by Juli Valenti
Synopsis
Drew Townsend has lived anything but a charmed life. When her mother died from cancer, her father snapped, using her as his own personal punching bag. After taking one too many beatings, she took things into her own hands. Determined to escape the nightmare she was living, a desperate Drew does the only thing she can think of to end it all.
Jensen Marks, a former Marine and now police officer in the small town of Chance, had seen a lot of things in his years – war, beatings, crying children – yet none of it kept him up at night. So once he met Drew, he’s perplexed by the way she got under his skin. After years of everyone turning their back on what was going on, Jensen takes it upon himself to see a change in her.
Can Jensen help Drew pick up the missing pieces of herself or will he push her into losing yet another piece in Chance?
Copyright © 2015 Juli Valenti
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of complete fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Editing by Kristina Circelli with RedRoadEditing
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Cover & Formatting by Rene Folsom with Phycel Designs
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Dedication
For my sons, the biggest pieces of me, Dylan and Landon. Mommy loves you.
Chapter One
Drew
Drew sat up, wide awake, clutching the sheet tightly to her chest, startled by the abrupt opening of her bedroom door. Glancing at the clock she noted it was early, not even six yet, way before she was supposed to be up and ready for school. Her heart was pounding as she prayed that he wasn’t coming in her room. She hadn’t done anything, at least not yet, had she?
Scouring her mind, she could come up with nothing she hadn’t completed as she was expected. She’d been up well into the early morning hours cleaning the floor, on her hands and knees, so everything would be perfect. Laundry was done, along with the ironing and folding, and there wasn’t a dish in the sink, she was sure of it.
The first thing she saw peek around the edge of the door was a shock of bright red hair, which instantly made her relax. Other than herself, there was only one person in the house with that hair: her brother, Dean. His smile was quick to follow as he entered her room, carrying a blue plastic tackle box. Dean said nothing as he shut the door behind him and made his way to the end of her bed. Silently he pulled items from the bucket before scooting over to her.
“Come on, Drew,” he said urgently, his voice soft. One thing she always loved about her brother was that he didn’t treat her differently. He didn’t stop speaking to her because she could now barely hear him; instead he continued to talk to her like he used to, knowing that even if she couldn’t hear him that she’d understand. Even when she couldn’t see his lips move, forming words as if his lips were a pen and the air was paper, Drew always understood.
As twins, they’d been born a mere two minutes apart, Dean being the ‘oldest’ by a few measly minutes, which he never let her forget. But, they were more than just siblings, brother and sister, twins. He was her only real friend, the only person in the entire world who knew what life was really like for Drew. Without Dean as her constant, she was sure she would have completely crumbled a long time ago.
Dropping the sheet, not at all uncomfortable with her brother seeing her in her plain, ratty T-shirt that she’d worn to bed, she closed her eyes and angled her face up. With precision that he shouldn’t have, Dean applied makeup onto her face. Unlike most girls who could do this herself, Drew had to rely on someone else to put on the professional costume paint that she’d come to need so badly. The day that Dean had showed her the set he’d bought for her, she’d cried, completely breaking down at the thought that he loved her enough to help her conceal their darkest secret.
Drew kept still, not allowing herself to flinch when the sponge touched the sensitive, bruised flesh around her eyes. She knew it had to be done, today just as many others before. To say this was a rare occurrence, or even an often thing, would be completely false. No, this was their routine every day and had been for as long as Drew could remember. They were pressed for time, though, as soon it would be time to go to school.
If he knew that Dean came in to help her today, or any day, really, it would not be pretty for her. Of course, Dean, himself, would not be affected – nothing bad ever happened to her brother, something Drew knew hurt him. For her, though, it was just another day, another bruise or welt, another moment in time that she would live through.
Long moments later, she opened her eyes to find Dean gazing down at her, sadness filling his entire expression. Her heart clenched and she reached for his hand.
“Don’t,” she murmured, the single word feeling foreign as it left her lips - she didn’t speak often anymore.
Her brother swallowed hard, closing his eyes tightly as if to forget the image of her face that he spent the last minutes covering up, fixing, making perfect once more. He nodded, and glanced at the clock, before mouthing “school” before standing with his case and leaving her to get dressed.
Standing, she was careful not to stretch, despite her body wanting her to. She’d learned quickly, in probably only a few days, and her whole routine had changed so not to create more hurt. Moving slowly, Drew made her way to the small dresser that contained all of her clothes and pulled out her new self-imposed uniform. Once, a long time ago, she used to wear clothes like the other girls did at school, the trendy, popular girls. Low-rise jeans, fun, brightly colored tops, and shoes to match. But that seemed like another life ago … or, well, a mother ago.
