Destined to Live (The Death Eater Series Book 2)

by Catherine Stovall

  Vega’s tempered flared and she cast self-preservation to the wind. “You mean while Bill deals drugs to his loser friends, and you spend all your time on your back?”

  Diana’s hand raised, the backside of it aimed at Vega’s already bruised cheek, but then she seemed to find a better thought inside her drug addled brain. “You don’t forget, girl, you have nothing without me. I’ll throw you into the street, and we will see who the whore is then.” Flipping open the sketch book, Diana cackled, reveling in her madness and hatred.

  Reaching for her treasured drawings, Vega tried to tear it away. “Don’t. Mother, don’t do that! Give it back!”

  The bony knuckles of Diana’s right hand cracked across Vega’s cheek, the sound echoing in the sparse room like a cannon.

  Vega’s head snapped to the side as pain ballooned and her vision sparked. Falling back into the wobbling chair, she watched as her mother tore page after page. In slow motion, the remnants of her dreams floated down from the ceiling, encased in hate filled laughter. The last of the drawings tore down the center, and half of Zane’s beautiful face fluttered to the floor.

  She had drawn him, the way she pictured him most often. He lay on the bed shirtless and in jeans, dark tattoos tracing over the exposed skin. She’d spent hours shading and detailing, so that his muscled torso seemed solid and real. What had been her favorite picture lay in shreds.

  Her eyes hazing over, the rage climbed up Vega’s spine like a rabid monster escaping from its long forced dormant stage. Screeching noises exploded from her as she leaped forward, hands in fists. Reacting to years of torment, her fury building up and erupting like a volcano, she struck.

  “I hate you!” Her fists shot outward with the words, landing squarely in the center of Diana’s chest. “I hate you!” She saw her mother’s surprised face, blood shot eyes widening behind sticky and caked mascara, as the woman fell. A moment of triumph filled Vega as she watched her stumble and trip.

  Diana didn’t move, she didn’t curse or threaten. She didn’t call out for Bill to come help her. She lay at a strange angle, her eyes open, but unseeing. Somehow, her face no longer looked old and haggard. In the quiet of the moment, she almost looked beautiful.

  “Mother?” Vega’s voice trembled. “Mom?” Bending down, she reached a hand out to touch her mother’s cheek. Wetness clung to her fingers as she drew them away in a state of mortified shock.

  Someone, it must have been Bill, called the authorities. Vega only knew because she was suddenly surrounded by gentle voices and being touched by gentle hands. People were reassuring her, trying to pry her mother from her arms as she wept.

  “I pushed her. I didn’t mean to. She hit me. I just wanted her to stop. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she cried out, her hands gripping the front of a strange young man’s uniform shirt.

  The rest was just a daze, a terrible string of conversations and shock numbed actions. Vega moved in zombie-like fashion as she was whisked through questioning and examined by paramedics. She answered yes and no and was generally shuffled along like a child. She heard the voices around her, blending and melding until they all sounded the same.

  ****

  Over the next three days, the litany of words became a morose chant inside her head. Accidental death, a trip and fall, the mother’s temple striking the edge of the bed and killing her instantly. Terrible that she had argued with the grief stricken girl before hand, but not the daughter’s fault. No, the mother had been drunk already that morning, and her system had been full of illegal drugs. Nothing anyone could have done.

  No one came to the services. There was no family left to mourn the loss of Diana Schwartz. As for her mother’s friends, they were all too high to want to look closely at the reality of their own mortality to come. Bill, had stumbled into the beat up old Volkswagen, reeking of whiskey and weed, but had never made it back out to cross the short distance to where the casket rested above the grave.

  Alone, Vega stood beside the gaping hole and the closed casket, her eyes brimming with tears that could not fall. Death suddenly seemed something vague and foreign, a mystical and dark thing. When she had contemplated her own, it had been a comforting secret promise. With her mother’s passing, it had become chaos and pain. Life had transformed into a tiny broken-winged bird, teetering on the edge of a limb above raging waters.

