by Nikki Ashton
Love Struck
nikki ashton
Contents
Prologue
1. Adam
2. Sarah
3. Adam
4. Sarah
5. Adam
6. Sarah
7. Adam
8. Sarah
9. Adam
10. Sarah
11. Adam
12. Sarah
13. Adam
14. Sarah
15. Adam
16. Sarah
17. Adam
18. Sarah
19. Adam
20. Sarah
21. Adam
22. Sarah
23. Adam
24. Adam
25. Adam
26. Sarah
27. Adam
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Nikki’s links
Nikki’s Book Links
Copyright © Nikki Ashton 2020
All Rights Reserved ©
Love Struck
Published by Bubble Books Ltd
The right of Nikki Ashton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs 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, without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A reviewer may quote brief passages for review purposes only
This book may not be resold or given away to other people for resale. Please purchase this book from a recognised retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Love Struck
First published May 2020
All Rights Reserved ©
Cover design – LJ Stock of LJ Designs
Edited by – Anna Bloom
Formatted by – Tammy Clarke of The Graphics Shed
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For the incredible NHS Staff and Key Workers who kept us all alive and well during such an awful time. 2020 is a year that will never be forgotten, and neither will all of you.
Prologue
The young boy with the big blue eyes held his breath as his stepdad watched the boy’s mum button up her coat. She was going to the doctor’s surgery to get his new baby brother or sister checked out because there wasn’t long to go now before the baby would be there. The boy was glad because maybe with a new baby in the house his stepdad would be too busy to bother with him. It wasn’t his stepdad’s baby, not this stepdad anyway, it was the one before; but the boy didn’t think this stepdad cared.
“How long will you be?” his stepdad asked.
His mum shrugged. “Depends if the doctor is running late. I’ll call at the supermarket on the way home and grab something for dinner.” She turned to her son who was chewing on his lip. “Be good and make sure you tidy your room like I asked.”
The boy bobbed his blond head and screwed his fingers together. He’d heard his stepdad complain about the mess in his room to his mum, he knew who thought it was messy.
His mum kissed his stepdad on the cheek. “See you later, love.”
“Yeah, later.”
When they heard the front door click shut the boy tried to run, but a big hand caught him around the arm and fat fingers pinched his skin through the SpongeBob t-shirt he was wearing.
“What did I tell you about keeping your room tidy?”
His stepdad always spat when he talked to the boy and there was always dried, white stuff at the corners of his mouth. He had bad breath too and the boy had no idea how his Mum could kiss him. It smelled like the pieces of old meat his first stepdad, Dean, used to catch fish with.
“I was going to do it, but Mum asked me to put the bins out,” the boy said.
“Oh, and that takes all day, does it?”
The boy shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “I had homework too.”
His stepdad let go of his arm and hit him around the back of the head, making the boy stumble forward.
“What have I told you about back-chatting me?”
The boy tried not to wince; it was better to stay still. He also knew that the slap around the head was just the start of what was to come. It never stopped with one slap and angry words.
“Not to,” the boy said. “But you asked me a question.”
If he was going to get hit, he might as well make it worth the while. No point getting a beating just for not tidying his room.
“You little fucker.”
Spittle hit the boy’s cheeks and as he lifted a hand to wipe the wetness away, a punch landed on his stomach.
It was hard and fast, and it made all the air rush from his lungs. He tried hard not to make a noise, but when he fell back onto his bum, he couldn’t help the groan that barked into the air.
He didn’t have time to try and drag a breath in before he felt a boot in his back. It wasn’t a kick, but more of a push that sent him sprawling onto the thin brown carpet. His chin hit the floor and his head bounced like his football did when he was practicing his dribbling skills in the yard. As it came back down the boy felt his teeth bite into the inside of his bottom lip instantly filling his mouth with blood.
A hand then grabbed the front of the boy’s hair and pulled his head back until his neck was straining and he was almost choking. The boot came again, this time in his side before he was flipped onto his back and a heel was plunged into his stomach, in the same place the punch had been landed.
All the time the boy tried hard not to cry. The pain was horrific, but the shame of crying would be worse.
Pride had become his shield. Pain had become his motivation.
As more blows were rained upon his small body the boy closed his eyes and imagined his stepdad dying a horrible death. Maybe falling off a ladder and landing onto a spiked fence; a long thin spike pushing through his stomach and coming out through his back.
One day the boy would make sure he did die, maybe not with a spike, but maybe when he was bigger, he would punch him to death. Until that day the boy knew he would never trust anyone ever again. It would be better to hurt them before they could hurt him.
