Saved By You (The Spring Rose Bay Series Book 3) Read online

  Saved By You

  K. L. Jessop

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  KL’S Books

  About the Author

  Let’s connect

  Saved By You

  First Edition.

  Copyright © 2018 K.L.Jessop.

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing by Schmidt’s Author Services

  Interior book formatting by Pink Elephant Designs

  To those that have found their strength.

  Prologue

  Victoria. Age 12

  “I—I’m sorry,” I choke out in deep uncontrollable sobs as I fight for air. My eyes sting, my body physically shakes with so much fear it’s unbearable.

  His torturous ways have taken another level.

  I want my mum.

  Water runs down my face and neck soaking into my school clothes. The fist of my hair in his grip is tight as he yanks my head back towards his face. I cry out as a sharp pain radiates down my back, robbing me of the breath I’m still trying to accumulate. Everything was fine this morning, then I go and mess it all up like I always do, whether the intention is there or not. This time it wasn’t.

  “Stop fucking apologising!” he screams in my ear, alcohol filling my senses like it always does. He never used to be much of a drinker, he used to be kind, but recently that’s changed. Everything has changed, and I have no idea why.

  “Can you not do something right for once in your shitty fucking life, Vicky?”

  I hate that name on his lips. I like to be known as Victoria as it somehow makes me feel stronger, yet the name I continue to be referred to by this man makes me feel nothing but weakness.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat with a whimper, knowing it will only fuel his anger but not knowing what else to say. I am sorry. I always am, but he never sees it from my side. He never does. I’m the child and he’s the adult; I’m a twelve-year-old girl still learning the meaning of life, yet that never registers with him.

  So, I’m punished.

  My mum thinks he’s the best thing that’s happened to our family since my dad walked out on us when I was a baby. That’s why she married him. But he only shows her his nice side. I don’t think she’s ever witnessed the evil in his eyes. He keeps that for the nights when she’s working long hours and he’s drunk.

  For the nights when I am alone with him.

  For the nights he can do anything he wants.

  “Why, Vicky? Why is it so goddam fucking hard, huh? Why did school have to ring me again?”

  I don’t know what to say. Nothing I say will be right.

  I need my mum.

  “ANSWER ME!” he roars, making me wince.

  “I—I didn’t understand the questions they asked,” I cry. A hot sweat clams my body, my heart pounds against my chest.

  “Wrong. Fucking. Answer.”

  I’m pushed back down under the water. I try my best to hold my breath as I fight for freedom. My hands desperately try to fight their way free from behind my back. The cold-water echoes in my ears as he holds me down, my dark hair flowing around my wide eyes and I struggle to grip my feet on the wet floor of the bathroom. It’s no use. His hold on me is too strong. My tiny body is fighting a battle of panic and defeat. I can’t breathe. Coolness hits my face and my torso burns with the air I struggle to inhale as I’m pulled back out. I choke out on a deep gasp; my throat burns with the pressure, the torment, the agony. Why is this happening to me? My limp body is dropped to the tiled floor, a towel thrown at my chest, and through blurred eyes, I see the shadow of his feet exiting the room. I’m riddled with heartache and fear—my mind numb. I’m losing the fight he constantly brings on me and no one is here to save me.

  No one ever is.

  Chapter One

  Victoria. Sixteen Years Later.

  “Name?” the snotty woman asks into the mic from behind the thick security glass, looking down her nose at me from over the top of her frameless glasses. Her navy-blue suit does nothing for her complexion and the white blouse she’s wearing has a grey tinge to it from the city smog that lingers in the fabric. She sits with her back dead straight in her high back leather chair with a scowl as though she’s trying to intimidate me. She doesn’t. She’s sitting in an underdeveloped bus station issuing tickets for Christ’s sake.

  “I said, name?” she demands again.

  I have a selection of names I’ve used over the years. Ebony. Amy. Morgan. They’re just a few of my favourites I go by when I need to keep low and hide my identity a little longer. You learn to disguise yourself quickly when living up against the urban backdrop of dark streets and graffiti walls. You become a survivor overnight, a feral creature of the cultural world while men linger behind, waiting for you to spread your legs before going home to their wives that aren’t providing any in the bedroom. I’m not half as bad as some women that roam the night looking for a quick fix to a problem that’ll never go away. That said, I’m no saint either.

  Of late I’ve been going by my real name: the girl that disappeared many years ago, and grew up faster than she should, and the woman I’m yet to even experience. I’ve had to. Using my original identity hadn’t been my choice but it was one that would cost me my future if I didn’t participate in what was required. So here I am.

