“I’ve always been here Scott; I’ve just never needed to show myself.” I say proudly. I stand up and take Leighton’s glass from his hand, filling it with a triple shot of the hard liquor they are feasting on, and then down the lot.
I let the warmth spread through my veins and settle in my stomach, then I hand the glass back and leave the room in a rage that burnt so deep, if I didn’t leave then and there to calm down, I am more than likely going to hurt something, someone or myself.
The word rape, it brings back every shit fucking memory I have managed to bury about my father, sure I was raped on the streets, it wasn’t anything I didn’t expect, but a child, a child can’t defend themselves, the hurt, betrayal and fright I had to feel every day as a little girl, there is nothing in this world that has come close to that feeling. And for that reason I feel anger inside me I haven’t felt before.
I go up to my room and search through every possession I own. Throwing clothes from the closet trying to find where I have put it. I know a hundred percent I had bought some; Antonio had been the one to give me it. I know it is here somewhere. I need it, God I need it so bad my body is screaming for it.
I reach the last draw on my dresser, pulling it open to find the little plastic bag inside, wrapped up in a pair of socks. I kiss the material and then fetch the packet out. I look up to the ceiling, thanking God for creating such a wonderful substance.
I retrieve the weed from the bag, separating enough for me to use now. I roll the most perfect looking joint and take the stairs down, avoiding the men altogether, through the house and to the huge acreage out back.
Lighting the blunt end up I take a huge puff.
I instantly feel myself relax. I take another, holding it for a while whilst it penetrates my blood stream and oxygen.
After a few more puffs I feel completely calm, and high as a fucking kite, I feel great.
“Abigail.” I hear Leighton approach behind me. “You okay?” I hear the wariness in his voice; he hasn’t heard me like that before, no-one other than Thomas knows of my pain and the anger and hurt it causes me. He has seen me pretty weak these past two months, but has been there for every single time I fall, bringing me back onto solid ground again.
“Peachy” I say sarcastically back. I may feel calm physically, but I still feel the pain inside, my heart still aches and stings for Antonio’s sister and my mind, the bitter memories now on their little loop round over and over again.
He sits on the step beside me, reaching over and taking the joint from me.
He inhales the last few takes from it and then stubs it out.
“What’s wrong, you know you can tell me.” I probably could, but I haven’t told anyone since David, apart from Thomas.
I play through my mind the best way to tell him, or even if I should tell him. What would he think and feel? I feel my anger boiling again and I stand, walk over to one of the many fences blocking the front of the mansion from the huge back area. I raise my fist fast and then punch one of the panels through. Then I breathe out a sigh, feeling a little more relaxed. I return to Leighton and sit next to him, acting as though nothing had happened, plastering a fake smile on my face.
“Come here Abbi.” He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tightly to his side.
My hands wrap around his stomach and squeeze too tightly, clinging to his skin for some salvation.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that.” I huff out.
“Nonsense, cry, scream and break things all you want. They can all be fixed. You obviously needed that. I’d like to know what happened to make you feel so angry though, Hun.” I nod into his shoulder afraid at his reaction to what I was about to reveal.
I remove my head away from his shoulder and sit up a little, placing my hands into my lap, after rubbing the water from my eyes.
“Take your time Abigail. Don’t force yourself.” His attentive voice instantly calms my nerves.
I take a deep breath preparing and readying myself.
“You know I was in foster care, right?” I ask him.
“Yes? Did something happen there Abbi?”
“No, that was the one place I was safe. When I was four my mother killed herself, post natal depression. My father blamed me and that’s when he began to hurt me and neglect me. He’d bring random women back to our home, fuck them in front of me and drink himself stupid. When I was thirteen I had my first period, I stained the sheets a little; my father beat me black and blue for it.” I see Leighton flinch; his reaction to finding out my father had beaten me. In a second he will know that what happened next is far worse than the beatings. I would take those any day over what I then had to go through for an entire year, “then a week later, he, he,” I begin to choke on the next part of my sentence, panicking and beginning to hyperventilate.
