Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1)

by L. S. Pullen

Smiling, I shake my head.

  “Good to know.” He squeezes my waist, causing my stomach to flutter.

  I laugh, watching Sophie and Chloe doing the running man. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages—not since I stopped seeing Nate. I could scold myself. He is the last person I want to think about right now.

  “They’ve invited us back to a party,” Sophie whisper-shouts from the cubicle beside me, as I fight to pull my trousers up.

  “What did Chloe say?” I call back, before flushing.

  “She’s easy.”

  I laugh and wash my hands.

  “I’m game if you are,” she offers, joining me at the sink.

  “Why not,” I say, smiling. I’m not ready for tonight to end, not yet anyway.

  She jumps up and down then pulls me into a hug. Drunken Soph is all about the love.

  Shivering, I reach for my cover. My fingers connect with an unfamiliar texture—the sheets beneath me feel odd, foreign. A scratchy material rubs against my bare legs. I suck in a deep breath, and my senses are assaulted with a damp musk, which settles in my nose. It’s as though someone hasn’t opened the window in here for a long time.

  My breathing increases as confusion sets in. Tick-tick-ticking of a nearby clock thumps through my head. I swallow what feels like tiny razor blades sliding down my throat. I feel so…off.

  I hold my breath and strain my ears. I don’t think anyone else is here with me, but it still takes me to the count of three to open my eyes. Remnants of sleep blur my vision as I try to focus on my surroundings. The room is cast in dim lighting, but not enough to hide the yellow-stained ceiling above.

  Turning my head just a fraction, I flinch. My body rejects the movement, the clock ticking now replaced by the fierce drum of my heartbeat as it pounds mercilessly in my ears. My stomach lurches. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it to pass.

  Sometime later, I risk a slow look around the room again. The window is covered with a sheet—a makeshift curtain—and the window ledge is covered with crushed-up beer cans and an overloaded ashtray. But what makes my breathing halt is when my eyes stop on the torn-open condom wrappers. I sit up too fast. My head thunders at the back of my eyes in retaliation.

  I scan down the length of my body—covered with bare threaded sheets, and only dressed in my bra. My hand flies to my mouth as I try to control the bile threatening to escape. My arm goes over my chest. I feel exposed—like I’m being watched. My breathing comes in short, rapid bursts.

  The mattress beneath me is without a bed frame and pushed up against the wall in the corner. The only other furniture is a cabinet opposite, with a dusty portable TV on top. From the corner of my eye, I see a pool of material. I crawl towards it. My knees chafe on the rough carpet as I lunge for my clothes.

  Frantic, I dress. My fingers are unsteady as I pull up the zip of my trousers, and my nail snags, ripping off the tip. I ignore the sting to pull my top over my head. Something buzzes around my bare feet. My bag. Grabbing it, I scramble amongst the contents but keep my eyes on the door as I approach on my tiptoes. Holding my breath, I listen for sounds of life before I begin to turn the handle. It clicks open, and I step out.

  Four doors adorn the distance of the hallway, including the one I came from, with another at the end—which I can only presume to be the front door. I bring my phone to my cheek and shoulder—I want my hands to be free.

  “Hello?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

  “Felicity, where are you?” Soph whisper-shouts.

  I have no fucking idea.

  “I don’t know,” I croak out.

  Floorboards creak. A door opens.

  I grip my bag, and raise it up, ready to swing. When Sophie appears, my body lurches in surprise. I throw myself at her. Her arms are limp at her sides, so I pull back. Her eye makeup is smudged, hair a matted mess. I probably don’t look much better.

  “Where’s Chloe?”

  I shake my head.

  She types into her phone. Moments later, we hear the echo of a ping. Soph takes the lead. Grabbing my arm, she creeps in the direction of the noise. We pause. She opens the door with trepidation, and the only sounds I can hear is our heavy breathing.

  Chloe is sitting up on a sofa, phone in hand, rubbing her forehead. She looks as confused as I feel. Sophie rushes forward, grabs her bag off the floor, and flings it towards her.

