Sucker Punched (Resilient Hearts Series Book One 1) (20 page)

“Yeah, fuck off, retard.” Nicola drags out the word retard, and I want to drag her skanky arse across the gravel, tearing her skin to bloody shreds.

“Go on, now,” I say as he runs away, passing the door completely. I lose sight of him when he turns the corner of the building. I spin back around to Nicola and her friend. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout, not giving a damn that it’s two against one.

“What’s wrong with me?” Nicola repeats. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You! You are what’s wrong. You have been here a matter of months, and you steal my boyfriend, and then make it so Roman won’t coach me anymore,” she shouts, but all I can do is roll my eyes and shake my head. I don’t feel sorry for her; she brought this on herself.

I take a couple of steps so I’m right in front of her, and my voice remains low and calm as I speak. “Ethan was never your boyfriend, and as for Roman training you, you fucked that up yourself with your bloody jealousy. You’re pathetic.”

As the last word leaves my lips, Nicola attacks by bringing her right fist up. There’s no way she’s getting away with that again! Before the anger gets replaced by the usual panic, I duck away from her, then bring my own fist up to connect with her jaw. She makes no sound; she just drops to the ground. For a split second, seeing her crumpled body brings back memories of the rapist, and I’m scared history has been repeated. I notice her chest rising, so it becomes apparent I’ve only knocked her out cold. I breathe a sigh of relief. I dislike violence, but in this moment, as I look down at her laid across the floor, I feel very satisfied. She bloody well deserved that.

Hearing Ethan shouting my name, I look at Nicola’s friend whose grin has slipped from her Botoxed face. She begins to back up, holding her hands in the air. “I don’t have a problem with you,” she sputters out.

I shake my head. “Just take her and go,” I say, as Ethan and Donnie round the corner. He looks frantic at first, then seeing the scene before him, he comes to a sudden stop. Looking from an unconscious Nicola, to her scared friend, and then to me, his look grows smug.

He does this a couple of times before a smile spreads across his handsome face, and then he starts to laugh. “Did you do that?” he asks, pointing at Nicola and raising a brow.

“She deserved it,” I insist.

“Well, shit! I’m sure she did.” He laughs. “You’re okay then?”

“Yep,” I say, stepping over Nicola, who’s beginning to stir. I lock the door to the hut and make my way over to Ethan and Donnie. “Are you okay, Donnie? I’m really sorry about what she said to you.” Donnie smiles but still looks shaken up.

“What did she say to him?” asks Ethan, who is no longer smiling.

“I’ll tell you later; let’s go meet the guys and celebrate.”

Donnie is still a little upset, so we drop him home. I feel bad explaining what happened to his mum, but she takes it well. Apparently, it’s not the first time someone has called him that. I just don’t understand why people have to be so cruel and ignorant.

By the time we arrive at the bar, everyone else is already there, and Ethan wastes no time in telling them about what happened with Nicola. “No way,” says Kiaya, looking shocked and a little in awe at the same time. “I’m pissed I missed that.”

“Yeah, you did,” says Roman, giving me a high five. “I knew you had it in you, sis! Serves her right.” The rest of the night goes well, and we have a blast. The bar’s just five minutes from my apartment, so Ethan and I decide to stay there tonight.

Walking into my darkened apartment, I see the light on my answering machine rapidly flashing. I left my mobile phone at Ethan’s this morning as I’d been in a rush. I have no idea who it could be since I was with everyone who might want me. There are six messages. Shit! Someone really wants to get ahold of me. I start to panic. Beth! It can only be her. I push the button to listen to the messages, and my concern grows. By the time I get to the sixth one, my legs give out, and I drop to the floor. Ethan runs over. In that moment, I know my life’s about to change, and the unease in my stomach tells me loud and clear it’s not going to be for the better.

TWENTY FIVE

Beth

A few weeks earlier

Unwanted tears silently stream down my face as I anxiously sit in Roman’s car. My leg bobs up and down as he drives me to the airport. It’s been awkward silence the entire journey, with Roman not saying a word since he picked me up from Caitlin’s. I’ve loved every second being here, but I’m beginning to regret my decision to visit Caitlin now. To start, saying goodbye to Caitlin was incredibly distressing. She now has Ethan, and I’ve seen firsthand just how great her life has become, and that’s a comfort. But what tears my heart out of my chest is Roman. I have no idea how I’m supposed to say goodbye to him.

As we pull up at the bustling airport, Roman parks his car, and I can’t look at him. I place my hand on his thigh instead. “I don’t want you to come in with me.”

“What?” Abruptly turning to me he says, “No way, I need to say goodbye.”

“You can say goodbye, but it’ll be easier to do it in the car. I don’t want to break down in front of the whole goddamn airport,” I snap. I don’t mean to, but I need to get out of this car before my resolve dissipates and I have a complete breakdown.

