Deliverance (The LockDown Series Book 1)

by Dobson, Shannon

  “Already done, hope you like meat?” he asks me winking my way. His green eyes are dark and sexy tonight, the lightness of the kitchen doing nothing.

  “Meats good, can’t get enough of meat Leighton,” I answer him, winking back his way.

  “Abbi, I’d like you to meet my other friends. This is Nate,” he points to the older looking of the three blond-haired, blue-eyed men, “And Brad and Luke, as you can see they are twins.”

  “Hey, nice to meet you,” I say reaching my hand out to shake theirs. All three take it in turn to clasp my hand, pull it to their lips and kiss it.

  “Jesus fucking Christ guys. What is it with all the hand kissing lately?” I hear Leighton say. “Sorry Abbi, I’m sure you have enough male DNA on your skin from the group of us to last you a lifetime, maybe even to clone one or two of us.”

  I chuckle at him. I’m not bothered by the gentlemanly approach his friends take on. “Not a problem Leigh, I don’t see the problem with cloning you lot though. Wouldn’t be a bad thing,” I reply, trying to control the burning inside as the seven of them stand and stare at me. “Anyways, I’ll leave you boys to it, enjoy your evening.” I walk from the kitchen, hearing footsteps following me.

  Outside in the hallway, I feel my body being turned around, my cheeks flush and my skin overheats. Leighton’s bright green globes catch mine as he looks at me with severe intent.

  “As I said earlier Abbi, don’t mind us if it gets a little too rowdy, I’ll try and keep them under control so you can sleep. Goodnight sweetheart.” My body pulses to life the second those perfect lips press against my forehead. Lingering just a little too long, I can feel the heat, searing and potent within my veins. Every nerve ending is alive, begging for just a second longer. When he removes his lips from my skin I feel a little of me leave the hallway and enter back through the kitchen door with him. I collapse against the hallway wall, sighing like a love sick teenager as I try to arrange myself enough so that I can possibly walk to my room.

  “Come on Abs, let’s get to bed and read about some sexy man who sweeps some fucked up girl off her feet.” Yes, it was common for me to talk to myself, like you’d probably already guessed, and yes I do wish that someone would sweep me off my useless, emotionally scarred feet.

  I manage to drag myself through the hallways toward the library Leighton had shown me earlier. When he had asked me, whilst we were out shopping, what I enjoyed doing, I told him reading classic literature was a love of mine. Once we returned home, after the apple fiasco, he dragged my scrawny arse through the corridor, and into the most beautiful room I think I had ever seen. All dark wood, shelves upon shelves, meters high with beautiful hard back, leather bound books. Everything from Dickens, to Defoe, to Austin, to an incredible first edition complete works of Shakespeare. I know from my college English Lit course that it is worth a fortune, more than I would ever be able to afford for sure, even if I saved every last penny for my entire life I wouldn’t be able to possess such an incredible piece of history.

  As I stand at the bottom of the ladder that you could push around the surrounding book cases, I look up at the endless shelves. I wonder to myself over and over what I will read. I want something romantic, beautiful and poetic, something that will make the shitty life I have been living disappear and allow me to enjoy this new life, a life with no worry or danger, a life in this incredible home and maybe one day, a life with Leighton, because I am pretty sure no matter how many times I try to convince myself I’m not, I am falling hard for him, and if I’m not careful I’m going to end up face planting a nasty piece of rejection.

  In the day and a bit I have known him my heart has smashed against my sternum painfully hard in reaction to just his smell, the glistening in his forest green eyes, that dimple on his cheek that appears every time he laughs. It is stupid, I know it is. It is irrational and just plain crazy to feel the way I do. But when you grow up in the home I did, with no love and then to escape that and have the one thing you love more than life itself, cruelly taken from you, you’d also clasp onto any tiny thread of hope, any slither of happiness available, and yes I am pretty sure I am making far too much out of his kindness and help. Wanting something that was clearly not there, but a girl could dream and that is what I will do for the rest of my life if it brought this incredible flutter into my tummy every time I thought about that imaginary, make-believe, incredible world.