  “We need to go. Now,” Soph says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

  Chloe drops her legs to the floor, leans over, and pulls on her shoes. I look around the living room—I have no recollection of this place. How the hell did we end up here?

  My brain is foggy as I try to recall exactly what happened last night, but no matter how hard I try, all I remember is the club, climbing into a cab, and then—nothing.

  Sophie scans the room, her eyes trailing back to me, eyebrows raised.

  “What?” I ask

  “Where are your shoes?”

  I look down to my feet, and then back to her face. Yet another fucking question I do not have an answer to. I throw my hands up. She grabs my hand and pulls me back into the hallway. For a split second, I think she’s going to direct me back to that room, but instead, she swivels and heads for the front door. Chloe is hot on our heels.

  We step out into an alcove-shaped hallway. The faint scent of urine fills the air, and my stomach heaves. I cover my mouth and nose as we descend the stairwell. Two sets of stairs later, we encounter the exit. I squint from the light, holding my palm over my brow. Blinking, I try to find my bearings. No fucking clue.

  We head towards a bus stop. Soph takes a seat as I look at the post to see what stop this is. I hear someone suck in a deep, pained breath and look over my shoulder. Any colour Soph had, which wasn’t much, has completely drained from her face.

  “Are you okay?’ I ask, taking a seat beside her. I shudder as I pull my foot over my leg to wipe the discarded cigarette butt from the ball of my foot.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she says through clenched teeth. Her face takes on a weird expression before her eyes roll into the back of her head. I have no time to react when she slumps to the ground with a loud, hard thump. I scramble to my knees. Chloe and I try to coax a response from her, but we get nothing.

  “Chloe, call an ambulance, tell them the name of the bus stop.”

  Her eyes spring to mine, panic evident.

  “For fuck’s sake, Chloe, just do it. I don’t care if we get into trouble.”

  She fumbles with her phone and dials.

  I don’t see it at first—it’s concealed by the dark shade of her trousers. At a glance, I think maybe she’s wet herself, maybe she’s had some kind of fit, and when she passed out, she lost control of her bodily functions. But no—it turns out, its blood.

  It’s not until I’m waiting for my Mum to arrive at the hospital that I throw up. My body shakes heavily. There’s nothing quite as disgusting as being barefoot in hospital toilets, of all places. I’m sore when I urinate—I want to ignore the sting, pretend it’s normal. But I know it’s not.

  I’m laid out on a hospital bed. The tissue paper beneath me feels cheap. Dressed in the hospital gown I was told to put on, I wait, staring up at the florescent light. Two nurses enter, both wearing the same expression of pity. They’re kind and reassuring while they explain to my mum and me what they’re about to do. It’s for my benefit, my mums a nurse, she’s not stupid. I zone out.

  In my head, I retreat to a far-away place. I cocoon myself with memories of Nate—us playing dungeons and dragons in the tree house. Like this is all a dream. Just a really bad dream. When I open my eyes, all will be right with the world—all will be as it should be—none of this ever happened. I can pretend Sophie isn’t currently in surgery due to haemorrhaging. Or Chloe and I aren’t both being examined and tested for traces of Flunitrazepam, otherwise known as the date rape drug—Rohypnol.

  The cold, night air blasts my body but all I feel is white-hot rage. The moon is full
, the sky clear, casting a glow on the deserted country roads.

  I’d do anything right now to have Flick with me, riding on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped around me. My fingers clench the throttle hard, her broken voice echoing in my ears.

  Her face became vacant as she retreated inside herself when the words began spilling from her lips. I saw it in her eyes—a brief moment when the light went out—a shift—and then her whole aura changed. She began shutting down.

  When I walked her back to her room, the air was thick—heavy with melancholy. Flick once told me how a photograph speaks a thousand words, but in that moment, her silence said so much more.