  The preacher spoke the last of the funeral rites in his deep southern voice, “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend Diana Kay Schwartz to Almighty God. We commit her body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless her and keep her, the Lord maketh his face to shine upon her and be gracious unto her and give her peace. Amen.”

  Finally the tears came as she whispered, “Amen.” Watching the casket lower down into the dark depths of the dirt seemed to pull the droplets from her eyes.

  Oh, Mother, please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Vega sent up the silent prayer as the sun’s rays touched her cheeks, highlighting the tears. Tossing a single white lily down into the darkness to land silently on the casket, she turned away, hugging her grief around her in a tight embrace.

  Walking the row of tombstones on her way to her mother’s car—her car—she watched Bill stir. Great, just flipping great. Now he wakes up. Through the glared windshield, she saw him bring the bottle to his lips and rage filled her. Bastard! I hope he drinks himself to death. The violence of her thoughts made her shutter as guilt over her mother resurfaced in full force. Never had Vega ever hated, hurt others, or been violent, but suddenly, she felt all those things and more.

  Sliding onto the zebra print seat covers, she gripped the wheel tightly, tears running rampant down her face. She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. If she did, she’d hit him, and he’d beat her. He wouldn’t care if the preacher saw, what was religion and morals to a man like him.

  They drove away, speeding down the streets of the small town, as Vega stared ahead of her and Bill swigged whiskey. The feeling of his eyes roaming her tear stained face and trembling body brought the rage up again, and the world became a thing to hate. She despised the happy children playing in front of cookie cutter houses on green lawns, the cheerful sun, the birds singing in the trees, and even the sweet melody of the song on the radio. She wanted someone else to feel the pain, grief, and guilt that bombarded her, but those things made her solitary torment all too plain.

  Sitting at the kitchen counter, head in her hands and raven hair cascading in tangled strands, Vega watched the sun fall through the dirty windows onto the dirty floor. As the watery light passed through the haze of smoke rolling in from the living room, she wondered if she might be high. Breathing in a deep breath, she could almost taste the heady flavor of weed filling the air. She didn’t care, the numbness would be welcomed. She only wanted to escape the world for a moment, to deny that secret voice that kept telling her she was a murderer.

  “Vega, get your ass in here,” Bill’s grating voice scraped through her self-imposed isolation.

  Scooting back the rickety bar stool, she slowly crossed the room and leaned against the living room doorframe. “What?” the impatience soured her tone like grapes gone to rot.

  “Don’t what me, girl. Do I look like a damn light bulb? Get your lazy ass in that kitchen and make me and the boys some food. We are working up an appetite in here.” He guffawed at his own joke, and the rest of his buddies laughed with him—a group of seals barking on command.

  “I don’t feel like cooking, Bill. I’m tired. Make it yourself.” She had never talked back before, but it seemed pointless to stay quiet and be obedient. She’d done that for too long, it had done nothing to save her or anyone else, her mother was still dead.

  Turning her back on the four sets of eyes that bore into her, looking her up and down with contempt and lust, Vega walked away. She felt exhausted, yet restless, and the thought of food made her stomach churn. Every tim
e she had thought of eating in the days after the fight, she had become ill, the memory of blood in her mother’s hair filling her mind.

  Slipping back onto the wobbling stool, she faced the window, waiting for the sun to set. Something about the colors of the world bleeding together filled her with thoughts of Zane and a bitter-sweet joy. She felt close to him in the fading moments where the day and night met in an explosion of orange, pinks, blues, and purples.

  She hadn’t noticed Bill slip into the room, even in his drunken and stumbling state. Her back to the door, she had been lost in thoughts and fantasies where she didn’t belong to such an ugly world. In her mind, she and Zane walked hand-in-hand through fields of tall grass, laughing with joy as they made their way back to happy homes.

  Bill’s fingers, pale against the colorful tattoos that covered her flesh, wrapped around her bicep and shook her out of her reverie. Struggling to free her arm, she nearly fell, but Bill’s hand painfully gripped the back of her neck.

