“HIM” by Brittany Cohen-Schlesinger. Powerful and needed reading.

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A Book by Brittney Cohen-Schlesinger


Avalon Montage, a twenty-two-year-old rape victim suffers in silence for almost a year. That is until she meets Jensen Marx who has a secret of his own – he’s a three-hundred- year-old Angel.



A Chapter by Brittney Cohen-Schlesinger

HIM – Book One – Copyright, 2015.

Walking along Lake Michigan Beach vivid images from my past entangled my mind in a world of mystification.

Sand collected into tiny swirls of magic around my feet faltering downward as the cold, blue waves toppled over.  I held my light sweatshirt closer to my body as a gust of wind blew against me.  It was dark in the city of Empire; and relatively quiet except for the muffled sound of college partygoers inside an all-too-familiar beach house.

I was the only one out here.  The only one who wanted to be alone.  Anyone else, here in paradise, would have laughed in my face for that fact.  In their world it was party time; would always be party time.  In mine it was time to mourn – constantly – and probably forever.

I wished I could have stopped the ongoing chain of depression but it never seemed to subside.  No matter what technique or method I used, nothing worked, nothing helped, nothing changed.  The depression deep inside me – imbedded in my soul – didn’t want to end.  I knew that now.

Why would it stop though?

They hadn’t gone through what I had.  They hadn’t felt his drunken breath on their neck – the overbearing hatred and despicable lust in his green eyes.  He hadn’t touched them – he particular, the specific way – he’d touched me.  They wouldn’t know his touch; couldn’t fathom such a thing.  His touch was only meant for me.

I took a seat; the cool sand tranquil against my tired and weary body – which always seemed to be on edge.  I heard a scuffle behind me and my heart caught in my throat.  When I smelled her sweet apple body spray I knew who it was without having to turn around.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” Tory said staring out at the cobalt blue waves ahead of us.  She took a swig of beer and sighed, taking a seat next to me.

Tory Walt – my best friend and the only constant person in my life since childhood – new all my secrets, including the terrifying one about him.  We went to that party; hung out with the same circle of people.  But she wasn’t dragged up the stairs while everyone else was sipping booze and dancing to the intoxicating techno beat.  No one whispered disgusting words in her ear while she was slipping in and out of consciousness.  No one treated her like filth that night.  Thank goodness for that.

Tory pressed her square chin on my shoulder and poked my side, causing me to jump in return.  “You okay Avalon?” she sighed.  She smelled of alcohol but I knew she wasn’t drunk.  Not yet anyway.  “You’ve barely spent more than fifteen minutes inside.”  She cared about how I was holding up – that was apparent – but also wanted to head back to the party.  Who could blame her?  I’d been acting this way for ten months.  Wasn’t it about time I moved on with my life and left that unpleasant night behind me?

How can I though?

“Uh, yeah,” I lied, “just needed some air.”  A part of me wished Tory hadn’t disrupted my mourning process.  Wallowing in my sorrows in peace was my favorite past-time.

“You’re thinking about…him again,” she cautioned – we never spoke his name out loud – “aren’t you?”  I didn’t look at her face.  Instead, I stared blankly at the waves moving in synchronization.  “Ava listen, he’s not here.  And he won’t be coming back anytime soon.  Just remember that.”  She squeezed my arm tenderly.  “I’ll be inside if you need anything.”  She left and walked back to the house.

But I don’t know where he is.  So he could be lurking around out there.

I shuddered and curled up my legs, chin resting on top.  Silent tears slid down my flustered cheeks as I remembered the night that changed me forever . . . .

“Stay still!” he barked as I struggled beneath his strong, stern grasp.  I was his prisoner, his hostage.

I blinked back more tears as the violent memory continued.  A sickening, menacing cloud fogged over his eyes.  The only thoughts in my head were reminding me to survive, forget.  I counted one . . . two . . . three . . . . repeatedly until it was over.

“Good girl,” he cooed with his large hands wrapped around my throat.

I was no longer pure, forever lost of innocence, never again a virgin.

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© 2015 Brittney Cohen-Schlesinger