  I wanted so badly to hold her, but even taking her hand in mine caused her to flinch. It made my gut twist. All I wanted was to take her in my arms and carry the burden. But she wouldn’t even look me in the eye. It was written all over her like a coat of badly made armor—shame, humiliation, lack of self-worth. Her shoulders hunched, struggling to carry the weight of her head. She wrapped her arms around her middle, squeezing her waist tight.

  If anyone should be ashamed, it’s the monsters responsible for doing this to her. And me, for not being there.

  When she closed her door, I couldn’t contain my rage. I needed so badly to hit someone or something. I was wired yet exhausted. Needing to let off steam, I grabbed my leather jacket and keys. With no destination in mind, all I knew was if I was going to lose my shit, it wouldn’t be at home.

  Eyes brimming with tears, I release the throttle and come to a stop.

  How can I make her see that what happened to her was not her fault? Deep down, she knows it’s the truth. This in no way changes my feelings towards her, although it does consume me with a self-loathing I’ve never felt before.

  I was meant to be her best friend, but my ego and pride let her slip through my fingers. I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not find a way to forgive myself.

  Tomorrow, I had planned to write my eulogy for my Gramps, but now I know I need to take her somewhere away from here, so she doesn’t try and fester away inside her own head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Violation. Having no recollection of an incident—but knowing it happened—doesn’t make it any less real or humiliating. Revealing this to Nate hasn’t lifted the heavy weight I still carry. Unveiling the tragic truth hasn’t miraculously made me feel liberated.

  My sleep has been torturous, broken. I wake wrapped in my sheets, soaked in sweat. I shower in the hottest water my body can tolerate as I scrub myself raw. Although I don’t think I’ll ever feel completely clean, it’ll have to do. I strip my bed and then cocoon myself in a throw. I sit on the window seat. Pulling my legs underneath me, I stare blindly out at the view as I retreat into myself.

  Knocking interrupts me. I’m stiff when I move, with no idea how long I’ve been sitting here. I ignore the knocking.

  “Flick, I know you’re in there. I’m coming in. Hope you’re decent.”

  I don’t answer or watch as he enters. His footsteps falter before they continue and grow louder as they approach me. I see a tray from the corner of my eye as it’s placed beside me.

  “I made you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I don’t feel too well, sorry.” I can’t look at him. I won’t. I don’t want to see the look of pity.

  “Well, can you at least try and eat something for me?” he says, moving from one foot to the other.

  “Leave it there, I’ll try some in a bit,” I say, hoping it will placate him into leaving me alone.

  “Okay, but we don’t have long. We have errands to run.”

  I look over to him. Is he serious?

  “I’m not really up to it, sorry.”

  He moves towards me and brings his palm up to my face. I move back, but it doesn’t deter him. He places it on my forehead. I swat his hand away.

  “Well, you feel fine to me. Be ready in half an hour.”

  I don’t have a chance to argue as he leaves me alone, shutting my door behind him.

  Another knock, followed by the door opening, disturbs me again. I turn my head, ready to give Nate what-for, when I’m caught short.

  “For fu—”

  “What was that, dear?”

  “Sorry, I thought you were Nate,” I say, with a sigh.

  She comes and sits beside me. Picking up the milk, she pours it over the Coco-Pops, then hands me the spoon and the bowl. I scoop a small amount and place in my mouth, but it tastes like cardboard. I put the bowl down and look back out the window.

  “I heard you last night in your sleep. It’s been a while since that’s happened. Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, taking my hand in hers.

  “I don’t know. After I left Soph last night, I came back here and told Nate about what happened to us—” I feel an ache in the back of my throat, “—I don’t know…maybe I thought I’d feel better, but if anything, I feel worse.”

  “You listen to me, and you listen to me good. You are a brave young woman. Every day you get up, and you fight to be the best version of yourself. Even when you feel like giving up. So, do not let this right here give up on you now,” she says, pointing to my heart.

  Some things are easier said than done. It would be so simple for me to retreat into my head, shut out the world around me—I should know, I’ve done it once before. But empathy is the one thing that keeps me moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other. It’s about making the effort for those around me, to keep pushing forward.