  “Foster. Victoria Foster,” I say. I don’t smile. People around here never do. They just look at you the way she’s doing now. It’s that look of disgust, as though they need not hear of your past because they can already see it in your eyes. They can smell every dirty part of you from a foot away and turn their backs as though you’re diseased. They’re all the same in this city, and I can’t wait to get the fuck out of it.

  “Destination?” she mutters with a sigh, typing letters and numbers on her keyboard with little enthusiasm.

  Since the age of fourteen, and the night my family home was truly torn apart, I’ve done nothing but run. I ran from those I loved—ran from the town I loved. I ran from one city to anothe
r, from the foster carers and the authority. I ran for the sake of running and just kept on going.

  When I was eighteen, I was finally free, but I kept on running.

  I’ve never stayed in the same place any longer than three months. I don’t make friends: I have acquaintances. I don’t do relationships: I fuck and move on. I’ve changed my hair more times than I can remember and my surname twenty-two times.

  I run from life.

  It’s all I’ve ever known since the day my life changed so dramatically, and the years of abuse I suffered was nothing compared to what happened that night.

  I’d had my life mapped out in front of me only for it to be replaced with dark streets, dirty men and a memory box of haunts that could never be shared.

  Running is how I’ve learnt to survive in this cold cruel world where I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. It’s become second nature. It’s transformed me in a way I never thought possible.

  They say everyone has two personalities.

  I agree.

  I‘d been the good little girl that played by the rules, but once my feet hit the urban soil, that girl was gone, only to be replaced by a bad and fearless one. Then, two years ago, my life changed once again when I gave birth to my son in a bedsit that had mould on the walls and broken furniture. That badass attitude crumbled the moment I laid my eyes on him, and I’ve struggled to retrieve it. I was terrified and on the verge of desperation because how could I save this tiny person when I’d failed to save myself?

  I don’t believe in God; I don’t believe in miracles, but someone somewhere was looking down on me at that moment.

  Charlie’s changed my life.

  Now I have to change his and do what’s best for him, even if I suffer in the process—even if it means fighting my demons daily.

  Being here in this busy bus station was never my intention. In all honesty, I never knew what was. I just know that it wasn’t to go back, and I’m asking myself if by going back I’m running in the wrong direction altogether.

  I usually run from the past, but for some stupid fucking reason I’m running right back into it and the life I left, waiting to be criticised and degraded over the never-ending waste of what my life has now become when I had the potential to be something exclusive—someone successful.

  I know remarks will be made, whispers will be exchanged and the guilt will eat me alive fast like it has done all these years that’s passed, but it’s the little man that’s sleeping in my arms that’s brought me here. This life is not safe for him: it’s unpredictable and dangerous and I’m not prepared to risk Charlie’s safety any longer than I have to.

  Giving the busy bus station one last look, I turn back to the woman behind the glass and answer her, ready to start yet another chapter in life. I just hope that this time my demons don’t dominate my future like they have my past.

  “Spring Rose Bay. One way.”

  Chapter Two

  Victoria.

  My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since we got off the coach. My palms are sweaty, and my stomach is knotted with anxiety. Taking a few deep breaths, I inhale the salty air to control my breathing. Being back in Spring Rose Bay is like having a wakeup call and a big smack in the face all at once.

  I loved this place as a child. I’d leave the house at dawn and not go home until dusk. The hours spent on the beach with my friends had been my tranquillity to the shit life I had at home. Everything seemed better with the sun on my face and the sand between my toes. The beach had been my freedom: my sanctuary of safety.

  Taking my crumbled-up paper from the back pocket of my jeans, I place my luggage bag over my shoulder before looking down at Charlie who’s sitting on the dusty ground looking up at me with those big brown eyes. He looks just as tired as I feel but still manages the cutest smile that makes everything worthwhile.

  “You ready to start a new life with me, Doodles?” I smile. He scrunches his little nose and pulls a face, which causes me to laugh. He’s so damn cute. Picking him up to prop him on my hip, I head left out of the station as little babbles of him trying to pronounce new words hit my ear. ‘Dis’ seems to be his latest saying of the week, pointing at anything and everything with a look of curiosity on his peachy little face. But nothing beats hearing him say ‘mama’ first thing on a morning.

