Keeping Hope (Broken Girl Series) (5 page)

“Some of the things were for your own good, Kennedy. You fought everything; you just don’t seem to learn your lesson, angel.”

He lunges his head toward me, our mouths clashing as he tries to kiss me. I hold my lips together tightly, resisting him with all my might. He pulls his head back, scowling at me before thrusting his forehead right at my lips.

The bastard just head-butted me!

My lip splits instantly. I feel the warmth of the blood as it runs down my chin. The pain excruciating. My tied hands fly up to my mouth, trying to slow the flow of blood. It is already dripping all over the bed.

Christopher stands, straightening his clothes as he strides toward the door. He wears an evil smile as he picks up the tray he’d come in with. “You won’t be able to eat this now, my angel, will you?”

I glare at him with hatred in my eyes. How can one person be so evil, so vile, so cruel, as well as all the other things that makes me hate this man with every ounce of emotion I have.

Once he’s left the room, I search for something to stop the flow of blood. I open the cabinet beside the bed, but it is empty. I look under the bed frame, but I can’t see anything. The only light coming into the room flows between the cracks of the ill fitted door. The window is blocked, so it allows little light into the room.

Shit!

Blood is everywhere!

I can’t be certain, but I think my lip is cut straight through. The impact against my teeth is penetrating the thin skin below my lip.

Fuck, it hurts!

I open the closet door, feeling around inside for something…anything. I find some wadded up bed sheets. I rip at the sheet, tearing a small section before applying it to my mouth.

In my tugging motion, something had fallen from the bundle of cloth. I look to where I heard the clinking and see a long knife on the floor. The limited light coming from between the door jamb reflects off the blade.

Using the knife, I cut the bind around my arms. It takes a little maneuvering, but I finally get it to cut straight through. I rub my wrists. The bruises that were already forming from the rope are a little painful, but I’m glad to have the use of my arms again.

I then use the knife to cut off more of the thin sheet. I place the small square to my stinging lip. The pain is intense with the increased contact. I draw in a sharp breath. Kneeling on the floor, my hands shake as I try to restrict the flow of blood from my lip.

Tonight I was lucky.

It could have been a lot worse.

Cole

Abbey is still in a coma. The doctors are trying everything they can to stabilize her. She suffered a brain hemorrhage caused by major head trauma. It is uncertain at this stage whether or not Abbey will need surgery.

The doctors say it is very difficult to make an accurate prognosis early on.

“What do we do now, mom?” I ask, lost in the misery of Abbey’s diagnosis. “Have you heard anything from the police about Ken?” I ask eagerly, needing something else to focus on.

“No, son, but your father is at the station speaking with the police. They are discussing what we know about where Kennedy came from, along with known locations of religious communes close to where you were run off the road. There are a few possibilities. I know your dad will work tirelessly to find Kennedy.” She smiles sweetly.

I huff out. “It’s not like he was her greatest fan or anything,” I remark.

“You’re right.” She nods. “Your dad had issues with your relationship with her, but it’s only because he cares about you, Cole. He had a very strict upbringing. You know how everything is black and white for your father.”

I sigh. “Well, as long as we find her. That’s the main thing here, right?”

Mom smiles, nodding in acknowledgement. “How is Jake doing?”

“I don’t know, mom. He’s just so quiet. I’m worried about him!”

“It’s the shock, Cole. He’ll come round. It’s good that his parents are here to help and take him home.”

“Home?” I ask incredulously.

“Well yeah, Cole. We can’t all stay here forever.”

“I doubt Jake is going to willing leave while Abbey is still so unstable. You’ve seen him. He’s not stepped away from outside the ICU room since she was moved there.”

“Why don’t you try speaking to him, Cole?”

“I have tried, mom. I just can’t seem to get through to him.”

“If anyone can, you can, Cole. He’s been your best friend for years now. You know him better than anyone.”

I walk down the long and sterile corridor, making my way toward where Jake sits. I see him slumped forward, holding his head in his hands. I slowly lower myself until I’m sitting beside him.

“Jake, man, we need to talk.” I lightly nudge his arm, trying to get his attention.

He shoots me a side-ways glance. “Sup, bro?”

“We need to be heading home, Jake.” My voice is tentative, trying to soften the blow of my words.

“Without Abbey? Are you kidding me?” he shrieks.

“I know you’re struggling with this, Jake. I feel totally responsible here. The god damn guilt is eating me alive, but there’s nothing we can do!”

“What if she wakes up, man, and I’m not here?” he asks, his words fade, as his eyes slowly close.

“Her parents are with her. They will explain to her where she is and why you’re not here.”

“No!” he yells. “No fucking way! I’m staying put. I’ll stay in a hotel, sleep in the hospital, but I ain’t going home, Cole! I need to know she’s okay. I need to be here. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps.