  I make my way through to the garage, and pause, mid-step, at the sight before me.

  Nate is leaning on his car—adorned in his leather jacket—one leg crossed in front of the other. Tight jeans show off his thick thighs, and his boots are laced up over the ankles.

  He smiles when he sees me. “Good, you wore jeans.”

  I look down and wipe my palms over my thighs. He so caught me looking. “And that’s good why?”

  Pointing his thumb over his shoulder, he replies. “Because we’ll be going on that.”

  I go to back away, but he takes hold of my elbow.

  “No, I’ll pass. But thanks.” I shake my head.

  He tilts his head. “Come on. You used to love coming out on the bike.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “So…that was then, and this is now.”

  “Oh, come on, you trust me, right?”

  “Yes. It’s other drivers I don’t trust.” I pull at the band on my wrist.

  It’s funny how the things I used to get a kick out of don’t thrill me the same way as they used to. He pulls me closer, so we are almost touching. My breath gets caught in my throat.

  “If you’re too chicken, we can just go in the car,” he says with a wink.

  I cross my arms over my middle. “Fine, let’s just go on the bike.”

  He laughs. Rubbing his hands together, he walks over to the locker and pulls out a ladies’ leather jacket.

  “Good girl. Here put this on.” He drops the jacket into my hands.

  “Whose is this?” I ask, slipping my arms through it.

  “Yours.” He shrugs.

  “What do you mean, mine?” I ask, zipping it up.

  His head disappears as he peers inside a box, his reply muffled. “It was a present that I never had the chance to give you.”

  I stroke my hands down the front. Mine.

  He comes to stand in front of me. His forefinger lifts my chin to close my mouth, and my stomach warms from his touch.

  “And your lid.” He holds it out to me.

  I take it with a smile. Something I do recognise—the black Arai crash helmet he insisted on buying for me if I was going to be his pillion.

  I clear my throat. “So, how many girls have you taken on the bike?”

  “None.”

  “Really?”

  He looks up. “Yes, really. Are you stalling?”

  “No, but now you mention it, that’s a good idea,” I say with a humourless laugh.
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br />   “Come on, it will be fine.” He holds up a rucksack in one hand, and motions with the other for me to turn around. I do, and then he pulls the straps up my arms. “I just need to drop my suit at the dry cleaner.”

  By the time he pulls up next to the dry cleaner, my death hold has eased off, and I’ve relaxed into his back—holding on with my thighs leaning with him like he taught me. He kicks down the stand, and I climb off, removing my lid. There’s no movie moment. As my hair snags, I finger comb it and tie it into a loose plait. He takes the bag with his suit in it from my shoulders and runs into the dry cleaners.

  I check to see if Simons messaged me back. It makes me feel better knowing Sophie will be moving in with him.

  “Everything all right?” Nate asks.

  “Yeah, fine. Where to next?”

  “I thought we could go for a ride. Maybe grab an early lunch if you fancy it?”

  “Might as well,” I say, pulling my lid back on.

  I get lost in thought as he rides. Closing my eyes, I think about everything that’s happened over the past couple of days. It’s only when he stops and turns off the engine that I see we’ve arrived at our destination. High Beach in Epping Forest. I can’t help but smile. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, and the Kings Oak Pub does the best club sandwiches.

  Sitting outside, on a worn, wooden table that’s seen better days, I find myself looking over the sand-dirt path, which leads to the lush, green fields and hills and beyond. We eat in a comfortable quiet. The only noises overhead is from local birds chirping away, or the humming of engines as the occasional vehicle passes us by.

  After we’ve eaten, I lean back and inhale, closing my eyes and turning my head in the direction of the soft heat from the sun.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says from beside me.

  I turn to look at him, but his eyes are closed, his face tilted upwards.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I say. I watch as his dimpled smile spreads across his face.

  “That’s good to hear, I did wonder...”