  Like it always had when I was a girl, the sun is shining and it feels so good to have clean air on my skin instead of polluted smog. That said, it doesn’t stop the gut-wrenching feeling that’s growing full force in my stomach the further I enter the bay. This place is a picture book of memories: the good, the bad and the cold-blooded ugly. It’s like nothing has changed, yet the faces are of no one I remember. Everything looks both small and grander in equal measure, while people smile as though they’re welcoming us to their hometown.

  Little do they know that it’s mine.

  Pushing past the anxiety in my stomach, I cross the road and head towards the building that’s named on my paper. I recognise it, but the purpose of what it now is far from what it was back then. Back in the day, it had been my local kid’s club where weekends and summer holidays were spent playing ping-pong and listening to music. Boys would chat up the skinnier girls while I stayed in the corner eating ice cream and scribbling down sketches of unique clothing I wanted to design. Now, the building’s been painted white with the words ‘Care Services’ in big letters on the outside. It screams charity, and even though I need this for Charlie I hate the thought of having to walk through those fucking doors as it’s a clear indication that other than my son, I have nothing.

  “Good afternoon. Can I help you?” a tall blonde girl asks, her smile big her welcome much more friendly than the old bag back in London. She’s a little too joyful for my liking though, her smile and appearance as if she’s waiting to provide you with rainbows and unicorns for that perfect happy ever after when in reality it’s nothing but bullshit.

  “Hi, I’m Victoria Foster, I’ve been—”

  “Victoria, yes. We’ve been expecting you,” she beams, cutting me off and clasping her hands together. “How are you? How was your journey? This must be Charlie, how is he? Can I get you anything?”

  Which fucking question would you like me to answer first?

  “We are tired and hungry,” I bite back. “So, I’d appreciate it if you told Lucy that we’ve arrived.”

  Her pretty face drops like I’ve just taken her crayons away as she leaves the reception area. I sigh and pace the room. I need to get myself together. Taking out my emotions on innocent people isn’t fair when they are doing so much to help provide a stable environment for my son and me. They don’t have to help me—no one does. I just hadn’t realised that coming back here would affect me this hard.

  The cold cloud of haunts still prickles my skin.

  The images still flash behind my eyes.

  The only thing that’s kept me from crumbling all this time and falling back into the world of non-existence and drug abuse is Charlie.

  “Tori, hi.” Lucy smiles as she approaches us, a little less excited than the happy-clappy one behind the desk but still just as bouncy. What I like about Lucy is that straight after she greets me she gives Charlie her full attention. Not many people did that in the city. “Hello, you gorgeous boy. You’ve got so big since I last saw you.”

  “He’s growing so fast. I don’t like it,” I admit, kissing his soft hair. “He’s finally sleeping through the night, though, thank God.”

  “You just like to keep Mummy on her toes don’t you, Charlie?” Lucy pulls back from my son and scans her eyes over the both of us with a smile. “You look great, Tori. You both do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How are you feeling about being back in general?”

  “Anxious. The memories are already flooding.”

  “It’s natural. We all knew it was a hard decision for you to make, but make sure you talk through it with those who are here to support if you need to.”

  I’ve
only known Lucy a short time. My mentor back in London introduced me to her in the rehabilitation centre when I said I wanted to move back home. Working together, the charity has supported me in getting clean and showing me how to look after Charlie. Without them, he’d been in some foster home and I’d have most likely ended up dead. Asking for help when I was pregnant was degrading: I’d taken care of myself for years and got by just fine, regardless of the fact I was sleeping in the back of abandoned cars or in bedsits, so going to them went against everything I’d become, but I left myself no choice. I hadn’t been able to see how I could raise a baby when I’d lost all sense of caring for myself. That’s something you need your own mother for. Her job is to show you how to raise a child like she did. Only my mum wasn’t there, and for the first time in my life, I was scared for a completely different reason to the one that’d had me running. The people in the centre are who helped me to become Victoria the mother, not Victoria the broken girl with an absent future and a neglected child. They are the reason we are here today.

  “Shall we sort the paperwork before we head down and get you both settled?” Lucy asks.

  “Sounds great.”

  After I’ve filled out countless papers and fed Charlie, Lucy drives us to our next destination. The journey through the town has me on edge. It’s like the open book of history in a landscape: the play park where I use to drink cheap booze on a summer’s evening in the hope I wouldn’t get caught remains; the small tourist shops at the front of the promenade still with trinkets placed in the window; and The Grand hotel that seems to have expanded in size since I saw it last. The guilt of the past soon pulls my gut and wipes the smile of remembrance from my face. I don’t deserve to smile after what happened.