He hovers so his body is positioned over mine, and leans even closer, hissing in my ear. "You don't know what you want."
But I do.
I want Jase.
I want to get the hell out of here.
Now.
I press the home button then swipe across my phone, hoping like hell my memory is good. Under the pillow, my fingers press down on the glass screen as I hit the place where the 'phone' button should be, then I stab against the bottom of the screen and hope, pray like hell that I've just hit call. I know it was Jase I tried to call last, but I also know he's probably working and won't pick up. Still, I have to try something. And typing out someone else's number without seeing the keypad is not going to happen.
"Girl ... you'll be ..." He grabs my wrist and pulls it out from under my pillow. I fight against his sheer strength, but he manages to place my hand above my head so I'm pinned beneath him. "I'm gonna make you a woman."
"No!" I brace my legs against the wall and push back, trying to slide my body across the bed and over to the side, but he cages me in, his thick arm sidelining my head. "Where do you think you're going?" He laughs, and his breath smells like garlic and booze.
"Get off!" I shove against his chest, but he won't move. He's like a rock. "I'll scream!"
"Go right ahead." That manic laugh again. "You know you want this, little dove. I've seen the looks you give that boy at the bar—I bet you give it to him real good. Well, now you're gonna let Smith have a taste."
He moves his head closer to my frantically wiggling body and licks along my cheek. I shudder, bile rising in my throat.
And then I scream.
I scream so loudly I feel it scratching against my throat.
His fist.
Balled, ready for action.
My face.
The two collide, and the pain of knuckle against cheekbone rings through my body. I hold my hand to my face, and fight the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes.
"S'okay, Lia." He pauses, studying me in the dark that I've now grown accustomed to. Too accustomed. I can see his eyes, and they're far scarier than any blackness. "You're always so proper. Ladylike Lia ..."
I flinch when he says that, because that was who I used to be. In primary school, the teacher taught us about alliteration. I'd really wanted to be lovely, but Laura McCallen got to choose first (alphabetical order) and she took it. The teacher branded me "ladylike". It had felt like all that was left.
Now, though?
Now I felt anything but.
Smith licks underneath my eye, lapping at the tears that have fallen there. I spin my hand around and gouge at his face, his cheek, trying so hard to wrestle my legs from under his heavy frame, but nothing.
And all the while, he keeps singing.
That cool, cruel voice of his singing that song that in this instance sounds so wrong.
"Girl ... you'll be a woman soon."
I scream, and he presses his arm against my neck. My throat tightens, and I claw at his arm to be free. Air is thick, so thick, and my windpipe is thin, so very brutally thin.
With his other arm, Smith tears at my cami, pulling it down and exposing my chest. He grins, a scary lascivious grin. His teeth gnash together as he stares and I cover myself with one arm, still trying to free my aching throat with the other.
Black spots blur my vision as air gets harder and harder to inhale, and I wonder if this is it. My fight seems to leave me as quickly as my hope. What chance do I stand against this monster, this imposing figure at least double my size and weight? He's immoveable, unstoppable, and even if I did manage to squeeze out from under his grasp, what then? Mum's obviously asleep, or maybe drunk and passed out, even though I didn’t see her drink at dinner, since she hasn't heard my cries.
And my cries are ear-splittingly loud.
My chest hurts. It aches. It wants oxygen, but he's in control. Soon, there'll be nothing left.
And what he'll do to my body when I'm gone …
He grins, and I wonder if he has this same look of manic glee in his eyes when he kills the animals up in the abattoir. If he laughs at them as he raises that knife—
The knife.
Mum's knife is in the bottom drawer of my bedside table.
I have to get it.
I press my eyes shut, and still my body as he seems to wriggle around with his jeans. His belt buckle jingles. It breaks the roaring in my ears.
I move.
With everything in my body, I push against him. He falls slightly to the side, his one hand still occupied as he frees his dick, and I suck in a glorious breath of air, straight down to my lungs, then roll off the bed and onto the floor. Jerking open the drawer, I feel around blindly for the weapon. But why is it taking so long?
And why isn't he trying to stop me?
I flip the book open again and finally, I find it. Cold, hard steel.
Then I realise why he hadn't been impeding my progress.
A naked leg knees me right under my chin, sending me flying backward, my arms above my head. "What have you got there, Lady Lia?" he snarls, launching his body over mine. I can feel him against my short-clad legs, and my stomach roils at how horrid, how disgusting this is.
I steel myself and tense my muscles, ready to try and stab him in the back. Just as I jerk my arm forward, he presses his on top of it. His eyes flash when they make contact with the knife.
"Give it to me," he hisses.
I shake. It's so cold in here. Icy fear is running through my veins.
"No," I whisper, tightening my grip around the handle.
"Give it to me." He's louder, more menacing.
But still I refuse.
I'm so sick of letting other people control my life.
"FINE!" he yells, then slams his other arm up. His torso collapses over my face, and I get a mouthful of flannel shirt. It tastes like dirt, feels like wool in my mouth. He pulls away and I suck in a breath, grateful for the respite.
Then this.
Gut-wrenching, stomach-twisting pain.