When his Mum came home later that night with minced beef to make burgers for dinner, the boy was tidying his room. When she put dinner on the table, she asked the boy if he was okay because he looked pale.
“I’m fine thanks,” he replied. “Dinner is nice.”
His mum gave his stepdad a strange look and then took a huge drink of her water, speaking to the boy without looking at him. “When you’ve finished your dinner go straight to bed.”
The boy chewed the burger, which tasted like crap, the best he could with a swollen lip, and nodded.
He finished his dinner and went to bed, deciding that the next day he would tell someone other than his mum what his stepdad did to him. He’d tell his friend Ellis’ mum; she was kind and gentle and had the most beautiful smile; she would believe him.
The next day his little sister was born, and the boy knew he couldn’t tell anyone because even though he was mean and cruel, they needed his stepdad more now than ever.
1
Adam
According to the dictionary, shock is the state of insufficient blood flow to
the tissues of the body as a result of problems with the circulatory system. Initial symptoms of shock may include weakness, fast heart rate, fast breathing, sweating, anxiety and increased thirst. This may be followed by confusion, unconsciousness or cardiac arrest.
Add to that being struck dumb, and I had every reaction covered.
My dad strode towards me as though it was perfectly normal, as though he did it every day, yet I hadn’t seen him since I was five years old.
Despite the years, I recognised him instantly from the old photograph that I’d looked at so many times. His hair was shorter, and he was wearing clothes of a much different style. He was dressed like… like a teacher. He looked like a teacher, any teacher, but still looked like the man from the picture who I’d been desperate to see. It was him. It was my dad.
With Sarah shaking and whimpering in my arms, I looked at him and my heart pounded like it was too big for my chest. It was about to burst with the pressure of the blood pumping through it. He’d come back, after thirteen years, and the sight of him made me want to puke. I’d always thought I’d run into his arms and tell him how much I’d missed him, but all I could taste was bitterness and fury.
“Adam, please make him go away.” Sarah’s pained cries brought me back to my senses and my gaze fell to her.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered and pulled her tighter against my chest. “It’s okay, you’re safe with me.”
“Adam,” my dad said, his low growl startling me. Sarah shuddered with a fresh round of screaming. “We need to talk, son.”
With my lips against Sarah’s hair, I shook my head and croaked out, “No. You need to go.”
I couldn’t look at him, because I was scared that if I did, I might throw myself into his arms. Despite how much I wanted him away from Sarah, I needed him here with me. I needed my dad to hold me and tell me that no one would ever hurt me again and that he would protect me.
I’d always needed him, for thirteen long years.
A loud scream caught my attention and I glanced across the carpark. Sarah’s mum ran towards us, cutting off anything else I might say to him.
“Get away from my daughter, you bastard, get away from her now.”
“Mum, please,” Sarah begged, as her fingertips dug into my arms, while the rest of her body shook. “Make him go. Adam, help make him go away.” Wide, scared eyes pleaded with me.
Sarah’s mum slammed fisted hands into my dad’s chest, so much force behind each powerful thump that he staggered backwards.
“You’re a dirty rapist bastard. You should be in prison.”
Tears ran down her face, and her chest heaved as she threw blow after blow at him. He didn’t respond, except to hold his arms out to the side.
“Just go,” I shouted at him. “Get out of here.”
Mrs Danes continued to hit him, but still he stood there, taking every hit, while Sarah’s cries echoed through my soul.
“What the hell is going on here?”
I looked up to see Miss Daniels and Mr Brewster, our Deputy Head, had come outside. They must have seen the commotion from the window. My stomach turned at the thought, of who else might have seen. Too many people would now know Sarah’s secret, which in turn was now my secret too.
“Get this man away from here,” Mrs Danes cried, trying to take in gulping breaths. “He shouldn’t be here. He should be in jail.”
“I think you know that’s not true,” Dad said, and he took a step away from Sarah’s mum. “I was found innocent. I am innocent.”
“No, you fucking lied, you bastard.” Mrs Danes pulled Sarah from me and enveloped her in a safety blanket of the purple wool of her coat.
Reluctantly I let her go but she reached out her hand, so I took it back gladly. I needed to touch her, but I also needed it to stop me from doing something that I might regret, like punching my dad or even hugging him.
“I think you need to go,” Mr Brewster said, moving towards my dad.
He held up his hands and then glanced at me. “Okay, but can I at least speak to my son first?”
“You’re his son,” Mrs Danes gasped and pulled Sarah closer until our fingertips barely touched. “Oh my God.”
I blew out a breath as I tried to hold my crumbling emotions together.
