Save Me (Saved Series, Book One)

by Laura L. Cline

  My phone rings, Jack’s name and sexy picture popping up on the screen. Suddenly, nothing else matters but hearing his voice.

  “Hey babe,” I say.

  “Hey, sexy lady.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

  “I’m just leaving Claire’s,” I say, waiting until we finish the call before I get on the road.

  “I’m still at the mill,” he says, sounding tired.

  “Have you heard from your lawyer?” I ask, holding my breath.

  “Yeah, he said he called Nick’s father’s office, but he was out. He said he sent him an email, too, so hopefully we’ll know what’s going on tomorrow.”

  The first tiny misleading snowflake lands on my windshield. “Uh-oh,” I say.

  “What is it?” Jack asks.

  “The snow’s starting.” I was hoping the storm would pass us by, but it looks like it’s going to at least pay us a visit.

  “Not here yet,” Jack says. “I wouldn’t mind it, to be honest. We’d be snowed in together.”

  The thought of Jack and me with nowhere to be other than with each other makes the snow seem like a great thing.

  “What time do you think you’ll be at the house?” Jack asks.

  I look at the clock. “Maybe 6:30. I’m gonna stop by my apartment and grab a few things.”

  “You should let me come get you. That way, your car is still at your apartment and you won’t be out driving in this shit.”

  “Alright, just come on when you’re finished,” I say.

  “Sure thing, love you,” Jack says, and the words still hit me right in the gut.

  “Love you, too,” I answer.

  I end the call and pull out of Claire’s driveway. The snow is picking up and swirling around in the beam of my headlights.

  Once I get to my apartment, I notice the grass is already getting covered in places. I bound up the steps to my door, eager to get out of the cold. I stick my key in the lock and make my way inside as fast as I can.

  I grab my overnight bag, which has been getting a lot of use lately, and start to throw some stuff inside it. I know I won’t have class tomorrow if the snow comes, so I find warm, comfortable clothes to just lie around in. And the black lace panty and bra set I bought with the red one. I grin and get excited at the thought.

  My apartment looks so deserted, so foreign as I finish packing. The pictures and memories are all here, but I don’t feel like I’m here. I feel like I’m going home when I pull in Jack’s driveway. I guess I’d made my mind up long before now, or at least my heart had decided. I turn off my bedroom light and carry my bag into the living room.

  Knock, knock.

  I smile to myself, glad that he's early and anxious to tell him that I want to live with him. I leap from the couch, unlock the locks and open the door. The smile dies on my face.

  “Hey, Carly. Can I come in?”

  I hesitate. Not only do I not want to invite Nick in, I know Jack would go ape shit.

  “What do you want?” I hold the door open only as much as I need to to hear what he has to say.

  He looks at me and I wonder again why I ever let him treat me the way he did. Why did I ever let this person make me feel like I wasn’t worth being loved?

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Nick says. His long face looks even thinner than usual.

  “Yeah right,” I say.

  “No, really,” he says. He fiddles with his car keys.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask.

  “I thought if I could talk to you face to face, you’d get it.” His pale gray eyes look weird, like he’s on something.

  “There’s nothing to get, Nick,” I say. “We were never even a couple, so what’s with all the drama? You never acted like I meant anything to you.”

  “I know and that was my fault. I didn’t realize what I had, not until you broke it off.”

  “Too little, too late,” I say, making to close the door. He puts his hand on it and pushes a little.

  “I know why you feel that way, Carly. I get it now.” He shuffles his feet nervously. “I’m sorry I never realized that you deserved to be treated better than I treated you. It wasn’t right.”

  Nick has never been one for having a conscience, at least not while I’ve known him and last night proved just how cruel he can be.

  “You pull that shit last night, threaten to put a man in jail, and then come here expecting me to want to see your face?”

  “Please, Carly. I need to talk to you. Just a few more minutes.”

  “You’re not coming in,” I warn. “Take your fucking hand off my door.” He pulls his arm back and I wait. My heart starts hammering in my chest and I want to claw his eyes out.

