Haven's Knight

by Regan Ure

  HAVEN'S KNIGHT

  REGAN URE

  Copyright © 2015 Regan Ure

  All Rights Reserved

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: © L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations

  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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9932864-7-6

  I dedicate this book to my father. You were taken before I was ready but you live on in my heart and memories.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Haven

  I touched my red, stinging cheek and stared up at Grant, my stepfather. At over six feet tall, he towered over my small frame. My face hurt so badly, but I knew there wouldn’t be a bruise. He had learned early on that there was less chance of bruising if he hit me with an open hand.

  He raised his hand again, so I prepared myself for another hit. However, this time he fisted his hand and punched me in the stomach. Winded, I dropped to the kitchen floor as pain exploded where his fist connected. I squeezed my eyes closed as a wave of pain gripped me. On any area of my body that was covered by clothing, he would hit hard enough to leave bruises.

  I didn’t try to defend myself against the kick that came next. It was pointless, because if I tried to stop him, he would hit me harder. Pain erupted in my stomach again when his foot connected with me. Satisfied with the punishment he had given me, he glared at me before taking a swig of his beer. He spun around on his heels and walked out of the kitchen.

  Instantly, relief flooded through me. It was over, for the moment. I whimpered from the intense pain, but I didn’t cry. No matter how bad the beating was, I never cried. Even when he had broken my arm when I was twelve, I hadn't shed a tear. I never cried. It was my way to keep that part of me hidden. I hid it so deep inside so that no matter what happened to my body on the outside, I was still okay on the inside. If I was okay on the inside, I could carry on.

  When they’d taken me to the hospital with a broken arm the doctors had asked Grant questions, and he’d realized there would be less scrutiny if I didn’t make regular trips to the hospital. Since then, he never hit me hard enough to leave me with an injury that would entail such a trip.

  I lay on the dirty tiles of the kitchen floor, trying to breathe through the pain. I waited until I could sit up without the pain flaring up. I didn’t know what I’d done to set him off this time. Most of the time, just breathing was enough to offend him.

  Some days, I felt like his personal walking-and-talking punching bag. I was an object he could hit without any repercussions to ease his anger and frustration. I was never good enough or quiet enough to suit him.

  Up until the age of ten, I remembered being a happy and carefree child. My mom and dad had loved me, and I’d felt safe. That had all changed drastically the day my dad died. He had died suddenly from an aneurysm, and that was the moment that changed my life forever.

  My mother had disintegrated under the weight of her grief. Alcohol became her coping mechanism, and a way for her to numb the pain. From that moment on, I was just a reminder of what she had lost, and who she’d have to live without. All the love she had for me had evaporated, and all that remained was indifference. In a way, I had lost both my parents that day.

  It shouldn’t have been that way. A mother was supposed to love her child unconditionally, but mine hadn’t. I could have coped with her indifference, but then she’d met Grant only months after my father’s death. At first, I had hoped that he would help heal my broken family, but that hope had disappeared the first time he’d hit me. Over time, the hits had gradually gotten worse with every incident, and now I expected it.

  Finally, I took a deep breath and slowly tried to stand up. I wanted to stay where I was on the floor until the pain eased—I couldn't risk the chance that Grant would come back. My legs wobbled, but held when I stood upright. I kept my arms firmly wrapped around my aching stomach while I walked slowly out of the kitchen.

  Hesitantly, I did a quick scan of the tiny living room for Grant. The only thing there was the cigarette-burned, alcohol-stained two-seater couch that faced a bare wall. The room was empty of all other furnishings, because we couldn’t even afford a TV. I bit down on my lip as the pain in my stomach shot through my body. Even the walls were an off-white color that looked dirty.

  By the time I made it to my small bedroom I was in agony. I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it, sighing with relief. Grant rarely invaded the sanctuary of my bedroom to punish me. It terrified me that one day he might move on to other ways to punish me. Physically hurting me was one thing, but if he tried to do something worse, it would break me.

  I’d survived seven years of this, and I just had one year left in high school. After I graduated, I would have my high-school diploma, and then I could escape. I held onto the hope that soon I would be free.

  I shuffled to my bed, which was just a single mattress on the floor that was pushed up against the wall. The sheet that covered the mattress was a dull-gray color, though it had once been white. I lay down on the lumpy mattress, a groan escaping my lips from the pain. I reached down and pulled the medium-sized blanket, which had been folded at the foot of my bed, over me. I didn’t have much, but I made do.

  The light-blue walls of my room did nothing to lighten the heaviness inside of me. I watched as my old, tattered curtains moved with the slight whisper of wind through my window.

