In Times of Violence

by Karina Kantas

  IN TIMES OF VIOLENCE

  Young Adult Edition

  By

  Karina Kantas

  All characters in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design, and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  Many thanks to

  Stephen (Spydah) for your assistance and unwavering encouragement.

  To my amazingly talented cover designer, Sharon Lipman from https://www.facebook.com/FantasiaCovers

  Michelle Dunbar, my fantastic editor that understands my warped mind and is sooooo patient with me. A deadline! What’s that?

  Naomi D Nakashima for working her magic and making the interior bad ass.

  And to my Enigmas – love you ladies xx

  In Times of Violence by Karina Kantas

  Copyright 2012 Karina Kantas

  Second Edition 2017

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  IN TIMES OF VIOLENCE

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  A note from the Author

  Other Titles by Karina Kantas

  “Finish the bitch.”

  Three girls surrounded me, ready to finish me off. My hand slapped the smooth brickwork as I staggered to my feet, bracing myself for what I thought would be the finale. I licked my lips, tasting blood, and clenched my fists. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  I aimed a punch at Monica but missed. The girls laughed and shoved me against the wall of the shopping centre. Two of them pinned my arms behind my back as Monica stepped forward, a crazed look on her face. She raised her fist, and I struggled to get free, but my movements made no difference.

  My body numbed as I reached my pain barrier; too weak to even register the pain. I wanted to brush away my tears, a sure sign of weakness, but I couldn’t lift my hand. I was going to lose consciousness. I hoped it was sooner rather than later.

  They let go of my arms and I collapsed to the ground. All I’d wanted was to get Marcus’s attention. Getting killed by his bitch of a girlfriend, and the slags that hung around the gang didn’t fit into my equation. Monica’s Doc Martins slammed into my shin as I lay helpless on the cold pavement. I knew what was happening, even though I couldn’t register the force of the pain or see it. Blood trickled over my eyelids. My ears rang as another foot kicked my head. I could just about hear; every word shouted came out as a slow boom. Breathing became difficult, shallow, and I coughed up blood. I was going to die. I was ready to give up. I don’t know how long the beating went on for because time lost all relevance as they stood over me, shouting abuse.

  ***

  A year ago, I would never have dreamt that I would leave my dreary, tiresome village and head for the bright lights of London for a visit, let alone live there. As I lay still, drifting in and out of consciousness, the last month flashed before me. Could I have changed the situation? Would I want to?

  ***

  I suppose it started on my seventeenth birthday. Yes, let’s start there. It’s as good a place as any. I decided the best way to celebrate was down the local with my boyfriend, David, and his mates. Get pissed, stoned, and chill out. I didn’t have any friends at the college I attended. So, no party not like Mum would have let me have one anyway. Unfortunately, nobody was in a great mood. The atmosphere was strained, and I didn’t force myself to have a good time; it was obvious it wasn’t going to happen.

  By the time, I got home, I was depressed.

  There must be more to life than this? What was my purpose? Why was I born? I needed to sit down and think. Something needed to change, and it was up to me to change it. That was the beginning. That was when it all started.

  I’d been dating David for just over a year. Nothing serious, I was using him, and not in the least attracted to him. He possessed a car, his precious black Mazda. Money wasn’t a problem, and he came with a large circle of friends. I refused to go out with him at first and gave him the usual excuse about my mother. In fact, I told him what life with a drunk was like. I assumed the truth would put him off, and he would leave me alone. Boy, was I wrong. He took a bottle of sherry round to her and wormed his way into my life.

  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my time with him and gained some happy memories. Even so, the only time I could truly relax was when we enjoyed a smoke, just the lads and me.

  The first time I got stoned, I was alone. In the beginning, it relaxed me, and I felt sleepy, only I felt more depressed than before I’d had the joint. From then on, I made sure I only smoked with the lads.

  When we were together and high, we didn’t have a care in the world. Nobody gave a shit about anything.

  An unfortunate side effect was paranoia. We’d get thirsty after a joint, so we’d nip into the local. Only all eyes would be on us, watching, or so we thought. We tried to act inconspicuous, but that just made it worse. We felt sure everyone knew that we were high, and had been smoking cannabis. However, the paranoia soon passed. Oh, and the munchies. I would get such a craving for food, yet it wasn’t that I was hungry. My tongue craved texture as my taste buds came to life. Food would taste so strong, which wasn’t always such a good thing.

  I suffered an embarrassing side effect when I smoked dope. I became randy. I couldn’t help myself. I would flirt appallingly with David’s friends, but David just laughed it off. It was not as if I was attracted to any of them. Most of the time I would be too stoned to care. Poor old David only got laid when I was high. He didn’t realise I wasn’t in love with him.

  A couple of the lads almost got lucky once. It still embarrasses me to think about that.

