Drawn to you
Authors: Ker Dukey
Drawn to You
Copyright © 2015 Ker Dukey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the Author.
This book is the work of fiction any resemblance to any person alive or dead is purely coincidental. The characters and story are created from the Author’s imagination. Any shared files without the author’s permission will be subject to prosecution.
Formatting:
Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
The people that make it happen:
Warning:
This title is book one of two.
For readers who favor my darker edge, this title is a lot lighter than you’ll be used to from me. However, this title still has some disturbing scenes that can cause triggers to the sensitive reader, please read with caution. Thank you for reading
Antonia uses a couple of UK terminologies
For reference:
Chemise - An attractive Just above the knee, strappy nightgown
Knob - Dick
Slung on - thrown on
Apartment - Condo
BLOOD. SO MUCH BLOOD
pumping from his neck; the warmth of it spraying my face, causing vomit to rise in my throat. I hear my mother’s screams and all I want to do is scream too, but fear steals my voice, steals my fight, steals my soul.
“Are you okay? Hey, wake up!”
Pain pierces through both of my palms as I’m roused from my nightmare. My eyes shoot open and I’m startled to see a pretty brunette staring down at me, her eyes wide and searching my face with a furrowed brow. The nightmare was intense and I have bloodied half-moon dents from my fingernails in each palm to prove it. Air fills my lungs as I gasp to take a breath, the dim light overhead making my eyes sting and mist with water. Muffled voices of other passengers rush reality to the forefront of my mind, clearing the lingering dark hold of my dream.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter to the girl still gaping down at me.
I look down to my hands and quickly turn them over. She retakes her seat beside me, clipping her belt into place.
“Are you okay? We’re nearly there. They’ve put on the fasten seatbelt sign.” She gestures to the blinking warning light telling us to do just that. “Are you frightened of flying?” she asks in a sweet, American accent.
“I’m fine.” I push a smile to my lips to reassure her, and hopefully to stop her asking any more questions.
I turn my attention to the window; the lights of the runway we’re steadily approaching glitter in the distance, causing me to exhale a thankful breath that this thirteen-hour flight is almost over. I can’t believe I had a freaking nightmare. It had been over six months since my last one and I really thought they were a thing of the past. Trust me to pack up and move halfway around the world for a fresh start, only to full back a step.
It’s like being an addict. My clean days start back at zero.
Memories overflow my mind; blood, death, that filthy pig’s stale breath suffocating me.
Beads of sweat break out across my forehead as I struggle to stop myself reliving it. Old scars tingle and bite with imaginary pain.
Quickly digging into my bag, I pop the lid of my anxiety pills then chuck one into my mouth and swallow. The girl watches me take my pill and reads the label “Xanax RT.” Her eyebrows crash together and her body leans away from mine so much that she’s almost hanging in the gangway.
Small-minded witch.
Like everyone else in my life, she can’t get far enough away. I’d take offence and say something to her but I’m used to it by now and what does it really matter what she thinks? Everyone struggles to be around me, even my family, hence my move.
Exiting the plane, I watch the girl rush down the terminal without another look in my direction. A small humorless laugh erupts from my chest as I slowly follow the crowd.
New start, Antonia.
The noise of the airport mixed with the bright lights, and the smell of coffee invade my senses. My body relaxes and my mind follows as the chemicals from my pills caress my blood stream.
I snatch up my suitcase and jump straight into a cab then give him the address of my friend Gaby, who I’ll be staying with until my own place is sorted. Gaby was one of my best friends in high school. Our moms are best friends and stayed in touch, even when we moved half way around the world for Daddy’s job. The last time I saw Gaby was when she flew over for my sweet sixteenth birthday party four years ago, I’m a little apprehensive about staying with her, despite us talking on the phone to each other at least once a week.