All his weight slammed down onto the hand that holds the knife, the palm of his hand shoving into my clenched fist. He grabs the handle with one hand, my fingers with the other, and he yanks, and pulls, and jerks at them with everything he has.
And then I let go.
Not because I want to.
But because he's broken my fingers.
My dreams …
I cry, sobbing. It hurts so much, and what's worse? I tried. I tried to fight it, but nothing I did was good enough.
"Maybe I should give you a new pretty on your stomach." He slices the knife through my thin cami, exposing my stomach and my chest and me. He's exposed all of me. I've never been so hideously naked before.
He jerks at my shorts, tossing the knife to the far side of the room, and I give a weak scramble away, but I'm almost losing hope. I've spent so long trying to save my mother's life, and now I have no idea how to save mine.
If I hold my breath, perhaps I'll pass out while he does it—whatever it is. I just need to not be here anymore.
As I suck in that last breath, it wells up inside me, and I think of those I care about. The girls. Mum. Jase. I close my eyes and fight against my chest to stop breathing, my mouth to stop opening.
I'm sorry for how I treated them all.
I'm so, so sorry.
CHAPTER THIRTYFOUR
You are so much more than you think.
Jase's words echo in my head as Smith grunts above me.
So much more ...
Is this truly what he'd think if he saw me now?
My eyes snap open. I can't give up. Then I'm not the person Jase wants me to be. And I owe him so much more than that.
"Gonna give it to you, Lady Lia," Smith heaves, his hands grabbing either side of my underwear.
And then I do it.
I fight.
I fight like I've never fought before.
I'm desperate, flailing, throwing my body at him,
head butting, kicking, punching, even slapping with the useless fingers that dangle helplessly from my hands.
At first Smith isn't perturbed, continuing his attempt to get me naked. He leans closer to pull on my underwear again.
And I knee him.
Square in the nose.
"Fuck!" he roars, jerking back, his hand covering his nose.
I scramble to my feet and run past him, my hand on the doorknob, and just as it opens and I step out into the corridor, he grabs my ankle. I fly forward, my body making contact with the hardwood floor. Air leaves my lungs in an "oof".
"Bitch." He spits, but I keep moving, kicking to get out of his grip, my nails on my good hand clawing along the wooden floor. Splinters embed themselves under my nails, but I am so much more than this.
"Get off!" I yell, and give one final kick. It connects with something hard and solid, possibly Smith's head, but I don't stick around to look. Instead, I run down the stairs, grabbing Mum's thin blanket from the open linen cupboard on the way. I hold it in front of my chest with the palm of my broken hand as I race through the lounge room, heading for the front door.
"Stay right where you damn well are!" Smith yells. I turn back, and it's a mistake, my downfall, because he throws his body on top of mine. I don't know when I started crying, but at some point I did, and this time I truly don't know how much fight I have left in me. I've given it everything I have, over and over, and I just don't know that I have anything left to give. I close my eyes and pray, pray that this will all be over soon.
"Gonna—"
The rest of the sentence never comes.
Footsteps thunder across the room, coming from the kitchen, and then Smith is being pushed off me. I roll to the side with the impact, and open my eyes to see Smith lying beneath Jase, Jase throwing punches to Smith's face. Each impact makes a sickening crunch under his knuckles, and it sickens me to my stomach, even though I know he's a monster and he deserves every hit he gets.
"Run," Jase barks as his fist connects with Smith's face again, but it seems those words jerk the monster back to life. With drunken strength, he shoves against Jase's chest, and even though Jase is big, Smith is bigger. Jase flies backward as Smith starts laying into him, punches to the face, the chest, then he grabs his head in his huge killing hands and smashes it down against the floorboards.
I run to the kitchen, racing for the landline, and Smith thunders after me. I stop at the back door, clutching the blanket to my chest. I can't just go and leave Jase lying there. He came to save me. That means everything.
"Don't you dare leave this house."
Smith.
I spin around, one hand on the back door handle. Smith hulks in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes are manic, and the blood oozing over his face only makes him more terrifying. He's a formidable, imposing figure, and I guess he's banking on the fact that I always do as I'm told, or maybe the fact that running outside naked is humiliating, and embarrassing, and people will laugh at me.
What he doesn't realise is that I'm better than that. I know that if I run outside, he'll follow. He'll leave my Jase alone.
And I'm not sacrificing myself for the sake of appearances any more.
I open the door, then turn back just as my foot hits the street. "I—"
"Don't you take another step, you arsehole."
Smith raises his hands in the air, inch by inch. He shuffles, and I see the knife held to the side of his throat.
By my mum.
Sirens sound in the distance, screaming through the night, and when I look over my shoulder, I can see blue and red lighting up the night sky, getting closer at breakneck speed.
"You don't touch my baby." Mum's voice is menacing and dark, and in that moment, she's scarier than I've ever seen her. She's eerily in control. There's nothing weak, shaken or drunk about her. "Or I'll gut you."
I blink, the blanket still held close to my chest.
Shock sets in, and I can't move. My heart aches from pounding so hard.
And then it's over.