  “What the hell are you doing, Bill? Get off!” shrieking she pushed hard against his chest with her free hand.

  He growled, spittle flying from his mouth as his hand squeezed tighter. Breath stinking of alcohol and rotted teeth, he mockingly crooned, “Poor little, Vega. The murderer feels bad, does she?”

  Jerking again, she caused him to stumble and lean heavily against her, the press of his body pinning her back against the counter. “Stop it! Let go!” She fought, wishing she had a weapon, wanting him to die.

  “Shut up, you little bitch. You listen to me. This is my house. My roof, over that pretty little head of yours,” his words slurred, but the meaning was becoming clear. “You’ll earn your keep, or I’ll put you out. Where would you go? No one’s going to take you in. You had it good while your mamma was here, but you’re gonna take her place now.” His fingers released her wrist to trace a path across her jaw. “You’re going to do what I say, and you’re going to be an even better whore than she was.”

  The fear paralyzed her, making it impossible to struggle. Her voice seemed to want to hide from him as much as the rest of her, and all she could do was whimper, “No. Bill, no.”

  Her mind raced with thoughts. Where will I go? I’ll starve. There’s nowhere and no one for me. He’s going to trick me out on the street and to his disgusting friends. He’s going to turn me into her. No, no, no.

  Leaning in, he brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to have you first, and then my friends get a turn. Don’t worry, little Vega, we will teach you right.”

  Her hand rose of its own will, cracking hard across his unshaven cheek. The vibration of the strike knocked her backward as he released her neck in shock. Shaking violently, her eyes hazed with fear and rage, Vega doubled her hands at her sides, ready to fight. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d die before she’d be used up and tossed away as her mother had been.

  The moment of stunned silence that passed between them faded, and Bill’s eyes glazed over with a mania that Vega knew well. She searched for a way to escape around him, but he had her in a corner, separating her from the door. Without a way to run, she steeled herself for the blow that would come next and prayed that his friend’s would stop it before they had to bury her next to her mother.

  “I’ll make you pay for that, bitch,” he growled, more spit flying off his lips as he narrowed his eyes. Stumbling back, he squared his shoulders and let the anticipation of the pain eat at her as she fought not to cower. When he brought one large, stubby hand up to rake through his unruly brown hair, she whimpered, and he smiled a sardonic smirk.

  The shrill ring of the phone broke the tense moment, and Vega turned her head to where it sat on the stained tile. In a flash, her hand shot out, grabbing for any form of distraction. The hit came, unseen as she fought for the saving grace of a human on the other line. His large fist pummeled into her head, causing her lower back to scrape against the cabinet edge.

  Through the spinning of the world and the pulsing of her ear and skull, Vega heard him stammer into the phone, “Wha’dya want?”

  On hands and knees, she crawled away, praying he didn’t kick her as she edged passed his steel toe boots. The nausea rose up in her mouth, but she pressed her lips together and gritted her teeth.

  “I don’t give a shit who you are lady, she can’t talk,” he screamed into the phone just as Vega managed to use the door frame to stand.

  With a haste she hadn’t thought she could manage, she scurried down the hall and into her room, slamming the door behind her and slamming the lock in place. The flimsy slide bolt wouldn’t keep him out, but it might slow him down or deter him.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll leave. I’ll pack my stuff and I’ll go…somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. When he goes down to Jimmy’s to drink himself stupid, I’ll go. He won’t touch me. He won’t make me like her,” she whispered to the dirty white paint on the door.

  Sinking onto her bed, she stared at the spot where her mother had died. The carpet, stained with rusty red, brought the horrors of that day back, bright and fresh. Pain, regret, anger, and joy. Yes, for a brief moment she had felt free, knowing her mother could not hurt her anymore. With it had come the remorse and the guilt, an instant blow to her heart.