  There was no way I could tell anyone what was happening to me. Grant told me many times that he would kill me if I ever told anyone what was going on. There was no doubt in my mind that he meant what he’d said, so I kept my mouth shut.

  We had just moved to a new town a couple of weeks ago. Some of the teachers at the previous school I had attended had become suspicious about what was happening to me at home. It would only have been a matter of time before their suspicions were confirmed. Then social services would have been called in.

  Tomorrow, I was starting my senior year at a new school. It was not like
anyone from my old school was going to miss me anyway. I never made any friends because I kept to myself. It was just easier that way. I didn’t have to hide anything if I didn’t make friends.

  It was dark, and I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I was tired. I had spent most of the weekend trying to clean the tiny two-bedroom flat. My mom had no ambition, and her sole purpose in life was the ease her pain with bottles of cheap alcohol, so she didn’t work. She spent most of her time at home, drunk. Grant was the only provider, and he didn’t make much working as a mechanic. When he wasn’t working, he was with my mom, drinking. The only place we were able to afford had been in the seedy part of town. The apartment was small, but at least it was a roof over our heads.

  Despite the pain throbbing in my stomach, I pulled the blanket up to my chin. I closed my eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep. I didn’t have an alarm clock or a phone to set an alarm on, but somehow my body had an internal alarm, so I was wide awake by six the next morning.

  The pain in my stomach was still aching when I woke. My tummy rumbled. I decided to grab something to eat on my way out.

  I didn’t waste any time getting ready for school. Quickly, I pulled a brush through my shoulder-length dark hair. My eyes were the same shade of brown. My wardrobe was limited, but I found a clean pair of faded blue jeans and a shirt. I pushed my feet into my shoes. Everything I wore was secondhand and looked well-worn, but I tried not to let it bug me.

  With my high-school bag clutched tightly in my hand, I opened my bedroom door. Quietly, I tiptoed past Grant and my mom’s bedroom door. I didn’t want to run the risk of waking him, because he’d punish me. On the rare occasion I actually did something wrong, he would hit me harder.

  I made a quick stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then I went to the kitchen. There was not much food in the cupboards, so I grabbed two slices of bread. I stuffed the bread into my school bag while I darted toward the front door.

  I kept my eyes focused on the path ahead of me while I walked toward the bus stop. I ate the sliced bread as I walked. I was skinny. It was not a vanity thing for me; it was the fact that I never ate properly and often skipped meals to avoid Grant. The less he saw of me, the fewer opportunities he had to hit me.

  Consequently, the years of abuse had stripped away any confidence I had. I always kept my face down and rarely looked anyone in the eyes. I used my hair as a curtain to shield me from prying eyes. It was my only protection to help hide me from the world. There were times when I wished I were invisible. It would make things so much easier for me. The less interaction I had with other people the better, and it had worked for many years—I hadn’t formed any friendships. I had the body language down to a fine art; it said, “Leave me alone.”

  I didn’t have to wait long for the school bus. As it neared the stop I hitched my school bag back up on my shoulder. I climbed into the bus and kept my eyes fixed downward. The first open seat I came to was a window seat, so I sat and gazed out, looking at the scenery, but not really seeing it. I was too lost in my own thoughts. The nervous knots in my stomach worsened the closer I got to my new school. The bus pulled to a stop outside a modern-looking school building with a brick exterior. I filtered out of the bus with the rest of the students, all the time keeping my eyes down, not making any contact with anyone.

  I walked through the entrance of the school. I held the strap of my school bag nervously as I searched for the reception area to get my schedule and paperwork. I prayed that I would be able to find it on my own without having to stop and ask someone to point me in the right direction. Thankfully, I found it and walked through the door into a spacious office. Once in the reception area I waited patiently for someone to help me. An older lady with wire-rimmed glasses peered at me over her lenses.

  “How can I help you?” she asked kindly.

  “I’m new,” I said, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Luckily I was early, so the reception wasn’t busy.

  “What’s your name?” she asked when she glanced down at some paperwork in front of her.

  “Haven Williams,” I said while I anxiously clasped my hands together on the counter between us. She gave me a smile, probably to try to help me feel less nervous. It didn’t work.

  “You have a beautiful name,” she said before she looked down and selected a few pieces of paper and handed them to me.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Here’s your schedule,” she said while handing me another piece of paper. “Your locker number is written in the right-hand corner,” she informed me as she pointed at the numbers with a pen. Then, with another friendly smile, she said, “I hope you have a good first day.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled before I exited the reception area with the necessary papers in hand. I didn’t return her smile. Frankly, there was nothing in my life to smile about. The only thing I was thankful for was the fact that I was still alive. There had been a few times when Grant had lost control, and I’d been terrified that he’d kill me. Every day that I survived was a day that got me just a little closer to freedom.