  It happened on a summer’s evening. We were driving around aimlessly, having indulged in a few drinks and a couple of strong joints. I was gone, totally out of it. David parked near the local reservoir, and as it was a warm evening, I came by the ridiculous notion that it would be cool to go skinny-dipping. I was on top form that evening, and the guys hung on to every word I said. Thinking about it, I vaguely remember being funny. David was so stoned I don’t think he realised what was going on.

  I can’t even remember walking into the lake. Nevertheless, there I was, stark naked, kissing David’s best friend, but not conscious of what was happening. His hands were everywhere, touching and caressing and in such a way that it didn’t occur to me that it was wrong. It felt exciting, thrilling, a real turn-on. I didn’t realise everyone was watching. Someone else touched me, their stroke slightly different from the others. I felt hands all over my body, and remember feeling aroused. It was erotic.

  I don’t recall why, perhaps it was the dope wearing off, or the icy chill of the water, but I came to my sense
s and stopped everything. I ran out of the water, and just in time too. The others were stark naked, and about to jump in. God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t snapped out of my daze. I’m not a slag, and I’ve never slept around. David was my first.

  After that incident, I was careful about how much I smoked and made sure I knew what I was doing. Luckily, the guys allowed me to forget. No one ever spoke of that evening.

  I needed to smoke though. It was my way of leaving everything behind and going into my own world. Just for a short while. I didn’t have to think about anything, not even myself. It was as if I was in another place with nothing around me except peace and calm. Only the effect would wear off, and reality crashed around me.

  It wasn’t difficult to get my hands on the drugs. I had my own supplier, and if he was out of stock, David always had some. I think most of the juveniles in the village dabbled with drugs. We needed it. We were bored.

  I had a laugh with David and his friends. Sadly, up until then, they were the best moments of my life.

  ***

  I woke up the morning after my disastrous birthday, with what I’m sure, was the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. I didn’t want to go to college; I couldn’t even get out of bed. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or had something to do with the depression I’d suffered with for years. I’d known hangovers before, just not like that one. People told me I drank too much, but like the smoke, it gave me a release. I’m sure I would have cracked up without them. Mum understood about me not going to college, or maybe she just didn’t care.

  My mum worked part time, cleaning other peoples’ houses, which made me laugh as she didn't give a damn about ours. She also did work from home, sewing bits of materials together. Piecework, I think she called it. It gave her extra cash for her habit. She was an alcoholic – a bottle of sherry a day kind of gal. Perhaps that’s why I started drinking. It was there. It was free.

  We lived in a small detached house in a village called Blexham. It had a population of about four hundred. Now are you beginning to understand?

  My dad lived some distance away. He was seeing a nice lady called Karen. She had two girls who I didn’t try to be friendly with. I couldn’t be bothered. There wasn’t any jealousy. I was pleased my dad was happy. He was a good man, just didn’t give a shit about me. Sometimes I fantasised about living with my father. Regardless, I never brought up the subject. I don’t think I could have taken the rejection.

  I stayed in bed most of the day feeling sorry for myself. I couldn’t face going back to college. Being a loner had started to bother me. For some reason, I felt the need for a friend – a real friend. I needed someone to talk to, but why now? It had never bothered me before. In a strange kind of way, people respected me. If the other students asked for my help, say for homework, or to fight someone, I would foolishly agree just to get them off my back. I’m surprised they didn’t boot me out. Mind you, I was a good student. I never wanted friends. I guess I pushed people away when they got too close. I wanted to be alone. I liked being a recluse, at least, I did until then.

  I was studying Business and Finance, which included Sales and Administration. I enjoyed it. I liked learning; loved using my brain. Holding no plans for the future, I took every day as it came and dealt with whatever was thrown at me. There was no harm in learning as much as I could as I went through life.

  A local bus from the village took me the fifteen miles to college. Many a time I missed the bus, not on purpose, you understand.

  It was the day after my disastrous eighteenth that I made the biggest decision of my life. Little did I know it would change me forever.

  How was I going to tell my parents what I had planned? Even though I was seventeen, an adult, they didn’t treat me like one, and I knew they would go mad. Summer was almost here. Eight weeks of sun, and fun, with no one looking over my shoulder. It was a way of getting away from it all. I was desperate for some action.

  I knew what David was going to say when I told him I was spending the summer in London with my aunt. I didn’t give a shit what he thought though. I’d already made up my mind to go, and nothing anyone said would make a difference.

  I hadn’t seen my aunt or cousin for almost five years, although I’d received cards and presents for Christmas and birthdays, and I’d spoken to her a couple of times on the phone too. She was forever inviting me to stay, only I made one excuse after another why I couldn’t make it.

  The first time I met my cousin Sandy, we clicked. We liked the same kind of music, had the same tastes, and I could open up to her about things I normally wouldn’t talk about. It was a shame we didn’t stay in touch, but I couldn’t be bothered to write, and I never received any communication from her. Nevertheless, when we did get together, there was no separating us.