“Beth.” His firm voice makes me face him. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

I thought they’d dried up, but a stray tear slips down my cheek, and he wipes it away with the pad of this thumb. He slides his hand into my hair, gripping onto it gently. “Stay,” he whispers as he brings his lips down to my ear, then finally pulls my head to rest into the nape of his neck.

“Stay? It’s not that easy,” I say weakly, shutting my eyes.

Much more firmly this time he insists, “Yes it is, please stay.”

I pull my head away sharply. “Where? Where the hell am I going to stay?”

“With me.” It’s said as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I reply, “I wish it were that simple. I have a job, a house, a life, Roman, and I’ve only known you one week!”

“So what,” he says his voice raised now. “You can make a life here, with me.”

Now I laugh, but there is no happiness in its sound. “After knowing you a week, you want me to give up everything I know and move half way around the world?”

“Yes,” he says with such confidence I nearly do it. I nearly stay.

My hands cup his jaw as I place my lips to his. This kiss is desperate and all-consuming as we know this is our final goodbye. The last kiss we’ll share. It breaks my heart, but I pull away. “I’m sorry; I can’t. Please, don’t follow me.” I’m adamant as I get out of the car and go to the back to get my suitcase. Roman does as I ask, and as I shut the trunk, he slams on the gas and pulls away. I watch him disappear, and I know I’ve made the worst decision of my life.

The flight is seven hours long and I don’t sleep a wink. I should have stayed; I can’t get Roman out of my mind. To top it off, I am seated next to a woman who is terrified of flying, just my bloody luck. The day seems to go from bad to worse. She spends most of the flight telling me horror stories about plane crashes. She is sweating profusely and keeps pulling at her shirt collar. I can’t get away from her fast enough; my brain is frazzled enough as it is.

Hailing a taxi home costs me a small fortune, and I finally begin to relax a little, looking forward to the welcoming warmth of my bed. I live in a small town in East Sussex. It’s nice enough, but small, and I feel a tiny measure of comfort watching it go by as I look out the window of the taxi. By the time I get home, my tired legs struggle to drag me up my driveway; I’m exhausted. Searching for my key in my bag, I finally find it and unlock my door. Dropping my bags in the hallway, I walk into the kitchen desperate for a glass of water to quench my parched throat.

A gentle breeze brushes across my face when I enter the room, and something crunches under my shoes. Turning on the light, I notice there’s glass covering my floor, and now I can clearly see my window has been smashed. Unease travels through my body. What the hell has happened here? Shit, what if whoever did this is still inside?

I rush out of my house, making my way to my neighbor’s. Jane opens the door with a yawn. “Jane, I’m so sorry, but someone’s broken into my house. Please, can I come in and call the police? I don’t feel safe in there.”

“Of course!” She hurries to her phone, and twenty minutes later I’m standing in my living room with the police. I can’t remove my eyes from the letters on my wall. Someone sprayed
liar
in bold letters across my living room wall. The room is trashed, but nothing has been stolen. The police tell me they think it’s a personal attack on me. When this is said, I know what bastard has done it. It has to be Stephen. After telling the police my concerns, they promise to give him a visit. I’m advised to stay somewhere else for the time being, but I refuse. There’s no way I’m letting him run me from my own home.

I’m estranged from my mum, but I do have a sister. I love her, but unlike me, she’s close to my mum. Because of that fact, we don’t see each other as much as I’d like. In this situation I’d normally be calling Caitlin for help. There’s no way I can do that now, so I send her a brief text telling her I’m home, will phone later, and leave it at that.

Taking a deep breath, I enter my sister’s number into my phone and wait for her to pick up. It’s the first time we’ve spoken in months, but as I explain about the break in, she agrees to drop everything and come over. The next evening, I Skype with Caitlin but still don’t tell her anything. I don’t want to upset her, and although I know in my heart it was Stephen, I don’t know for sure. There’s no point in worrying her until I know for certain.

The police contact me the next day to say they’ve spoken to Stephen, and of course he’s denied any involvement. That’s no surprise to me; I never thought in a million years he’d admit to it anyway. They then say there’s nothing more they can do, but they will keep investigating. It’s so frustrating when I know he did it but have no way to prove it.

On Monday, it’s time to go back to work. My job as an interior designer is my passion, and I’m lucky to work for a great company. I have worked my arse off to get where I am and have loved every second of it. It’s a beautiful bright morning as I make the five minute walk to the train station, as I’m based in London and commute in every day. A car catches my eye once I reach the station. I vaguely recognize the number plate. That’s when I notice the driver, who’s still sitting in it. His icy stare has me glued to the spot. It’s Stephen. After the surprise of him being there watching me dissolves, I speed up as his eyes follow me. I’m in shock when getting on the train and taking my seat; I wonder if that really just happened.

On the journey home that evening my stomach churns. Praying it was just a coincidence and I won’t see him again, I step onto the platform, and my eyes scan the crowd. Walking over the bridge, I continue checking for him. It’s such a relief that he’s nowhere in sight.

The loss of Roman invades my thoughts later that evening, so I take solace in a bottle of wine. The wine also convinces me how paranoid I’m being over Stephen.