  I lean up on my tip-toes reaching my arms above my head, so I can shuffle the beautiful copy of Wuthering Heights from its dustless position. In my mind, in all libraries like this, (the ones that occupy beautiful rooms in huge luxurious mansions) I imagine them to be dusty, unused and unappreciated. Like the owner just merely had it to show people he ‘respected’ literature. The pompous bastards had probably never picked up a decent book in their life, just wanted another thing to show off to their friends. I can see Leighton liked this room, it was kept immaculate, the books preserved but well used. The imprint molded into the comfy looking chair was a telltale sign he was a common user of the room.

  God he is just becoming too good to be true and it breaks my tiny, pretty invisible heart into a million jagged pieces.

  I decide against leaving the room to read, I don’t want the comfort of the soft mattress or that duvet, I want that tatted used chair, the one that Leighton had sat in time and time again.

  I walk over to it, taking the fleece blanket that is strewed neatly across the back and curl myself up into a ball, my knees against my chest as I relax and open the first paper page of the book.

  ‘Wuthering Heights’ Emily Brontë, the inside page reads. I smile at those inked words, knowing that this time tomorrow my heart will be feeling brighter and my head a damn sight clearer, because to me there is nothing better in this world than reading, loosing yourself in the magical, non-existent world, one where the author depicts perfect men, and damsels who fall hopelessly in love with their knights. That is me, the ratty looking, far too thin damsel, rescued from the hands of an evil drug abusing psychopath, now living a luxurious life with my hero.

  “Oh Em, why does this happen to people. Why can’t we all live with a happily ever after?” I ask the author, hoping she can guide me in some way towards my well deserved happiness.

  I spend the next three hours, reading until the house became silent, the grandfather clock on the wall ticking, the bells chiming every hour on the hour. At gone midnight I feel myself drift off, the book lying flat against my chest as I breathe in and out slowly and lightly.

  THUMP’ ‘THUMP’ ‘THIUMP’, that is the sound of an old pair of steel toe caps hitting the wooden staircase, as they pound up them rapidly. My heart beat spikes fiercely, my stomach twisting painfully, as I clench my thighs together so hard I am sure there will be friction burns as a result.

  This is not the good kind of heart dropping, stomach turning, leg clenching, it is the hide, protect and pray to God he will help you just once, kind of heart dropping, stomach turning, leg clenching.

  I take in a deep breath as the door creaks; spilling the dull light from the hallway into the comforting safeness my room had at one time brought me. Lately, it seems that no matter where I am it will come, the darkness will possess me, take over my body and morph it into the little girl who cannot defend herself even when inside she screams and begs for somebody to come and save her, to take her away and fix her broken soul.

  The stench hits me first, as it always does. The pungent mixture of alcohol, sweat, sex and drugs, mingling in the stuffy air surrounding me. It is the same every time; I am always the last one he comes to. He will use those defenseless, needy, and drugged up women over and over until it is my turn. I can hear their screams and cries as he beats them and uses them, each high pitch wail another warning it is getting closer and closer to my time. I know it was sick of me, but I am thankful he brings them here; it gives me a little time away from him, a little more time that he isn’t here with me.

  I bring my
cover up to my eyes, trying to shield my body, trying to give myself some kind of barrier against the beast this man was. He isn’t the man he should be, isn’t the attentive, doting, supportive guide in my life. NO! He is the controlling, possessive, angry, bitter, twisted animal that rips through every dream I have, tears away any soul I may have once possessed.

  I am thirteen God damn it I want it to end. I want to follow my mum and dive into the depths of hell, into the endless darkening abyss, because anywhere, even the fiery inferno that was below the ground has to be better than being here, in this council house in London, barely surviving living with my father.

  “Please God, please stop this.” I beg and plead silently, tears spilling down my soft fragile cheeks and dampening the sheets beneath my head.

  The heavy thud of his boots sounds through my room, a constant ‘thud’ ‘thud’ ‘thud’ directing towards me as he takes those even paced steps to the side of my bed.

  “Evening slut. Ready for Daddy tonight? Those naughty ladies downstairs have wound me up tight, I think it’s time I had a little release don’t you?” That voice, the one that plagues my every thought. No matter if I was sleeping, awake, at school or hiding in the tiny expanse of trees behind my house, he is there, demanding space inside my head.

