Haven's Knight

by Regan Ure

  It only took me seconds to make my decision, and although I knew I’d probably regret it, I nodded my head. He reached for my schoolbag and slung it over his shoulder while he walked me to his car. I ignored the curious glances we got from some of the students lingering in the parking lot.

  Thoughts of why he wanted to give me a lift home swirled through my mind and I couldn’t come up with a valid reason why. It made absolutely no sense. He opened the passenger door for me and I nervously got in. I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear while I waited for him to get into the car.

  I couldn’t help but fidget nervously with my hands when he got into the car. Like before, his car smelled like him, and I liked it. Silence settled between us as he started the drive to my house. I flickered my gaze from the scene outside the window to sidelong glances of Damien. He seemed to be deep in thought while he drove. I wasn’t good with people, because I kept to myself. I had no idea how to start a conversation with him, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “Have you had any more run-ins with Angela?” he asked softly. His eyes glanced in my direction and then settled back to the road in front of us.

  I shook my head, unable to talk. I was always nervous, and when I was around him he made me even more nervous than normal.

  “Is anyone else giving you any trouble?”. I pulled my gaze away from him and kept my eyes on the scenery in front of me. I shook my head again.

  It took me until the end of the ride to gather up enough courage to ask him the question I wanted to know the answer to. He’d just pulled up outside my apartment block, switched his car off and turned his attention to me.

  It’s now or never, I thought before I licked my dry lips.

  “Why do you care?” I asked, keeping my head down, unable to make eye contact with him.

  He was silent for a few moments.

  “Because you look like you could use a friend,” he whispered. At his soft answer, my eyes rose to meet his.

  Normally his eyes were guarded, and for the first time since I’d met him I saw a vulnerability in him that I’d never seen before. He didn’t realize that my lack of friends was how I protected my secret. The less people I had around me to see the bruises, or the limps, or to ask questions, the better.

  “The first time you bumped into me, I saw it in your eyes,” he whispered, his eyes piercing mine. It was almost like he was trying to see deep inside of me. His finger touched my cheek as his eyes held mine. "Do you know that saying ‘the eyes are a mirror to the soul’? The first time I looked into your eyes, I saw your soul. It's broken, just like mine."

  I couldn't deny it.

  "We're both broken," he explained.

  I knew what had broken me, but I was curious about what had happened to him. Mine had been years of abuse and the result of being unloved. What had happened to him? I gulped down the emotion his words caused me while his eyes held mine. Now I could see the sadness evident in his dark-blue eyes. Seconds ticked by into a minute as his eyes held mine. I wanted to ask him what had happened to him; but if he shared his story with me, then I would need to share my story with him, and I wasn’t prepared to do that.

  “If you ever need anything, just let me know,” he said. I watched as the sadness in his eyes disappeared before they left mine.

  I was too emotional to speak, so I just nodded my head.

  “Give me your phone so I can give you my number,” he instructed quietly.

  “I don’t have one,” I whispered hoarsely. He looked at me like I was an alien from another planet. Most people our age had their own phones, so I knew it was rare that I didn’t have one.

  “Okay, I’ll sort something out for you,” he murmured. I didn’t know what exactly he meant by that, so I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Thank you for the lift,” I said to him. He gave me a brief nod as he watched me pick up my bag and get out of his car. I gave him a weak smile, and then I closed the passenger door and turned to walk to my apartment. He waited until I was safely in my apartment before he drove away.

  Little did he know the evil that he was trying to keep me safe from lived in the apartment with me.

  Now I knew why he watched me so closely: I intrigued him because he saw something in me that he understood. I remembered the sadness I saw in his eyes—is that what people saw when they looked into my eyes?

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I paid no attention to the noises coming from the kitchen. Still clutching my schoolbag, I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. Grant stepped out of the kitchen and straight into my path. His fist connected with my stomach.

  “Who the fuck was that?” he shouted at me as I dropped to my knees. Pain exploded in my stomach and my breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t get a chance to move before he reached down, grabbed my hair and pulled my face to his.

  “I asked you a fucking question!” he yelled. He was so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  “A boy from school,” I answered through my haze of pain.

  “What the fuck are you doing with a boy from school?” he screamed in my face. I closed my eyes and gulped down my pain.

  “Nothing, he just gave me a lift home,” I whispered.

  “Are you fucking him like the whore you are?” he hissed at me.

  “No, I’m not,” I whispered, but I knew I could deny it all I wanted, it wouldn’t make a difference to Grant. He slapped me hard across the face.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he scolded. I closed my eyes to try and block out what was happening to me. I’d never seen Grant this angry before and I could feel the cold fear rise up inside me. I had no idea what he was going to do to me.

  “You need to be punished.” He stated it with such venom in his voice that my eyes shot open. He looked at me with disgust and I tried to plead with him. He lifted me to my feet by my hair. I grimaced with pain.

  “Take off your shirt,” he instructed me when he released me. He’d never asked me to do that before. My hands began to shake as I followed his order and pulled my shirt over my head. I dropped it to the floor.