  Sandy was sixteen, but she acted older. She was a petite girl with shiny blonde hair and the most amazing blue eyes. We had loads in common, yet in spite of everything, we were nothing alike. I’d always fantasised about going to the capital; Sandy had made it sound wonderful. I just never took the first step.

  Living in the village was getting to me. Even with the small release I acquired when I was with David, it wasn’t enough anymore. We had a quaint little pub called the Swan, a post office, and a local store.

  There wasn’t much to do after my chores were finished. I‘d watch TV but enjoyed reading more. Pretending to be one of the characters in the stories, I’d enter my own dream world, full of action, love, and mysteries. I was totally out of touch with reality. In my books, I could be anyone, the villain, or the good guy, and I always had friends and was popular. The problem was that I didn’t have much time to read. If I weren't down the store buying Mum fags and drink, I’d be in the house cleaning, or doing something else she screamed at me to do. I remember the first and only time I said no to her. I got such a hiding I ended up going to school sporting a black eye. Nobody asked how I got it. Nobody cared. Mum made it plain to me that day. I was an ungrateful cow who didn’t appreciate the sacrifices she’d made. Like what? I cooked. I cleaned. Okay, granted, she paid the rent and bills and put food in the cupboard, but hey, I was her servant. The food and lodgings were my payment.

  I grew up without love and compassion. My father moulded me into a loving daughter. My drunken mother turned me into a skivvy. I was desperate to escape. I felt trapped and isolated and needed to break out. I was slowly being tortured, and at the point that I was willing to give up. I was thirteen the first time I’d tried to kill myself, and there was no way I was trying that again.

  ***

  That afternoon, I wrote a letter to Caroline, my aunt, and told her I’d love to spend the summer with them and that I was sorry I hadn’t written earlier. I explained that I missed Sandy, which was true, but that I’d been busy with my studies. Basically, I needed a break. I was so sure I’d be spending summer in London, I got a Saturday job to earn some extra money. I knew that once my parents agreed, Dad would sort me out with some cash. I just wanted extra as an emergency fund.

  Oh God, my wardrobe. Were my clothes still in fashion? I doubted it. What was everyone wearing nowadays anyway? I rarely paid attention to my appearance. I was dating, had a boyfriend, and had nothing to prove to anyone. I knew I was pretty – God, I hate that word – but I was told that more than once. It made me feel like a little girl, which I was not. My long, almost red hair, made me stand out in a crowd. The length was near level with my bum, straight and glossy. I loved my hair. I had a great body too, if I do say so myself. Not too skinny and with curves in all the right places, big breasts, and a stunning face. I’m not vain, or a big head. I was lucky; I never had to flaunt my assets. I suppose I could have had any man I chose; only men didn’t interest me at that time. I couldn’t be bothered with falling in love and having to take care of someone else. Jesus, I couldn’t even take care of myself. I wasn’t interested in beauty treatments or manicures. I was fortunate to have a natural beauty, and until that summer,
I’d kept the beauty inside, hidden under baggy jumpers and jeans. Well, not anymore.

  George, the owner of the village store, allowed me to work there on Saturdays, cleaning and stocking the shelves, which I surprisingly enjoyed. Mum allowed me to have the position on the understanding that I kept up with the housework. She warned me that if I slacked, I would forfeit the job. She treated it as though it was a reward she’d given me. I didn’t mind. It gave me something to do and got me away from her and the house.

  I was a hard worker, and kept my head down. I didn’t socialise with anybody. It amused me to listen to the gossip of the old biddies. Didn’t they have anything better to do than spread peoples’ private affairs across the village? George, was just as bad. After one customer departed, he would pass on the gossip to another. I wondered if anybody knew about my attempted suicide. Was I the local gossip then?

  I made sure I visited the post office every day. It was essential to get hold of the letter before Mum saw it. It would seem strange to her, me getting mail, and of course, the London postmark would cause suspicion. Everything had to be in place before I told her my plans.

  Finally, the letter with permission arrived. It was from Sandy. She wrote about how excited she was, and all the things we were going to get up to, and how Caroline was looking forward to seeing me. In fact, because it had been so long since we’d seen each other, she’d sent a train ticket for me. I knew Mum wouldn’t say no.

  Telling David was easy. He didn’t want me to go, couldn’t bear to be away from me for that long, plus, he told me he didn’t trust me. I was going anyway. Anything David said wasn’t going to make any difference, so we broke up. I was angry at the time, and said a few things that I shouldn’t have said. Poor guy, the home truths certainly came out that night. Did I feel bad? Like hell, I did. I was fed up with David telling me what to do, and he was getting way too serious. I had no intention of taking our relationship to another level. Besides, I wanted to be single before I left. Perhaps Sandy had someone lined up for me. I was determined to have a good time.