  “Please Dad, don’t.” I beg him, like I have done for the last month. Every night since finishing my first period he has called upon me, torn through me and ripped me apart at the seams, with nobody there to put me back together again.

  I tell myself it will get easier, that I won’t have to deal with this for too long but I know it was just a useless lie I tell myself to get me through the burning agony that is sure to come.

  “Hmm, let’s think about that should we. Fucking your tight cunt and throat or going to bed. I think I choose the first you little bitch. Now do as you're God damn told and get on your knees.” I tense up in my bed. I haven’t had to do that before. NEVER. I’d always just lay there and take it like a good girl. It is safer for me that way. I let him do what he has to do and then it’s over.

  I have obviously not obeyed him quickly enough, because I feel some of my hair tear clear from the roots as his large fist grabs a handful and pulls me upright and to my knees. “Ow, dad, stop.” I say to him, tears streaming my face.

  A pain sears through my entire face, shaking my brain inside my skull as his hand lands across my right cheek “You” he bites out, clasping my cheeks in one of his painful grips “do as I tell you Abigail, you are mine. Your mother is not here because of you, now the least you can do is please me you stupid whore.” I am sniffling as my nose begins to bung up a little. I nod my head, just wanting to get this over and done with. I don’t like the pain I know will come from his boot, belt or hand if I don’t obey.

  One of his hands unclasps his belt and slides it through the loops, the leather tail swiping against his dirty trousers. He shuffles his bottoms down his legs, releasing that disgusting piece of male anatomy I am sure would taint me forever. I don’t think I can possibly enjoy intimacy ever again.

  He doesn’t prepare me for what happens next. He holds my nose so I am forced to open my mouth to draw oxygen in, and as I do he shoves himself inside the tiny expanse. “Now suck, use your tongue I want to feel you Abbi.” I want to scream at him, to tell him not to use my name; that was mine; I don’t need this memory tainting my name as well. I am already filth, poison; nobody is going to want me now.

  I try to stop the vomit rising as he slides in and out of me, his penis on my tongue, dirty, filthy and disgusting. I want to bite down, hard, to try and remove it from him. He isn’t entitled to have one; in fact he isn’t entitled to live in my opinion. I hope soon, one of us will die so that I can be free of this torture.

  I cry inside, I keep thinking that my mother and father must have loved me at one point. Surely there wasn’t this pure hate from the day I was born. There must have been a time when the three of us were cuddled watching TV, or taking walks.

  I gag hard as he pushes in further than he has so far, hitting my tonsils and cutting my airway off. I push at his thighs with my tiny hands, trying to dislodge him. His hands bite into my wrists hard as he removes them from his legs and brings them behind my back, restraining them.

  The next ten minutes is hell, pure and utter hell. I beg the ground to open up and swallow me whole. He is forcefully raping my mouth and throat, in and out, in and out, before I taste the most disgusting thing I think I ever could. His face contorts in pleasure as he releases himself in my mouth.

  The second he removes from within me, I drop to my front and vomit all over the dirty carpet. I can’t stop the repeated convulsing in my stomach, as it expels the tiny contents it has. I am crying hard, loud sobs erupting from within my chest, as my heart fights to find a way out of my constricting ribcage.

  I lie back down when all I can bring up is a painful gas. I bring my cover to my head, covering my eyes. I am trying to blank out the living nightmare so I can just be in peace.

  “I’m not done with you yet, you little slut.” My father’s deep voice sounds as he rips the covers from my body. “Turn over; I’m taking your arse. You say one word and I will hurt you Abigail.” God please no, please don’t do this to me. Help me somebody help! I shout inside, begging, pleading for any tiny relief from this continuous torment.

  I roll over and bring myself to my knees; I prepare myself because I know this is going to hurt. Once again this is a place he has never penetrated, so I know the agony will be unbearable. I hope maybe I will black out and fall into a deep comatose sleep, where white sands and beautiful blue seas surround my toes.