The sirens are so loud they hurt my ears. Police officers storm the house, thundering through to the kitchen. Mum drops the blade and guns are aimed at the half-naked Smith. Blood is smeared across his face, and his nose is twisted at an unnatural angle. His head hangs low. With the power of fear stripped from him, he actually looks small and rather pathetic.
When he's cuffed, I shoulder past Mum and race through to the living room. Two paramedics are tending to Jase, sliding a yellow board under his back. A neck brace is wrapped around his neck and fear grips around my heart.
"Jase," I whisper, as I run to his side.
"Please, ma'am, stand back." The female paramedic places a hand on my arm, then seems to take in my half-dressed state. She grabs her radio and calls in for another ambulance then says something else to me in her calm, clinical tone, but I don't register the words. My focus is entirely on the face of the man lying before me.
Dark purple is already spreading around one of his eyes, and blood snakes from his lip down the side of his face. His eyes are closed, his chest breathing shallow, in and out, in and out, and my heart breaks because I did this to him. I lied, then I hoped he would rescue me.
And now he's paying this horrible price.
"Jase," I breathe, and I grab his hand with my good one and squeeze it.
He doesn't squeeze back.
"Hi, my name's Maddie. I'm going to check you out." Another paramedic appears, and I shake my head because the first two have picked Jase's board up and placed it on a trolley, taking him toward the ambulance.
"No," I cry, my arm outstretched, as if that will help me reach him.
"They're taking him to be treated, sweetheart. You want him to be okay, right?" the paramedic stands in front of me, blocking my view of Jase.
I blindly nod, tears blurring my vision. I just want him to be okay. It's all I want in the world.
Mum runs toward me from the kitchen where she's been talking to a policeman. She wraps her arms around me, engulfing me with her love. "I'm so sorry, baby," she whispers. Her tears wet my hair. Her grip has never felt so strong in all her life, and I relax into it. Right now, I need someone else to be strong for me. "I'm so, so sorry."
***
When I surface, Mum isn't anywhere. My head flicks from left to right, left to right, and my long hair whips my cheeks as it does. All I see is lake. Lake, and about ten people on the shore, pointing and shouting.
Sirens cry in the distance, and I know that if they've had time to get here, that Mum must be running out.
I suck in a deep breath.
Then I dive back under.
This time, I stay close to the surface, forcing my eyes to open again and feeling the harsh salty water sting them. But my eyes don't matter right now. Nothing matters except finding her.
I kick up and swan dive down, the murky green around me making it hard to see, hard to even see my own hand as it moves in front of my face. I look left, I look right, and then the burning in my lungs forces me to the surface again.
"Don't! Stop!" someone on shore screams, but they don't understand.
I don't have a father anymore.
I can't lose her too.
I duck back down underneath the water, and it's as if the lake is taunting me. Something slithers past my ankle, and I open my mouth to scream, only gulps of salty nastiness sneak in, choking me. Straight to the surface and breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Dive.
The water isn't so icy cold now. It's still brittle, though, a monstrous force so much greater than myself. I'm about to go up for the third time—I can hear the shrill sirens even underwater now—when I see it.
A flash of white.
I move, short, fast strokes, propelling me toward her, toward what has to be my mother. As I get closer, it becomes clearer, and I see her white body, her dress billowing out around her, her eyes open in wide-eyed panic or maybe wide-eyed heartache—I can't se
em to tell the difference.
I grab onto her dress at the shoulders and pull, kicking up with everything I have. She's heavy, a deadweight in my grip, but I won't let go. I can't let go.
Looking up, the surface seems so far away still. There's a roar of something loud in the distance, making the particles in the river in front of me shake, and I don't have time to worry about what it could be because my lungs are angry, my heart begging them for air, and I don't have any to give.
I let go of Mum with one hand, using it to scoop the water out from in front of me, as if I'm trying to pull my way to the surface.
And then, I do.
Sweet fresh air smacks me in the face, and I thrust my hand into the water again to bring Mum up, too. I shiver, the cold I'd somehow shaken off before now back in full force. My blood races through my body, and I truly understand the meaning of the term bone cold.
The roaring I'd heard before grows louder. A boat is by our side, four men in uniform inside it.
"Give me your hand." A man offers his arm out kindly, but I won't take it.
"Her." My teeth chatter as I jerk my head toward my mother.
Thankfully, he doesn't argue. He reaches over and grabs her frail body, pulling her over the lip of the boat. Seconds later, they pull me up to join her.
Lying there, I stare up at the clear blue sky. It's so still and serene and nice. On shore, I hear people talking. The man beside me is still chatting away, probably trying to keep me calm but I tune him out. I'm floating. I'm free.
And I'm happy I'm alive.
CHAPTER THIRTYFIVE
Hospitals sound so clinical. It's all beeps and hushed voices, rushed padded footsteps and shrill alarms.
I lie there in my bed, staring out the window. Somehow, I wrangled a view from my room. Maybe it’s a special privilege they give to all attempted rape victims.
At first it's a sea of white roofing, the hospital creeping out below me. Beyond the grounds, trees dance in the soft breeze, their leafy tops waltzing from side to side. And beyond that, when the trees move slightly more to the left in their routine, I see the lake.
And the lake reminds me of him.
How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1) Page 24