  “Or what?” Nick says, his face hardening in the pale yellow glow of my porch light.

  “Jack’s on his way,” I start, “that’s what.”

  “No he’s not,” Nick says, putting his hand back on my door. He has no way of knowing that he won’t be here for almost an hour.

  “Yes, he is,” I argue. Nick pushes harder on the door, but I hold it. “As a matter of fact,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket, “I’m going to tell him you’re here.”

  Nick reaches out and grabs my phone.

  “Hey!” I shout and reach for it. It gives him the opportunity to push the door all the way open. He shoves me hard on the shoulder and I topple back into the living room. He tosses my phone out the door and onto my porch. I watch as he turns the locks.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  “Your boyfriend was wrong,” he says, his voice is guttural and foreign. “I’m gonna put more than a finger on you.”

  I draw back to punch him, but he dodges it and catches my arm. He bends it backward and I cry out in pain.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he mutters. Nick jerks me toward him and he’s at my neck. I yank my arm, but he won’t let go.

  “Nick, why are you doing this?”

  “Because I can,” he whispers. I can smell something strong on his breath, some awful whiskey mixed with something else.

  I struggle against him and manage to free my arm. I round on my toes and catch him in the side of the head. He stumbles against the wall and manages to right himself as I sprint toward my bedroom door.

  Nick’s fingers suddenly twist in my hair and he wrenches me backward and punches me in the stomach. All the breath in me goes out in a whoosh and I struggle to cry out.

  “You fucking bitch,” he groans. I whimper as he clamps his fingers down on both my arms. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  “That’s what you think,” I say, gaining the breath to fight back. My head makes contact with his nose as I throw back into his face. The sound is like wood splintering underneath a heavy boot.

  I run to my bedroom and struggle to close the door, but Nick’s long, strong arm reaches through and it won’t close. My heart threatens to burst from the crazy beat it’s in.

  “Stop it, Nick!” I scream. I beat at his arm and sink my fingernails in, bringing blood out on his skin.

  “I’m going to make you pay for that,” Nick howls.

  He shoves the door open and I fall hard into the chest of drawers. Bottles and random junk falls down around me as my head makes contact with the edge of the hard wood with a heavy thud. Silver and pink swirls erupt in my vision and I go woozy.

  Nick kicks my now useless legs and I struggle to get control of my head again. Splitting pain radiates from my temple and my vision fogs over and then clears only to fog over again. Nick leans down and wipes at something on my forehead.

  “Ugh,” I groan as nausea settles heavy in my stomach. I look up at him and notice blood trickling from his nose. He wipes at it and then smiles at me.

  “We’re gonna have us a good time,” Nick says, unbuckling his belt buckle.

  I finally start to feel my body again, but moving is slow and disconnected. I pull my legs up, but he reaches down and jerks them towa
rd where he stands. My already aching head hits the floor and I see nothing but colors again.

  “Took the fight right outta you, didn’t it?” he sneers. The swirling stars before my eyes are starting to fade, but the dull ache in my temple throbs in time with my frantic heartbeat.

  “This is rape,” I mutter. “You’re gonna be the one who goes to jail. That is if Jack doesn’t kill you first.”

  Nick’s jaw tenses and he pulls his belt free from his pants. “That piece of shit can’t do anything to me. Who’s a judge going to believe? Me? Or you?”

  He twists the belt back and forth between his hands as I try to clear my muddled brain. I shakily push myself up on my hands and the room spins.

  “Get up,” Nick says.

  “I’m fucking trying to,” I groan. He kicks my legs again and I wince, but manage to get to a half leaning, half standing position. The whole world is spinning, blurry and out of focus. Blood is running down my cheek and into the corner of my mouth.

  “Get on the bed,” Nick says.

  “Fuck you,” I say, spitting a mouthful of blood in his face. He punches me so hard my jaw feels like it dislocates from my skull and the pain in my head blossoms into a full scale riot. I feel my lip split open and taste the coppery blood in my mouth.

  “You will,” he says as he wipes the mix of my blood and his own off his face. He pushes me forward and I fall on the edge of the bed before sliding to the floor.