“It’s okay Abbi, I’m here. He’s not going to hurt you again. What happened sweetheart? You need this out of your system.” Holding my hands in his, he looks into my eyes, his deep, forest green pools drawing me in.
“He raped me.” there I said it, there is no going back, he knows the entire truth of me.
“I was a virgin and he raped me. The blood stained the sheets again and he beat me again. It carried on like that for a year. One day I had my only friend stay over, a girl called Melissa, she was the best friend you could ask for. She was the only person in my year that wasn’t afraid to talk to me. I was so tiny, malnourished, wore dirty clothes and had scraggy uncut hair”
“I’m glad you had someone to support you.” I can tell he is trying to rein his temper in for my sake. From what I know of Leighton, I know for a fact the cogs in his brain are working in overdrive, plotting a way to get rid me of the hideous man who has affected me so badly.
“Yes well, what a good friend I am. My father came into my room that night, raped me and then when my friend tried to stop him, he raped her too, so violently she had to have a hysterectomy at fourteen, because he tore her so bad inside it was irreparable. I only called the police that night because he had hurt her. If I hadn’t it probably would have continued.”
I begin to cry again, feeling a slight relief at Leighton finally knowing my life story, but nervous as to his reaction.
“None of this is your fault Abbi, I’m sure Melissa doesn’t blame you at all. Have you seen her since?” his comfort and acceptance to my story soothes a numb feeling I have, had inside me for too long.
“No I was put into care straight away, Lisa was lovely. David came to live with us after a little while and I fell in love with him, he was amazing, everything you could ever want in a person. One day he went to East London to go and see his abusive mother because she was dying. He was stabbed by some boys that had it in for him. After that night I ran away, never looked back. I seem to bring evil with me wherever I go so I thought best to stay away. I spent three years on the streets then you found me and well the rest is sort of history, well I hope it is anyway.”
“Where is your father now?” he asks me, those gears still turning. The murderous look in his eyes isn’t missed.
“In prison. He was given fifteen years for attempted murder and sexual assault on two minors.” I state bluntly.
I see his eyes darken, the anger clearly evident in them. His jaw twitches and his fists clench hard.
“Calm down Leighton, it’s okay. He can’t hurt anyone else anymore.” I nod trying to calm him, clasping his cheeks in my hands. I stare into his black eyes, his entire soul visible in them.
“God damn it baby, how are you still here, how have you not gone batshit crazy.” Did I hear him just call me baby? The endearing name sends warmth into my stomach and a flutter into my heartbeat.
“I kept telling myself that David would be disappointed if I didn’t fight to live, if I didn’t try every day to better myself.” I shrug sadly, and slightly pathetically.
“I just don’t know how you got through the last three years on the streets, I wish I had found you sooner, I wish you had been at the back of my club three years ago. I understand now why you got so angry at the whole thing with Maria.” He looks guilty and I look at him confused. Who the hell is Maria?
He sees my clear puzzled expression, “Maria is Antonio’s Sister, Abigail.”
Oh thank God. I don’t want to know any of his conquests, my heart wouldn’t handle it. “It’s not your fault at all Leighton, what happens to us defies us. What happened to me has made me a stronger person. I just hate to see or hear of another person going through even an ounce of what I had to go through. I still don’t get why Ant didn’t just kill the bastard. Sorry about the language.”
“Don’t worry about the language babe, and the reason he didn’t kill him is because his sister asked him not to. She didn’t want a life taken because of her.”
“Well she is a lot stronger than me; I would have wanted him dead. When I finally had the courage to stand up to my father, I would have loved to break him apart piece by piece, but I was only fourteen, I didn’t have the strength in me to do it.” I say all too calmly, amazed at myself for how far I have come in all of ten minutes, further than the two months in therapy has done.
“I get that. She is fucking strong. You would like her. She’s a year younger than you. Very intelligent and very beautiful. I’ll introduce you to her.”
“I’d like that. I like being around you guys and all, but well, I kind of need some girl time. I miss that.” I really do. Just someone to talk to about boys, paint nails and drink cheap wine with, I’ve never had that with anyone other than my foster mother.