“I-I-I didn’t know.” I shook my head and just about managed to brush my fingertips across Sarah’s. “I swear I didn’t know.”
Tears built against my lashes. Sarah stayed silent but stared at me with wary eyes. The moment stretched as I waited for the trust and bond we’d created between us to crumble into ash on the floor.
2
Sarah
I opened my eyes and winced at the pain thudding in my temples. Hazy thoughts of something happening caused fear to pump around my chest. Then I remembered.
He was here.
I sat up, gasping, and tried to catch my breath as I looked around me.
I was in my room at home.
I was safe.
I was in my room at home and I was safe.
My gut ached with tension as the vision of him walking towards me played on a loop in my brain. I wouldn’t forget it; something chilling and terrifying to add to the memory bank of the other nightmares I’d gone through over the last year.
I needed to deal with it, couldn’t ignore it, because if I did, I would surely go under. He’d been here—at my new school. My stomach rolled and I leaned over to drag in a gasping breath.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…
Breathing heavily, I pulled my feet from under the duvet and dropped them to the floor. With my head in my hands I tried to remember everything else that happened. I had no recollection of getting home. The last memory flitting through my head was being in Mum’s arms, wrapped in purple wool, desperate for Adam’s hand to be in mine, like both our lives depended on it.
Adam?
There was something about Adam that I needed to recall, something important. The more I tried to think about it, the more my head hurt. I pushed two fingers to each of my temples and massaged them in slow circles, following the breathing routine I’d been taught. Only at number seven I heard the raised voices; Mum and Adam shouting, at each other?
I pushed off from the bed and went to my door, cracking it open slowly to avoid the creak. They’d seemed to get on, why were they rowing?
I padded down the hallway but their voices weren’t quite so loud as I’d first thought, although I could hear Mum crying.
“What’s going on?” I asked. My eyes stung and I blinked fast, rubbing at them. “Why are you shouting?”
Mum rushed to my side and pulled me tight into her arms, cradling my head against her chest.
“Oh sweetheart,” she whispered. “You should have stayed in bed.”
“How you feeling?” Adam’s voice was tentative, nothing like the confident, swaggering footballer that I’d grown used to. I struggled against Mum’s hold to turn my head to look at him and I was shocked by what I saw. He looked drained, there was no colour to his cheeks and his eyes were heavy, devoid of any light. His hair was a mess like a thousand people had run their fingers through it, and his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of the hoodie that he was wearing over the top of his training shorts.
“Did you win your match?” I asked.
Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. I skipped it to be here with you.”
I pulled away from Mum and stepped towards him, but she pulled me back with her hand on my shoulder.
“Sarah, sweetheart. I think Adam should go home.”
Her voice was hard, and it surprised me. She had no idea how he’d treated me those first few weeks I’d started Maddison High. As far as she was concerned, we were going out, and she liked him. I thought she was happy for me.
“No.” I turned to her and narrowed my gaze. “I want him to stay. Why are you being like this?”
They exchanged a glance and Adam let out a pained groan.
“What’s going on? Why are you s
taring at Adam like he’s the devil?”
“Sarah—”
“No,” Mum butted in. “She’s had enough for one day. Adam, I think you should go.”
“It’s obvious she doesn’t remember, and I don’t want any secrets from her.” Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I want to tell her.”
“I don’t think—”
“What don’t I remember? What is it Adam wants to tell me?” I looked at Adam and gave him a smile. “Tell me, Adam because we don’t keep secrets from each other, remember.”
Adam blew out a breath and the knot in my stomach tightened. This was something big, something that had the ability to grind what we’d just started to a shuddering halt. I could feel it. I could see it in the tension of his shoulders and the caution in his blue eyes.
“I don’t see how telling you will help anything,” Mum protested. “Maybe Adam can come back tomorrow, when you’re feeling a little stronger. You might have remembered by then.”
“I won’t feel any stronger,” I replied and rounded on her. “Joshua Mills is here, Mum. In this town. He’s come for me, I know it. I don’t see how I’ll ever feel safe whilst he’s here. And what the hell am I supposed to remember?”
My hand shook as I pushed it up the arm of my jumper in order to feel the comfort of the jagged scar on my wrist; it helped me to remember I’d survived this nightmare once and I that could survive it again. I rubbed at the raised skin while an image of Mr Mills walking towards me across the car park flitted in front of my eyes. I squeezed them shut to try and push it away. Another fractured image of him staring at Adam filtered into my brain. Mum whimpered and I looked at her; her palm anchored against her chest, covering her heart, as she looked at Adam with pain etched into the fine lines at the edges of her eyes.