  “Fuck, do I have to lift your ass up?” he groans. He puts both arms underneath my armpits and I feebly slap at him. He hoists me onto the bed and I can’t help but lie there, face down and helpless, bleeding all over the quilt my grandma made for me when I was sixteen. I feel myself starting to slip into unconsciousness, but I fight to stay awake.

  “Take your fucking pants off!” Nick shouts, his voice sounding almost robotic. When I can’t manage to move, Nick leans in and tugs at the button of my jeans. I focus all my effort on staying alert and wait for him to get low enough to reach. I hold my breath and then I strike, kicking him as hard as I can in the balls.

  “Oof!” his breath comes out in a groan and he falls backward into a heap. “You fucking bitch!” he gasps as he cups his balls. I scramble to my feet and try to get out the door. Why won’t someone help me? I know they can hear this, so I scream for help.

  “Shut the fuck up!” He shouts, scrambling to his feet in a hunched over position. He swings the belt and the buckle hits me across the back. I feel my skin burn and the flow of blood trickles down my spine.

  His hands wrap in my hair again and he yanks me back on the bed with a thud. Blood pools in my right eye and everything is red and blurry. It's almost like wearing those 3D glasses at the movies and it makes my nausea worsen.

  Nick stands and hobbles to the bed, his hands still on his aching balls.

  “You stupid cunt,” he says, spitting blood on the floor.

  “Nick,” I manage. “Please don’t do this.” I hate the begging in my voice, the pleading and the fear.

  He smacks me hard across the face again and I kick at him, but miss. I scream again and he clamps his hand over my mouth. A small silver knife glints in the corner of my good eye.

  “Scream again and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he growls.

  Nick jerks the button up shirt I’m wearing open at the front in one swift movement. His looks me over hungrily and stares at my breasts. I’m wearing a fancy lacy bra, one I bought for Jack.

  “What’s he done to you? Has he made you forget who you are?” he sneers, letting the hand not holding the knife to my throat grab my breast. I start to cry and he squeezes until it hurts. “You were my whore before you were his.”

  I sob again as he puts his mouth to my neck and licks me, his hot tongue stopping at my collar bone. My chest heaves as he brings his mouth over my breast and bites at my nipple through the bra. I feel a lurch in my stomach and my body starts to shake out of revulsion. He pulls the knife away from my neck and traces it down my stomach, the sharp point digging in along my skin.

  “Unbutton your pants,” he mutters.

  My stiff fingers don’t want to cooperate, but I manage to undo the button and zipper. I cry so hard my whole body shakes, but Nick just stares at me with his crazed eyes.

  “Nick, please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me.” I cry instead of breathe.

  “Shut up,” he says, grabbing the side of my jeans and yanking it down my hip. He jerks the other side down, back and forth, and then pulls the jeans off. He wipes at his nose and the blood that still runs from it with my pants.

  The hand holding the knife comes forward and in my half-conscious mind, I know he’s going to stab me. He slips the blade under the plain white cotton of my panties and cuts, pulling them away from my body.

  I start to pull my legs up, to hide myself from him, but Nick waves the knife again.

  “I’m gonna tell you one more time. Don’t fucking move.”

  My legs fall back on the bed and I cry that much harder. Please help me, Jack! Please! Every tear that pours down my face is a prayer that he’ll get here in time to stop Nick if I can’t find a way to do it myself.

  Nick unzips his pants and I can feel the Chinese food coming back up. I turn my head and vomit on the bed, each lurch of my abdomen causing a fresh wave of pain in my head.

  “Aw, fuck!” Nick scowls. He backs away from my vomit. “Come here,” he barks, grabbing me by the hair to pull me off the bed and back onto the floor. My knees dig into the carpet and the sting of the burn clears my head a little. I try to angle myself to be able to kick him again if he drops his guard.

  “Nick, you need to stop,” I attempt. “You know you don’t wanna do this.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he grins. He puts his hot hands on my knees and starts to pull them apart. I fight him, clamping my legs closed as tightly as I can. Nick jerks them open and sharp pain shoots from my hips.