The following morning I casually stroll through the parking lot. I’d successfully convinced myself I was delusional, but I once again spot his car, and my breath catches in my throat. His dark eyes pierce into me. It’s so unnerving that I take off running to my train that’s waiting at the platform, all the time checking he hasn’t followed me. He hasn’t.

Rushing to gain the last empty seat, I take my place. This time as I calm down and the situation settles in, it dawns on me that it is much worse than I first believed. The train car is jam packed, but I have much more to worry about than losing my seat. I rise and start to move along the aisle making my way to the restroom to call the police in privacy. They’re no help and inform me that unless he threatens me, there’s nothing they can do. They offer to talk to him and warn him to leave me alone. The situation is so alarming; I begin to feel that nothing will make Stephen stop. I know deep down what he wants, and that’s Caitlin. I don’t care what he does; I won’t betray her.

Every morning that week he is there, watching me, but he never interacts. I begin to go out of my mind with worry. When the weekend comes, I lock myself away, not leaving until Monday. My nerves are fraught by then, so when I see his car, I can’t help it. This time I lose it. Marching up to his car, I aggressively bang on his window. It rolls down, and he glares at me but remains silent.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I shout, but he just snickers and says nothing. Everyone stares at my sudden outburst. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth this time. He laughs in my face then drives off!

What the hell just happened?

I phone the police again and explain the situation. This time they tell me I was the aggressor and to not have contact with him again. The conversation leaves me dumbfounded and feeling powerless. The officer even mentions that when they spoke to Stephen, he said I was a disgruntled ex, and they obviously believed him. I can tell I’m not going to get any help from them.

I’m at a loss about what to do, so I confide in my sister. She offers to walk me to the station and back every day. I don’t want to involve her, but I can’t see where I have any other options, so I take her up on the offer.

The rest of that week it escalates, and he’s now waiting there in the morning and evening. Every day, my sister takes my hand, and we walk past him trying to act as if he’s not there, our heads held high. That’s not how I’m feeling though. I’m completely panicked by his behavior. I can’t begin to understand his mind set; it’s baffling and alarming.

I’ve never been a timid person; it’s not in my make-up. I’m self-reliant, opinionated, and don’t make apologies for who I am. If you like me, great; if you don’t, I don’t give a shit. But I don’t know how to deal with the kind of crazy Stephen is. I begin to feel like a pressure cooker that might explode at any moment.

My job is extremely stressful, and due to Stephen, I’ve not been sleeping at all. So by a week later, everything is really getting to me. My sister greets me as normal, but when I see Stephen in his car watching me, I lose all self-control.

I storm up to his car. My sister, Libby, shouts my name and tells me to stop. At this point I’m not listening. I pull at his door handle, flinging it open. He makes no movement, but an eerie grin tugs at his face. This is the rise he wanted out of me all along, and I’m walking straight into it. Bringing my face down to his level I scream, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?”

The grin is still in place when he asks, his tone flat, “Where is Caitlin?”

I pull back at his question. “Do you really think I’m going to tell someone as mentally unhinged as you where to find her? She’s happy, so just leave her alone.” I know right then that I’ve said too much, but it’s too late now.

He jumps out of the car, a furious expression replacing his smirk. I stumble back hitting the parked car behind me. “I knew you were a lying bitch! Where is she? You tell me now, or every time you turn around I WILL BE THERE!” he booms at me. “SHE IS MINE, AND I WILL NEVER LET HER GO!”

I don’t do well with threats, and he’s clearly mental.  Now I have had enough, and my protection of Caitlin kicks in overriding my fear. “She’s not yours anymore, you psycho! I’ll never tell you. You’re fucking insane if you think I ever would. The best thing I’ve ever done is to help her get away from you. You can follow me the rest of your miserable, pathetic life. I’ll never tell YOU!” I scream in his face and storm off; my sister runs behind me.

All weekend I hide in my house because the idea of stepping out of my door absolutely terrifies me. Finally, I resolve that it will take more than a bully to stop me. It’s nearly July, the weather’s getting warmer, and the sun is already shining as I get dressed. I pull on a pair of black straight legged trousers with a dusky pink sleeveless blouse. It’s low cut, but not too much. My makeup is light, and my hair is in a low ponytail, but as good as I look, I’m dreading going outside. I know he’ll be sitting in his bloody car again.

We leave with only minutes to spare. As I hurry down the drive, Libby locks the door, lagging behind in my rush. I hear the rustling before I see him. At the end of my drive, Stephen steps out holding a bottle in his hand. He appears unnervingly calm. His clothes are the same he was wearing on Friday, so he must have worn them all weekend. I hear him muttering something, but it’s so soft I can’t make it out.  He moves a couple of feet in front of me then throws the liquid from the bottle. It hits my arm and shoulder, and immediately I feel an excruciating burning that’s now spreading up to my neck and face. A scream rips from my throat. As I fall to the ground, the last thing I see is Stephen’s sinister sneer.