Drew tried to stop her thoughts, not wanting to travel the road they’d take her on as she took in what now remained of her ‘princess’ room. The walls were no longer the bright pink she and her mom had painstakingly painted; instead they glared back at her, almost angry, in a dingy off-white that he’d decided was more fitting with the rest of the house. The next day, after she’d cried for the loss of the memory more than the color of her walls, her four-poster, cherry-wood bed was gone, replaced with a tiny twin bed. As the days passed, more and more of her precious furniture disappeared, only a few being replaced, the rest a gaping hole in her room, much like her heart.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she gently pulled her jeans on, along with a plain blue, long-sleeved T-shirt and gray hooded sweatshirt. Drew had never been more grateful for winter to come, the chill allowing her to keep herself together in the form of ill-fitting, too-large clothes. Slipping on her beaten Bobs shoes, the ones that no longer sparkled because they were easier to put on than tennis shoes, she tentatively put her ear to the door, praying for quiet beyond her room. She almost chuckled at the thought, not like that worked anymore … he’d seen to that. Still, she didn’t feel any vibrations coming from the other side. Hoping for the best, she pulled the knob, and made her way downstairs.
Luck was with her as she entered the kitchen to find it empty. Gathering the trash, all but tiptoeing around the room to avoid bringing attention to herself, she placed it by the door before snatching a banana out of the bowl on the counter. It was bruised, no longer yellow, now an ugly spotted brown, but she’d still eat it. She snorted softly. Bruised, yep. Turning, she ran into a very masculine chest and squeaked, sta
rtled.
“Easy, Drew,” Dean said, giving her a halfhearted grin at catching her unaware. He reached around her to grab the last apple, slipping it into the backpack already slung onto his back. Together they moved to the door, where he tried to grab the garbage bags, but she slapped at his hand.
“No,” she told him, meaning it. If he saw that Dean was helping her, it would be worse for her later, and it certainly wasn’t worth it. Lifting her book bag from the floor by the back door, she slipped it on, inwardly groaning at its weight before picking up the trash.
Dean moved in front of her, opening the door for her and ushering them out of the house. At the end of the driveway she dropped the bags into the bins, wishing she could do the same with her book bag. Had she brought home every book she owned? Man, it was heavy. Drew and her brother walked in silence, a silence that was no longer uncomfortable for her. In fact, she relished in it. Sure, she hadn’t wanted to live in a world of quiet, but now that she did, she found it … relaxing. For the most part, at least.
Once they’d rounded the corner, Dean slipped her pack off her back and slung it around his shoulder. She looked at him, about to protest, but his expression dared her to argue with him about it. Deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, she smiled at him. It wasn’t her old smile, she knew, but the answering grin she got from her brother was worth its weight in gold. I forgot what it was like to see him genuinely happy, she thought, immediately sobering. It’s my fault he doesn’t smile more.
“Stop it,” he said loudly, loud enough for her to grasp the sound. She stopped walking, turning fully to look at him, a question plain on her face. Dean’s eyebrows creased and he dropped her bag, using his hands to sign quickly.
“It’s not your fault,” he signed, having learned ASL on his own to better communicate with her. “None of this,” his hands stopped for a moment as he waved them in a ‘this’ gesture around them, “is your fault. I don’t want you ever thinking that. Do you understand?”
Her vision blurring, Drew blinked rapidly, refusing to allow any tears to form or fall. She nodded and Dean mouthed ‘good’ as he scooped her bag back up and they finished their walk to school.
School was an ongoing nightmare, just as it always was for Drew. Of course the teachers knew what happened to her, the whole town knew, and why they’d decided to keep her enrolled instead of letting her test out was beyond her. There were days she was pretty sure it was a cruel joke, demanded by him. Thankfully, she was no longer expected to stand in front of the class, or raise her hand to answer questions; instead her teachers merely gave her the assignments and let her disappear in the back of her classes.
Still, that didn’t stop the looks she got from her peers. Girls that used to be her friends, part of the circle she once was front and center of, sat clustered together, looking at her. Drew was certain they were whispering about her. Not hearing them didn’t make much of a difference, she could still read ‘freak’ as it was formed on their lips, and watch as their heads fell back as they made a soundless, to her, laughter. A part of yearned to be one of them again, donning the crisp cheerleading costume on game days, her greatest care what accessories went with what outfit and which hunk was her future husband. Unfortunately, she’d accepted that was no longer in the cards for her.
She was used to it by now, the looks and the whispering, the utter aloneness of having gone from something to nothing. Adults, classmates, old friends, everyone took part in the daily humiliation that was her life. Some would look at her with disgust, like she was the freak the other girls accused her of. Some would look at her, their eyes so sad, often on the brink of tears. Those were the ones that Drew had the hardest time dealing with. Sympathy, empathy, pity – those were unwanted, unfamiliar emotions in the dark, quiet world that was now hers. Indifference was just as bad.
So many people stood by, people who were meant to protect and shelter her, but they did nothing. Her mother had died, her father morphed into a beast she didn’t recognize anymore, and the only person she had left was Dean. Unfortunately, not even he could protect her, though she knew it wasn’t because of a lack of wanting to, or trying to, on his part. Though he never outright told her, she knew he stood up for her when her old friends, and his friends, mocked her or talked about her. He’d even pushed his best friend into the lockers one day, though what he’d said to cause such an outburst from her brother, she wasn’t sure. Dean fighting for her wasn’t something she wanted from him; she wanted him to have a real life, the life he still had – not a life of trying to stand up for his broken sister.
