How To Save A Life (27 page)

"I hear she likes older guys," Duke says, and I shoot him a glare. I'm going to kill Kat. Big mouth.

"Older guys, hey?" Smith leans back on his chair and swirls the wine in his glass. "How much older?"

"Not much at all," I mutter, still shooting all my angry vibes toward Duke.

"Are you seeing an older boy, baby?" Mum asks, concern briefly crossing her fine features.

"No." I shrug.
Not anymore.
"I just ... I just didn't tell him the truth."

"About how you really feel." Smith nods, and I shrug his weird comment off. Whatever.

After dinner, Mum pushes Duke and I into the living room to "watch a movie"—yes, she even does the air quotes—while her and Smith clean up in the kitchen. Duke and I lie on the living room floor, some bad Adam Sandler flick blaring in the background.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

He shrugs, then shakes his head. "Lia ..." He pauses, and reaches out a hand to link fingers with mine. "I’m sorry."

The gesture is one of friendship, solidarity. And it's exactly the safe connection I've found in Duke ever since the day I met him.

"I didn't know this was what it was like for you. And I shouldn't have said ... well, y'know. What I said."

"How you called me crazy?"

"That." He nods, and offers up a rueful smile. "You're a pretty special girl."

"You’re a bit of a dick," I say. Duke snort-laughs. “But thanks for the compliment.”

"You kids want some more wine?" Smith yells from the kitchen.

"No," Duke and I call back simultaneously.

"More for me and your mum then," he sings, and I hope that she's strong enough to say no, even when I'm not there to watch. I need her to be strong enough to say no.

The thought consumes me, and I shake my head to clear it, returning my attention to the guy lying next to me. "So how'd he make you come here?"

Darkness flashes over Duke's features, and he presses his lips together into a thin line. Softly, he whispers, "Lia ... I don't think he's a good dude. He—"

"It's awfully quiet in here." Smith's footsteps thud into the room and he flops himself down on the couch behind us. "Adam Sandler? Good choice."

Duke makes eyes at me, and I get the unspoken message of
we'll talk about it tomorrow at school
. It's not as if he's told me something I don't already know. Smith really is a weird guy.

When the movie ends, Duke thanks Mum and Smith for dinner, and I walk him to the door. "See you tomorrow, Lia." He leans in and hugs me, and whispers in my ear, "Be safe."

I frown as I pull back, ruffling his shiny, too-styled hair. "Always." I poke my tongue out.

Because I'm at home. Of course I'll be safe.

There's nothing that can cause me danger here.

"
Baby
." Mum's voice is soft. "I'm sorry."

Sorry.

The car careens off the road, and we’re airborne.

It's not a splash when we hit the water. It's a roar so loud it sends shockwaves through me, decimating my body and rendering me still. For just one moment time is suspended, as I look at her, and she looks at me, and we both see each other—really see the other person in the car.

Then the water floods in through Mum’s open window.

"Shit!" I pull my seatbelt out and reach across to do Mum's. She's still stuck in that frozen state, her hands still on the steering wheel.

The icy-cold water gushes through that window space. I feel my heartbeat everywhere—in my wrist, my neck, my chest. My panic levels are rising like the water at my knees, and I don't know how to stop it, how to get out—
if we can get out at all.

The weight of the engine propels the car forward and we’re underwater. It's dark here now, so dark, the murky water in front of the windscreen giving nothing away, the grey-green muck coating us. I’m scared, petrified, but I know I have to move because we don’t have much time. We just don’t.

I push Mum toward the window. Her arms latch out, trying to pull back into the car, but now my whole body is involved. It's fight or flight, and I am not going to die here. I’m going to fight for what I believe in. I'm Lia Stanton.

With all my effort, I jam her through, and she floats somewhere in front of me, clearing the car. I grip onto the frame and hurl myself after her, but the current swings me to the side and my shoulder connects with the side of the car. I clutch at it in pain, and for a second I want to give up. To stop fighting.

Then I kick with everything I have. My arms thrust around wildly. My heart beats a million miles an hour and my lungs already burn with the sting that comes from lack of oxygen.

Focus.

My body stills as I try to get a grip on the situation.

Which way is up?

My eyes sting from the salt as I look left, right, up, down—then I spin. Because up there, there’s a light. And I have to swim toward it.

I start my paddle toward the surface, my arms acting as oars and scooping the water past me. The water is concrete as I try to make my way through. It’s stiff, and hard to navigate, but I keep trying with everything I have. I have to keep trying.

Because I didn’t survive my father’s death to go like this.

I didn’t survive death to be slain in Armageddon.

My arms are heavy—so damn heavy. I lift one, the other still holding my body together. I kick, though, both legs churning.

I kick like hell.

My lungs burn, and my throat is sore. My eyes sting as I try and I keep them open, try to work out which way is up. But it’s too much. It’s all too much. I give up—

Then I thrash like crazy.

I'm going to die ...

I swim, and I swim, but it's taking too long. I open my mouth, just a fraction, as if trying to suck some of the oxygen from the water but it just rushes into my mouth and I snap it closed.

Light, though. Above me, there's light. So close.

If only I had the strength to reach it.

My aching chest.

So close.

I'm going to see Dad again
.

I close my eyes and wait for my life to flash before them.

This is what it's like to die.

***

Something's wrong.

The nightmare still lurks in my mind, but it didn't jolt me awake. My lungs ache, the ghost of the pain I felt that day eighteen months ago still present. I hug my arms tightly around my ribs, as if to reassure them that they work. That they're not drowning in a lake full of silt and evil and my own mother's depression.

That's when I hear it.

"Girl ... you'll be a woman soon."

My skin crawls with goosebumps, even though I have a blanket firmly wrapped over me.

What is he doing in my room?

I curl in on myself and try to keep my breathing steady.
In, out. In, out.
Just like I did before. Just like I hope I did in my sleep, because who knows how long he's watched me in here as I lay helpless.

Each breath of air I suck in, I suck in more of his scent of too much alcohol mixed with a hint of sweat. It's all I can do not to choke on the fumes of this man I hate sitting there in the dark.

"I know you're awake."

Shit
.

My heart goes from alert to staccato in no time. It leaps, it races in my chest, each pound against my ribcage a foreboding drum of doom. I inch my hand around under my pillow, trying to find my mobile phone without making my movements too obvious.

"Your breathing changed when you woke up." His hand is on my face, rough and calloused, pulling back my hair, and I feel every inch of skin he's touched because under his fingers, I burn.

"Stop it."

My voice is tiny, small.

It's lost somewhere inside of me.

Because this can't be happening. Not after everything else that has happened. Not when I've fallen so low.

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.