  A new wave of fear hit me.

  “Face the wall,” he sneered at me as he began to undo his belt. Our eyes met for a brief moment and I knew I was looking into the eyes of someone who had pure evil running in his veins.

  I closed my eyes and tried to keep the tears from overflowing. I’d never cried before but I knew this was going to be bad. I wanted to run and hide but he would find me and he would make me pay for disobeying him. Silently, with the sting of tears on my eyes, I turned to face the wall.

  His belt hit against the bare skin of my back. The next hit made me gasp out in pain. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming as my back burned from the hit. I lost count of how many times his belt ripped across the soft skin of my back. With my hands against the wall, I tried to breathe through the pain.

  “If I ever see that boy with you again, I’ll kill him,” he warned me before I heard the retreat of his footsteps.

  I had no doubt he meant every word he’d just said to me.

  I clung my body to the wall but my legs gave in and I sunk to the floor. My back burned from the pain. The pain was so bad that it took me a while before I could get up, wincing with pain at every little movement, which made the pain shoot through me. In one hand I held my discarded shirt, my other hand wrapped around the strap of my school bag as I walked to my room.

  I held onto my bedroom door when I finally made it up into my room. I whimpered as pain sliced across my back at every slight movement. I still needed to shower and I knew it was going to be agony.

  I got my pajamas and went to the bathroom. There was no way I could see what my back looked like, but I knew it was bad. I started the shower and then I got undressed. My back throbbed; it felt like he’d hit every inch of my back with his belt. My back stung while I stood under the running water and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.

  My back was throbbing with
pain as I climbed out of the shower and switched the water off. I quickly brushed my teeth. I pulled my pajama pants and held my pajama top against my chest as I walked back to my room. There was no way I was going to be able to wear a shirt over the welts on my back.

  It took me a few minutes to ease myself onto my mattress on my stomach. The pain eased slightly because I was lying still. I reached for the bottle of painkillers and swallowed two tablets. I hoped it would help with the pain. I pulled the picture of my dad out from under my mattress. I closed my eyes and imagined what it felt like to be ten again, when I was a happy little girl.

  I tried to imagine what my family would have been like if my dad hadn’t died. My mom wouldn’t be the uncaring drunk she was now. She would still love me. I would have a father that loved me, too. We would live in a nice house with a white-picket fence with a yard big enough for a dog.

  With those happy thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.

  But even in my dreams, I wasn’t safe from Grant.

  He screamed and he shouted while he punched me again and again. He didn’t stop hitting me until I couldn’t move and all I could do was lay on the ground on my back, whimpering. Blood seeped from the wounds on my face as Grant leaned over me.

  “You are worthless,” he stated with an evil smile on his lips.

  I felt a tear slid down my face at his words.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Haven

  My dreams were filled with nightmares about Grant. By the time morning came around, I was tired from a restless night's sleep. My back was in agony. I didn’t want to stay at home but I wasn’t sure if I could handle going to school considering the pain that I was in.

  What if Damien decided to stop by after school to check up on me if I didn’t go? The fear of Grant seeing him again made me decide to go school. I also had to find a way to keep Damien at a distance. Ignoring him wasn’t working.

  It took me twice as long as usual to get ready for school. I bit down on my lip as I slowly pulled a shirt over my head. The slightest touch of the fabric on the welts on my back was so painful that I would bite harder on my lip, drawing blood. I felt a drop of perspiration on my forehead. My stomach growled with hunger as I walked slowly to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and my hair. I went back to my room and swallowed two painkillers.

  I grabbed some bread from the kitchen before I closed the front door and walked to the bus stop. I carried my schoolbag in my hand because there was no way I was putting the strap over my shoulder. My back hurt too much. Every jolt of the bus on the way to school made the pain shoot through my back, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.

  When I got to school I was seriously wondering if I’d made the right decision to go, but seeing Damien by his locker reminded me of why I was doing this. I had to make sure he kept his distance from me or else Grant would do something about it. Grant meant every word he’d said. He would kill him if he saw me with Damien again.

  As if sensing my stare, Damien turned and his eyes met mine. He smiled. It was enough for the flutter in my stomach to take me by surprise. I didn’t smile back; instead, I pulled my eyes away from him, and made my way to my locker.

  It was hard trying to keep him at a distance, especially when he was trying to befriend me. I had no idea how I was going to keep him safely away from me. I didn’t want to drag him into my messed-up life. From the haunted look on his face yesterday, I knew he had his own stuff to deal with without adding my problems to it.

  “Hey.” I heard his voice behind me while I packed a couple of my books into my locker. I didn’t greet him back.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when I ignored him. I closed my locker and turned to face him. His blue eyes were dark with concern.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him when I began to walk away from him. His hand wrapped around my wrist and I stopped. I took a deep breath and turned to face him again.

  “I got you this,” he said as he reached in his pocket and produced a phone. He held it out for to me, but I refused to take it from him.

  “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Please just take it. I need to know that you can call me if you need to,” he explained. His eyes held mine.