  The tears came again, and it felt as if she had been crying forever. Lying back on the cover, she shut her eyes to the cruel world and tried hard to picture Zane’s smiling face. Her body ached with need. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel his arms around her, holding her tight. She wished for his words and his sparkling eyes, telling her everything would be okay.

  “Zane, where are you when I need you the most?” her words trailed into a soft whisper as she fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep.

  When she woke, the room was dark and the house was quiet. The throbbing pain that spliced through her head quickly cleared away the fog of sleep as she remembered Bill, angry and mean. She could still smell him on her clothing, the reek of drug sweat and alcohol. Disgusted to the point of wanting to vomit, she grabbed up her robe and crept across the room.

  Her hand shook as she slid back the bolt and cracked open the door. Lights were ablaze down the hall, but silence prevailed. Cautiously, she sneaked to the bathroom, praying silently Bill had passed out in a drunken stupor, dead to the world.

  Inside the shower, she scrubbed her skin under the scalding torrent of hot water until it was raw and red. The burning pain felt good, assuring her that the taint of him touching her had been cleansed away. Still, as she leaned her head backward and shut her eyes to wash the shampoo from her hair, his glaring bloodshot eyes and angry scowl lingered.

  Jerking, Vega tried to shake the vision from her mind. The sadness and turmoil churned inside her, much like the soapy water swirling down the drain. I need my blade. Shouldn’t have come in here without it.

  Compelled by the sudden fear that she was vulnerable and unprotected against the man who had so blatantly threatened her, she fled the shower. Wrapping herself tightly in her robe, Vega stood next to the door, listening. The minutes ticked by, but the only sound was the rapid beating of her heart and the ping of the pipes beneath the house.

  Satisfied that Bill was not lurking like a coiled snake somewhere in the darkness, she turned off the light and slipped out into the dark hall. Each step of her bare feet on the brittle carpet made her heart hammer against her head where he had hit her. Legs nearly buckling under the dizzying sickness that clawed its way up her internal organs, Vega braced her hand against the wall and took a deep breath.

  Two arms encircled her waist, brutally ripping her backward and upward, as her feet kicked for purchase. The endless scream tearing its way from her throat echoed through the quiet house, shattering the night and her mind. Vega felt herself being carried backward, but she couldn’t think. She couldn’t form a plan. Her wildest instincts took over as her claws dug into the arms that held her and her heels smashed against shins. Each grunt of pain that came from her attacker
fueled the insanity of her rage, and she fought that much harder.

  Despite her manic attempts to free herself, Bill held tight, flinging curses and threats with each step into the darkness. She wanted to scream out words, but they wouldn’t form. Only the high-pitched wail continued to erupt from her, until he tightened his arms like a vice, squeezing the air from her aching lungs.

  In one disorienting motion, Bill flung her across the room. Her body tumbled through the air and onto the bed, her limbs flying out as if she were a ragdoll. Gasping for breath, Vega tried to roll to her feet, but he caught her by the ankle, twisting it violently. She kicked with her free foot, her fingers dragging the covers with her as she was pulled helplessly toward him.

  “Lay still! If you fight, I’ll make it hard on you.” Slapping her hard across the face, he caught her wrist and straddled her hips, the familiar stench of him surrounding her. “Quit acting like you don’t want it,” he mumbled as he tried to hold her and undo his pants.

  Jerking her arms down and ramming her head up, she caught him off guard, her forehead slamming into his mouth. He released her hands, cursing through busted lips, and she tried to wriggle free of his weight. Managing to scoot backward on the bed, until the bulk of him rested on her knees, she tried kicking herself free.

  “Murderer. Tease. Whore. Bitch. Slut!” he screamed, trying to catch a hold of her hips and drag her back down.

  Vega’s world was no longer solid. Everything within it consisted of the pain and fear. She pictured herself lying on the bed, raped, beaten, and possibly murdered. In the vision, her glass eyes stared up at the ceiling as Bill raised his sweating body from hers. The smear of him desecrating her body with a final thrust that would send her plummeting into an endless hell, made her mind snap back from the place it had gone to hide from the brutality of her own end.