  "Get the fuck off me!" I scream.

  "Do I need to cut you? Carve up that pretty face? I'm sure Loverboy would drop you like a bad habit then," Nick chuckles. He turns the knife back and forth, reminding me that he's got the power. The door crashes open and I look up.

  "Don't be so sure about that," Jack says, shoving Nick off me. I scream and scramble into the corner behind the door.

  Jack's boot makes contact with Nick's chest as he kicks him and the knife flies out of Nick's hand to land underneath my vanity. Jack's face is almost monstrous, filled with rage. I watch as Nick curls up in a ball, trying to catch his breath. Jack straddles him and grabs his shirt collar.

  He punches him then, the force of it knocking Nick's head to the side like a balloon. Jack hits him over and over, blood and spit flying from Nick's mouth. I sit in the corner and cry, the tears coming out of my swollen eye and landing on my chest. I watch it all like a movie; Jack's fists hit with dull thuds instead of the Hollywood bam sound. Everything goes in slow motion and I watch Nick's eyes close as he passes out.

  "Jack!" I try to yell. "Stop, you're going to kill him! He's not moving!"

  Jack raises his fist to pummel him again and it's covered in blood. He comes back to himself then and looks at me. He drops Nick to the floor and walks slowly to me.

  "Oh god," he mutters, his face softening out of the craze he was in. He puts his hand up to my head and then gently touches my eye. "Oh god."

  "Call the cops, Jack," I manage.

  He pulls his phone from his coat pocket with shaking hands and dials 911. I swallow blood and wince as it goes down my throat.

  "Yes, my name is Robert Webster. I'm at 441 Birch Road. My girlfriend's been attacked, I think she's been raped," he swallows hard. "I beat the guy up. He's here. It's Nick Anderson, Jeffrey Anderson's son."

  I look past Jack at Nick's limp body. His face is bloody and swelling up, his thin hair is matted to his head.

  "Please get an ambulance here, she's bleeding and I hurt him." Terror fills every part of Jack from his frantically moving, bloody
hands to his wide, startled eyes. I hold on to his arm to tether myself to the waking world. I want to go to sleep so badly.

  Jack ends the call and then takes in all the damage to my face. He jerks the blood and vomit covered quilt off the bed and then pulls the sheet underneath it free. He kneels and wraps it around my naked lower body. He slides one arm underneath my knees and the other around my back to lift me from the floor. I keep my eyes on Nick, watching for any movement. His chest rises and falls, so at least I know Jack didn't kill him.

  Jack carries me into the living room and sits me on the couch. I cough and spit blood down my chest. My ribs hurt and my throat burns.

  "Oh, Carly," he moans, tears slipping down his cheeks. My vision is clear but my head feels so heavy.

  "Jack, he didn't rape me. You got here in time." I reach for his hand and it's so hot when he puts it in mine. My fingers feel alien, like an artificial limb.

  "I'm gonna kill him," Jack says, turning toward the bedroom.

  "No, Jack!" I attempt to yell. He turns from the door and I hear the sound of sirens. "You can't do that."

  "Carly, what he's done to you," Jack says, wiping tears from his face. His hands leave bloody streaks down his cheeks and I shudder.

  I cough again and feel it in my whole body. I pull the sheet around me. "I know, but you'll be a murderer. Don't do it. Let him rot in jail."

  I can hear the heavy footfalls of the police on my stairs. Jack's key to my place still hangs in the open front door. A tall policeman rushes in with his gun drawn.

  "He's in there," Jack says, pointing to my room.

  The officer eyes Jack before moving past him as more men filter in my apartment. Another officer follows the first and then another comes over to me. An EMT hurries in carrying a big red duffel bag. Snow blows in through the wide open door and the cold that accompanies it cuts through the thin sheet around me.

  "Ma'am, are you in any condition to tell me what happened?" the officer asks. I shake my head and the EMT pushes him out of the way and starts to assess my injuries. Another EMT runs toward my bedroom to attend to my would be rapist. Two more officers flank my door on either side, their faces washed in flashing blue and red lights.