  I wanted to stand firm and say no, but the look in his eyes broke through to me and I took the phone from him. I wasn’t even sure how to work it, but I would take it so that he would feel better. Maybe he would back off a little now.

  “I set it up so my number is on speed dial for you,” he revealed as he showed me how to dial his number if I needed to. A faint ringing came from the phone, and then he ended the call and handed me the phone.

  “Thank you,” I said. There weren’t a lot of people in this world that would go to the lengths that Damien or Chris did for me, and for that I was grateful. But as much as they wanted to help, there was nothing they could do to help me.

  “Promise me that if you ever need anything you’ll call me,” he insisted. I gave him a brief nod even though there was no way I could call him. I feared what Grant would do to him.

  I walked away from Damien without looking back. I don’t know how I made it through the day without letting on to the pain I was struggling with. Every time the fabric of my shirt touched the wounds on my back, a sting of pain seared through me. In the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and dried it off. I took a couple of deep breaths before I picked up my school bag in my hand and walked out to the field to meet Chris for lunch. He was waiting patiently for me. As usual, the extra bag of lunch was there waiting for me. Somehow I sat down next to him without grimacing.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “As always, you’re welcome,” he said softly. I could feel his eyes on me as I opened the packed sandwich. The hunger pains in my stomach reminded me how hungry I was. I began to eat the sandwich he’d brought me.

  Chris began to chatter away. I just listened to him babble on. It helped take my mind off the throbbing reminder of what Grant had done to me. It was getting worse. For the past seven years Grant had beaten me, but he’d never hit me with his belt before. My fear of him was growing. The abuse was escalating and I feared that he was capable of taking it too far. I could barely cope before, and if it continued to worsen, I had no idea how I was going to handle it.

  A couple of concerned looks from Chris told me he’d noticed that something was up with me but he didn’t ask any questions, and when break ended he walked me to my next class like he did every day.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, before he left me in the doorway of my next class.

  “See you tomorrow,” I whispered back to him as I walked into my class and sat down. I leaned my head into my hands just for a moment to pull myself together.

  By the end of the day I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was get home and lie down on my bed. My back still hurt and I knew it would be a couple of days before the welts on my back began to heal. My back throbbed for the entire bus journey, and then I got off the bus and began my five-minute walk home. As I turned the corner, I stopped.

  Outside my apartment block a few cop cars were parked. I took a tentative step forward as my eyes flickered to my apartment. The door was open and a body in a black bag was being wheeled out. My world stopped as I held my breath, and then I watched Grant walk out behind the body. He was upset and a cop walked beside him. My heart stopped.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, watching the scene in front of me. It was as if I were in a dreamlike state. Voices echoed around me while I watched the body bag being lifted into a police van. Grant stood a few steps away, watching the body bag with tears in his eyes.

  I’d never seen him show any emotion other than anger and disdain, which was normally directed at me. I didn’t see much of my mom and didn’t see them interact that much, but I knew he had cared for her in his own fucked-up way.

  My mom was gone. Instead of feeling the same gut-wrenching grief I had felt when my dad died, I felt nothing.

&nbs
p; For me, my mom had died the day my dad had stopped breathing. The person I’d been living with for the past seven years had been a shell of that person, hell-bent on doing everything she could to join my father in death. At least she was at peace, because she wouldn’t have to deal with the grief anymore. I should feel upset, but I wasn’t. She hadn’t been my mother for these last seven years and, even though she’d lived with me, I’d never felt more alone.

  The thought of living alone with Grant made me shiver with fear.

  Grant’s eyes caught mine and my heart plummeted into my stomach at the look he gave me. I walked over to our apartment block and Grant stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. My arms hung by my side and I fisted my hands as the pain in my back pierced right through me. I knew better than to think that the hug was anything but for show for everyone watching. In front of everyone Grant spoke quietly to me and showed me affection that he’d never shown me before. Once everyone had gone and we were alone, we walked back into our apartment. His usual look of disdain and contempt crept over his face when he looked at me.

  Fear took hold of me while I waited to see what he would do. I had a feeling that now that my mom wasn’t around to distract him, things were going to get much worse for me. He gave me a glare before he walked past me to the bedroom and slammed the door closed.

  I sighed with relief.

  Once I’d closed my bedroom door I sat down and allowed myself to think about my mom. The last time I’d seen her had been a couple of days ago. She’d been looking for alcohol again. The police had explained to me that they suspected my mother had died from a mixture of alcohol and pills. I hadn’t even been aware that she’d been taking pills. They would only be able to confirm it once the toxicology results were completed.

  Grant had explained that my mom had been prescribed pills for depression. Even though she wasn’t supposed to take the tablets with alcohol, she had.

  The depression, which had started when my dad had died unexpectedly, had clawed at her and pulled her into a spiral that had ended with her dying alone in her bedroom, surrounded by empty bottles of wine and empty pill containers. I wanted to be able to cry and mourn the loss of my mom, but I didn’t feel anything. The only feeling I felt was fear at what would happen now that I was alone with Grant.