  He pulls my knickers down my legs, lining himself up and pushes inside me hard and fast. I scream at the top of my lungs, as I feel like my insides are being ripped apart. The pain is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I want to die, I need to die right this second because there is no way I will survive this.

  He slams in and out, and I can’t take it anymore. I have to beg him, try and grasp at any morality he has. “Dad, please, Dad, stop, it hurts too much. Please stop, stop. Please.” I scream aloud, my body thrashing trying to get away. My legs kick and my arms flay outwards. “Pleaseeeee” I shout once more.

  I feel my father’s hand press the back of my head harshly; my face squishes into my duvet. The material smothers my nose and restricts the noises I make. I can’t breathe properly, and the pain in my backside is excruciating, like nothing I have ever felt before. I can feel my eyes fluttering back into their sockets as I begin to lose consciousness. All I can think as I take my last conscious breath is ‘I hope I don’t wake up’.

  “Abbi.” I hear someone calling my name, my body being shaken in a different way to the way my father or I was moving it. “Abigail, sweetheart, wake up.” I force my eyes to open when I recognise the soft voice of Thomas.

  When my eyes focus, I bring my legs into myself. I am still sat on the soft chair in the library. The book I was reading now lies on the floor haphazardly.

  I begin to cry, loud. Howling cries as those memories once again plague my brain.

  “Shhh, it’s okay sweetie. It’s going to be okay,” he tells me as he lifts me from the chair taking the seat himself and curling me up in his lap. One hand lies across my stomach holding and supporting me, whilst the second supports my head and plays with my hair.

  “Take it away, please, just take it all away. I can’t do this anymore Tom. I can’t do it,” I cry, hoping that he might be able to open the fiery gates and let me out of hell.

  “Yes you can, Abbi, because you are beautiful, smart, strong and incredible. Sweetheart you have to push through. You are going to have an incredible life here. Do you want to tell me what the nightmare was about?” he asks me sweetly.

  I sit for an hour telling him everything I had suffered at the hands of my dad, and then on the streets. I know I have only known him for a day but there is just something about him, I saw it the s
econd I met him. I can trust him, I know I can.

  “Where is he now?” he asks me, I can see the venom in his eyes, even if his face remains calm and collected.

  “He is in prison. He can’t hurt me anymore,” I tell him, relaxing a little in his hold.

  “You need to get some help Abbi, professional help. You need to sort these issues out so you can move on sweetheart. I don’t want to see you this way again, it’s heartbreaking.”

  I nod to him, wiping my tears away. “I know, I do want to and I will. But please Tom, don’t tell anyone about this. I couldn’t have them knowing how dirty and used I am.”

  “Abigail, don’t you dare think that. He is not allowed to control the way you feel about yourself anymore, okay? I won’t tell anyone, it’s not my story to tell. But I hope one day you will trust Leighton enough to tell him. He’s an incredible guy and I know he’ll support you any way he can.” He wipes another tear from my cheek, lifts it to his lips and kisses it away.

  “I hope so too. Thank you for sitting here with me, Thomas. It means a lot to know you care and that I can trust you.” I thank him, shimmying off his lap and bending to pick my book up. “I’m going to go to bed, goodnight Tom,” I tell him, as I walk from the room. I hope Leighton isn’t out in the halls, because I can guarantee the pain is written all over my face, and I don’t want anyone else seeing how weak I have become.

  “Sweet dreams, sweetheart. Just know I’m always here to listen.” I nod once more before closing the door and taking the long walk to my room.

  I make it into my bed unseen and unbothered. I curl myself up into the smallest ball I can and cry myself to sleep.

  I don’t dream of the monster that night, just a black hole with red, orange and yellow flickers of flames at the bottom.

  I have been here for exactly two months, to the day. I have grown considerably close to Thomas; he is pretty much my only support in regards to my past. Being the only one (out of the group of males I have come to love like my own family) to know about it gave us a bond nobody would sever. He is the one who has, for the last 62 days, taken me to and from my three times weekly therapy sessions. I am seeking professional help with the encouragement of Tom, and I am improving greatly. I haven’t had a nightmare in over three weeks and I am able to enjoy my time at the mansion more.