  The hallway began to fill up with rowdy students as I tried to figure out where my locker was. The problem was that the gray rows of lockers on each side of all of the hallways made them all look exactly the same. Finally, after about fifteen minutes I was convinced that I had gone around in a complete circle. I was now at the school’s entrance once again. I let out a frustrated sigh and turned directly into something hard and solid. I lost my balance, but hands shot out and steadied me. I suppressed a groan at the dull pain that came when the hands gripped old bruises on my arms that were covered by my sleeves.

  “Careful,” an annoyed voice said to me. My eyes widened when I took in the sight of the owner of the voice. He was tall. He had the most hypnotic eyes that I had ever seen. His midnight-black hair was long enough to cover his dark, sapphire-blue eyes. My mouth dropped slightly open in shock. The pale-blue shirt he was wearing was molded to his athletic body, and he was wearing a pair of faded jeans that hung low on his hips. I’d seen good-looking guys before, but I kept well clear of all boys. Yet, one look into these deep blue eyes and I was losing myself. I felt a flutter in my stomach and my throat started to close up. My heartbeat sped up.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he spat gruffly and let me go, abruptly causing me to stumble a few steps back. The gruffness in his voice and the abruptness of his actions stung me. Was I so disgusting that he had to act like that? I stepped back and clutched my school bag defensively in front of me. I was using it like a barrier against what I was feeling at the very sight of him.

  I had to pull myself together. My gaze fell to the floor and I closed my mouth. I dug my fingers into the strap of my bag even tighter.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered when I walked away from him. I hurried down the hallway. I felt the red tinge of embarrassment on my cheeks and I dashed into the nearest bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. I splashed some water on my face and tried to pull myself together. I had no idea what time it was, but I didn’t want to be late for my first class.

  I walked out of the bathroom and decided to walk to the left in search of my locker. Finally, after another five minutes, I found my locker and I put some of my books in it. I still had to find the classroom for my first class before the bell rang. After studying the map for a minute, I realized that I needed to head in the opposite direction that I’d previously gone. Luckily, this time I managed to find the classroom, and I made it to the room just as the bell rang.

  The class was nearly full, so there were only a couple of seats empty. I walked directly to the nearest empty seat and sat down. I dropped my bag next my chair and waited for the lesson to begin. The hum of conversation surrounded me, but I didn’t look up until the teacher started the lesson.

  My first class seemed to end almost as quickly as it had begun. When the bell rang I quickly put my books back into my bag and walked out of the room, making sure not to make eye contact with
anyone. I found the next classroom easier than the first one, and I walked in and found an empty seat, sitting my bag down to get my books out. I kept my face hidden behind the curtain of my hair. Ignoring the students talking and walking past me, I just kept my gaze on the writing pad in front of me.

  Suddenly, I felt someone brush past the back of my chair and I heard the distinctive scrape of a chair being pulled out from the desk next to me. I heard a schoolbag drop to the floor next to the desk and I heard someone sit down beside me. I glanced at my neighbor out of the corner of my eye. Instantly, I felt the flutter in my stomach again, and my heart instantly began to speed up. Sitting beside me, watching me, was the guy I’d walked into earlier.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Haven

  I quickly averted my gaze, and for the entire lesson I refused to allow my eyes to drift in his direction. It was hard to concentrate on what the teacher was droning on about when I could feel him staring at me.

  You can do this! I told myself.

  I didn’t have time for pointless crushes. I had enough on my plate. I was in survival mode, and that didn’t include complicated things like boys. There was no way I could form any kind of relationship with anyone, because if I did they would notice things like my skittish behavior and the bruises. I couldn’t risk that, not now—I was so close to being free.

  After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the class. I gathered my stuff and shoved it into my schoolbag before I made a quick exit. I hoped that he was not in any of my other classes. The less I saw of him the better.

  The rest of the morning went by quickly. I kept my gaze down and never made eye contact with anyone. I even managed to keep the friendliest and wanting-to-make-a-friend type students at bay with my clear body language that told them to stay away.

  At lunchtime, I stayed clear of the cafeteria. I decided to go outside and sit by the athletic field. It was fairly quiet, and there were only a few students sitting on the grass eating their lunch. I found a spot far from the others and lay down on the grass and looked up into the sky. It was quiet outside except for the low murmur of voices around me.