake it. "I'm Ivan."

"Skylar," I reply to the both of them and they nod.

"Well, Skylar," Dimitri begins and folds his hands over the table. "We have a proposal."

"A job offer," Ivan adds and Dimitri nods along.

These men must believe I'm some prostitute! My god, all I wanted was some dang food!

"I'm sorry," I sigh out and stand from my chair. "I think you have the wrong idea. I'm not one to sleep with complete strangers. Goodbye now!"

"Wait!" The both say in unison. I turn around and see them with desperate faces.

"Just take a seat and we will explain.." Ivan says and I uneasily take a seat across from them again.

The waitress from before comes up to our table and sets our drinks down in front of us. "Your food will be done shortly," she confirms and we all nod politely. As soon as she's disappeared into the kitchen again, I start to gulp down my water.

"The job we are offering you is quite.. unique, to say the most," Dimitri explains and I just keep happily sipping my water. "The job itself is easy; you would be a maid for a household and tend to the families needs. They will provide a roof over your head, clothing, food and other necessities along with a small payment biweekly."

I push my empty glass ahead of me and face the two of them, looking from one to the other. "So tell me.." I say. "What's 'unique' about the job?"

Ivan and Dimitri look to each other with pitiful looks, then back to me with the same look. "It's the Russian Mafia you'll be serving." They say.

Well.. that's definitely unique.