“I’m sure she would be more than happy to do that. Anyway you feeling better now you have spoken about it?” I nod at him.
“Good, the guys have left, and I figure you could use a drink?” My nod is even bigger this time, the idea of closing the past with a good expensive drink appeals to me.
He stands and offers his hand to me. I take it and he lifts me from the concrete, his gargantuan clasp, drowning my tiny, petite one. The warmth engulfs me and makes my heart melt. Even as I feel myself falling into dangerous depths, I can’t stop myself from wading out to the shark infested waters.
He leads me through the house, still holding my hand, to the lounge, collecting a new bottle of scotch and two clean glasses on the way.
Chapter Eleven
“Sit, get comfy.” He instructs, pointing to the leather couch.
I take a seat in the corner, relaxing into the soft material. The arm of the chair offers me support, my body still tense from my all but rotten disclosure of my home life to him, the life I had lived before meeting Leighton.
“Here, drink.” He hands me a tumbler with just a little too much scotch for a sensible drinking session, the amber liquid summoning me.
“Cheers.” I clink my glass to his and down the fluid, the drink burns my throat, warms my chest and eventually sooths my stomach. The previous anger and upset that has been churning inside of my gut is instantly dissipated.
“I want to play a game with you Abigail. You see, you have been living here for two months now, and I actually don’t know anything good about you. All I know is the bad things you had to go through. I don’t know about your actual self, what makes you tick, what makes you smile and what brings you anger or hurt.” He studies me with a seriousness that has my insides clenching.
“Ah-huh?” I gesture for him to continue.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen, you and I are going to play our own game, a sort of twenty one questions if you will. I want to know the things that nobody knows about you.” His deep green eyes take me in, from head to toe.
“Okay,” I answer him, “Sounds good. I’ll ask first.” I begin to think of the first question I want to know, the first thing I have wanted to ask since day one.
Before I ask the most basic of all questions I tell him “The only rule is that you have to answer the question. No forfeit, No skipping or denying, just pure and utter honesty. ‘Kay?” There have been so many questions I’ve wanted to ask the last two months now was my chance.
“Yes, deal. Now go.” He is sat on the edge of the opposite sofa, his arse on the edge, his thighs parted, his hands clasping his scotch filled glass between them. He looks so fucking sexy, sporting tight fitted jeans and fitted white shirt. The collar open and showing the sprinkling of black ink.
“Question One. When is your birthday?” easy one I know, but I want start with the basics and work my way up to the more personal ones.
“Fifth of May.” He replies, no hesitation in the answer.
“Oh so not too far away then. Right number two; favorite color?” I begin firing off the questions in a quick succession
“That’s easy, Red.” Lust or rage, the color red is a difficult one to muster, to decide the mood the individual is in. I hoped for him it was always arousal.
“Brothers or sisters?” I have always wanted a family, to have a sister or a brother who could have saved me, helped me away from the animal that stalked my room daily.
“One of each, haven’t really spoken to them in a few years, not since mum and dad died.” He replies easily, a slight shrug of his shoulders. My heart breaks at the fact he has lost his parents, probably normal, loving parents, parents who would have done anything for him.
“What age did you lose you Virginity at?” I ask him working my way through my second scotch. My vision begins to become slightly blurred, and my words slur a little.
“Fourteen.” He blushes. I mean he actually blushes. I begin to wonder, thanks to the scotch, how far that delectable blush goes down.
“Who with?” this should be interesting, what was it, head of the netball team, some cougar from next door?
“My next door neighbor, she was a year older.” Bazinga, so it was the girl next door scenario. Beautiful girl meets beautiful guy and they join together in hormone fuelled sex frenzies.
I squirm in my seat at the thought of a teenage Leighton. Was he as built and toned then? Was his dick as big? What did his dick even look like now, because I’m not a hundred percent sure I have actually seen it. In my dreams the thing was massive, the Loch Ness Monster of his fricking pants.