“Okay, Jake, I get it. I just think you will be more use to Abbey once you’ve rested and pulled yourself together.”

“I’ll rest here. I’m staying put! Nothing you say will change my mind.”

It’s obvious his mind is made up and no amount of coaxing will change it. I put my arm around his broad shoulders, giving him a side hug. We say our goodbyes and I head out.

Kennedy

I lay curled in a ball, holding the cloth tightly to my lip. I’m pretty sure that it’s no longer gushing, but it stings so much!

I close my eyes to attempt to sleep, but I jump at every little sound, bang, or generic noise that is made. I have no idea what time it is. The growl of my very empty stomach roars loudly.

I feel faint from the loss of blood and lack of food. The minimal light coming into the room fades as night draws on. I don’t know what to do with myself or when my next meal will be.

I tenderly caress my tiny bump. Thoughts of my baby girl torment my mind. I have to keep her safe. I want to live.

I want my child to live.

I think this baby is the only reason I’m still alive.

This is a different kind of torture.

Waiting.

Not knowing what waits ahead…

I lay on the bed for what feels like a lifetime. The sudden squeals and shrieks coming from the room next door causes me to jump out of my skin. I jump off the bed and start to pace the room, the noise echoing all around me. The screams get louder and sound like that of a child. I try to block it out, pushing my hands over my ears, but my attempts are futile. The sound is deafening, but what is worse are the thoughts of what he’s doing to this child.

The ideas running through my mind are like a punch to the stomach.

I race to the bucket in the corner as the nausea takes hold. I bend over, heaving and retching violently. One hand holds the bucket, the other cradles my bump. I sit up taking deep breaths, not knowing what to do. I want to scream or shout. Do something, anything.

I have been there.

I have been that child!

I start frantically hammering on the door. I bang relentlessly until my fist hurts. Eventually the screams are replaced with sobs. I hear the loud footsteps closer to the room. I step back from the door, just as it flies open with force. Master runs at me, grabbing me by the throat. He lifts me off the floor, pinning me to the wall.

“What’s your damn problem, huh?”

I can’t speak. His grip is so tight around my throat. I gasp for air as I struggle to breathe. He squeezes harder. His face reddens and his eyes bulge.

This is it.

This is the precise moment I am going to die.

I feel my vision dipping. I know I’m losing consciousness. Through hazy eyes I catch sight of a child standing in the doorway.

“Let her go. Please, stop,” speaks the sweet mouse like voice.

I feel the grip around my neck loosen as I drop to the floor. Christopher’s head whips back to look at the child. I collapse in a heap, my hands around my neck as I struggle to breathe.

I look up, trying to get a clearer look at the child. She has curly blonde hair and is so petite. I stare at her in disbelief. She looks just like I did at her age. She couldn’t be any older than six or seven.

Christopher marches over to her, grabbing her by the hair, before dragging her away. She looks at me shyly, shooting a sad smile. The door suddenly slams shut and I hear the rattle of keys as the door is locked.

I run over to the adjoining wall, trying to listen out for the little girl. I need to know if she’s okay. I have to know he isn’t hurting her.

I can’t hear anything other than banging.

I’m worried.

Worried for this child.

No one deserves the life I was subjected to. I slump against the wall in despair, resting my head back. I let out a heavy breath and close my eyes. How is this happening? Will they be able to find me? I’m broken from my thoughts by little taps against the wall. I jump up, turn, and kneel so I’m facing the wall. I don’t know whether this is some sort of trick or it’s the little girl reaching out to me. I brush my hair away from my face, willing for another sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I listen intently as the light tapping continues. I can’t decide how to react.

After a moment, I decide to reach out, hopeful it is the little girl. “Hello,” I whisper as quietly as possible through the wall.

“Hi,” a tiny voice replies. She sounds so sweet. So innocent.

I lean, resting my face on the wall.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I think so, but I’m so scared. I think he wants to hurt me. I just want to go home,” she cries. Her tiny voice is full of heart wrenching emotion. I’m desperate to reach out and take her in my arms, to make this all go away. But I can’t. She releases out a whimper and it crushes my heart.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you.”

“Will you talk to me, please? Just for a little while. I like your voice. You’re very pretty.” There is a small bit of hope in her words.

I let out a little chuckle at how sweet she is. “Why thank you. You’re a little cutie pie yourself,” I sing back to her.

She lets out a little chuckle. “Cutie Pie. I’m seven, not three,” she giggles.

I can’t help but laugh a little. This girl is super sweet and full of attitude and confidence; just as every seven-year-old girl should be. I can’t help but sigh at the thought that she probably will not remain this way. It won’t be long before she is broken, just like me.

“What’s your name, my little firecracker?” I whisper through the wall.

“Hope. My name’s Hope,” she coos.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Hope. Shall we be friends?”

“I’d like that,” she whispers.