Books suddenly appeared in front of her, slamming, or so she figured by the vibration, onto her desk. Instead of startling, Drew let her eyes rise calmly, finding Cassie and Amy, her closest friends since she was two. Their mothers used to be best friends before she died, though they’d long since forsaken her. Their heads were thrown back in amusement before Cassie scooped her books up and together they sauntered out of the classroom. Apparently class had ended, and since she’d been paying no mind, Drew hadn’t even realized it. The clock on the wall behind the whiteboard stated two-forty-five. Class had ended fifteen minutes ago. She was late.
Shit, she thought, gathering her sketchbook off the Formica table and jamming it into her book bag. He’s gonna be pissed.
Drew hurriedly made her way to the door, half terrified to go home, and half relieved that the day was over. She couldn’t help but wonder where Dean was, and, as if she’d conjured him, she saw him walking her direction.
“Not paying attention again?” he signed, taking her bag before she could protest. Drew nodded and her brother smiled.
“Someday that’s going to get you in more trouble than just missing curfew.”
“Real teenagers don’t have a three o’clock curfew, Dean,” she signed back, frustrated and rolling her eyes.
“We’re not real teenagers, Drew. We’re prisoners in a world without bars.”
It was obvious that Dean was down, depressed, hating life on her behalf again. She couldn’t help but hate herself for that. Dean was handsome, popular; all the girls in school wanted to date him. He was on the football team, still managed to have good grades, and had been elected class president. At almost seventeen, he was quite the catch for a small town like Chance – college scouts were already coming to watch him play. He’d have his whole future ahead of him, if it weren’t for her.
“You’re not,” she told him aloud. “I don’t want you to be.” She hesitated for a moment before finishing. “I want you to take the scholarship to LSU. Get as far away from Chance as possible. You need to get away from here, from me. You deserve more.”
“You deserve more,” Drew read his lips. “I want you to listen carefully, understand?” he signed before turning her to face him squarely. “I’m not leaving you here. We’ll go together.”
Heart clenching, Drew smiled sadly. Wishing to leave Chance had long ago left her thoughts – there was no way he was going to let her go. Dean, on the other hand, was a different story. He was going to get out of this Podunk, awful hell-town they were in, if it killed her.
Chapter Two
Drew
Drew closed her eyes, praying that the sights around her would disappear. The room around her wasn’t on fire; pictures weren’t curling and cracking, disintegrating from the middle outward. The few possessions she had left were leaving her as quickly as she wished her life would. She sat in the center of the floor, terrified to move, but terrified to stay. How had things changed so completely, so quickly, to the point of her losing herself completely? It doesn’t matter, she scolded herself, the point is that they did and you now have to live, or die, with the consequences.
She stifled the urge to scream, the same feeling telling her to run and hide, to pretend that she was a child under the covers – if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her, right? She knew that he was coming for her; she could feel his footsteps through the wood beneath her, even despite the complete chaos of f
lames in every direction.
“Consequences,” he’d screamed and she shivered, remembering the way the air had swirled around her as he’d ripped his belt from its loops when she’d walked in past ‘curfew.’
“I’m sorry! I left school late … I had a question on an assignment, I promise,” she’d pleaded with him, her speech broken because of the damage he’d done. She’d hoped for a miracle, that he’d understand, but he’d only told her once more that it was his way or no way.
Footsteps vibrated hard on the wood floor, followed by beating on the door, and Drew prayed the fire would let the wood hold, just for a little while longer. Words to prayers she hadn’t thought in ages, to a God she no longer believed was listening, tumbled from her, begging for the strength not to move despite the heat moving closer, closing her in; strength to keep breathing in the smoke, for asphyxiation to take her before he got the door down. It was her only hope – if he opened the door, she’d only wish she were dead.
He continued beating on the door, much like he had her. She touched her face, wincing at the open cuts that now coated her. Blood covered her hand, from her cheeks, her ears, from the back of her neck. It was everywhere. The crimson liquid surprised her, and didn’t. He’d always been careful not to break skin – bruise, break bones, hide, but never break skin.
“How. Many. Times. Do. I. Have. To. Tell. You. Things?!” he’d screamed, his words mangled in her damaged ear drums. Between each word he whipped her with his belt before throwing it aside. Drew thought he was done, that she’d gotten off somewhat easy, until his fists replaced the piece of leather across her skin.
“Are you fucking stupid? You are, girl, aren’t you! You’re a fucking whore, too, aren’t you!? That’s where you were. With some boy and with his cock in you! You’ll spread your legs for anyone!” She’d closed her eyes when his knuckles landed a blow near her eye, glad for an escape from reading the accusations that fell from his lips. She wasn’t a whore, he knew it, but he didn’t care.