Killer Love
Nothing To Fear
by
Alicia Dean
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Nothing To Fear
COPYRIGHT
2007 by Alicia Dean
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, February 2007
Print ISBN 1-60154-044-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mentor, Mel Odom and to my fantastic critique partners, the Sooner Writers, especially to Jodi who has read over this manuscript more times than I have. To my sisters, Ruth and Sheri, my brother-in-law Tom, and my devoted friend, Paige, who are more excited about my being published than I am. To Rhonda...an amazing friend and editor. And, to my mother and three wonderful children, Lana, Lacey and Presley, whose love and support makes everything I do worthwhile.
Chapter One
The girl was a cutter.
Jade DiMarco had suspected it the first few times the teen had wandered into Safe Harbor Shelter. She’d noticed the girl scratching at the skin on the back of her hand, deeply, violently, as if wanting to inflict pain. Now, sitting in front of her was the disturbing, irrefutable truth.
The teen’s sleeves rode up on her thin arms, revealing flesh so mangled it looked like the surface of the moon. Puckered scars, some more than four inches long, criss-crossed over deep pinkish-brown circles, obviously made by cigarette burns. A few wounds were new; others were just starting to heal. The coarse scabs were dotted with dried blood.
Jade winced as if she’d actually witnessed the mutilation. Her flesh tingled...tightened as if recoiling in apprehension of suffering the same fate.
Smeared black eyeliner circled the girl’s clear blue eyes. Her pupils appeared normal. She wasn’t high. She’d found another way to escape from reality. She’d traded emotional pain for physical.
The scent of French vanilla from the plug in air freshener mingled with the odor of sweat and cigarette smoke clinging to the girl. Laughter from a sitcom playing on the lobby television filtered into the office, contrasting starkly with the sad image of the lost young soul slouched in the black vinyl chair. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. What kind of thoughts went on in this child’s head that she felt the need to mutilate herself?
A knot of pain coiled low in Jade’s belly. She wanted to reach out and hug the girl, tell her she didn’t have to hurt herself, that nothing was worth that kind of torture. But she knew the girl wouldn’t listen. For whatever reason, she’d created her own brand of hell and a hug from a stranger wasn’t going to make it go away. If anything, it would drive her further inside herself.
The teen looked everywhere except at Jade, winding a strand of dark, unwashed hair around her index finger. “You won’t call my parents?” Her tongue and lip piercings made the words almost indecipherable.
Jade shook her head. “No, Courtney. That’s up to you. We want you to feel safe.”
She was certain the girl had given a false name, but that was okay, at least she’d come back to the shelter. Jade had been trying off and on for weeks to get through to her. The girl would come by, hang out for an hour or so, then disappear. Each time she reappeared, there’d be new injuries, fresh sorrow in the girl’s eyes.
Courtney pulled a near empty pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her denim shirt. The shirt was too large for her and was unbuttoned, revealing a frayed ‘Daddy’s Girl’ tank top underneath. Jade had a feeling it had been a long time since she’d been Daddy’s girl.
She put a cigarette between her lips. Jade decided against telling her there was no smoking allowed and passed an empty coke can over to her.
“Are you going to tell me about those?” Jade asked, pointing to the teen’s wounds.
Courtney’s gaze dropped to Jade’s wrist, where a deep purple and yellow bruise stood out like paint on a white canvas. Hurriedly, Jade shoved her hands in her lap, hiding the evidence of her own injury.
“You first,” the girl said, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
Jade shook her head, fighting a wave of anger as she recalled the scene with her husband.
“I stumbled down the stairs and landed on my wrist. Stupid accident.” Jade pretended an interest in the folder on her desk so she wouldn’t have to meet Courtney’s eyes.
When she looked up again, she saw the girl’s face close, the light of trust in her eyes die. Courtney stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I fell, too. Sucks, huh?”
Jade clenched her jaw, looking down at her bruised wrists. She hated telling anyone what had happened. Didn’t want to admit to the humiliating and frightening incident. But she knew if she wanted to gain Courtney’s trust, she had to show her that she trusted her, too. Looking back up, she let out a breath and said, “My husband did this. He was angry because I said I might leave him.”
The girl nodded slowly. “I know how that is. My boyfriend gets really pissed when I want to break up or when he sees me talking to another guy. Your husband must really love you.”
Jade thought she’d heard wrong. She shook her head, a note of disbelief creeping into her voice. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You really think that’s what love is?” Her voice became more adamant. “People don’t hurt the ones they love. Not on purpose. Not ever.”
Courtney shrugged and dropped her cigarette into the coke can. A small sizzle sounded as the butt was extinguished. The girl stared at the can, not meeting Jade’s gaze. “Sometimes I hurt so bad inside that I want to make it stop. I think that if I hurt myself on the outside, I’ll forget about the inside pain.”
Her lower lip trembled, but her eyes were flinty hard. She was a myriad of contradictions...a battered, ancient soul in the body of a child. Jade said nothing, afraid that if she spoke, the girl would stop talking.
Lifting a hand, Courtney swiped at her cheeks. “Do you know what its like to wonder what you did to make your family hate you? When I ran away, they didn’t even look for me. I think my mom was glad.”
Jade’s heart squeezed and she tried to keep the tears from her voice. “Yes, I know what its like. It won’t do me any good to say that I’m sure your mother loves you because I’m not. I don’t know your mother. And not all mothers love their daughters. But, I can promise you that hurting yourself is not the answer. I can also promise you that the people here care about you. If you stay, you’ll see that. You’ll be safe with us here.”
“You’re the first person I ever told about this,” she said quietly. “I don’t even know why. There’s something about you...like, you really do understand.”
“I do. I was once a lot like you.” The girls eyes widened in doubt and Jade continued. “Really. I ran away when I was sixteen. I lived on the streets for almost a year. It was awful.” She didn’t tell her that going back home was almost as bad. Or that she’d only gone back for a few months before she ran again. “When I moved out the next time, I stayed with my best friend, got a job and went to school to be an accountant. It was the best decision I ever made. I was finally, truly free and I never had to wonder where my next meal would come from, where I’d sleep for the night.”
Courtney nodded. “Maybe I’ll stay. For a while, anyway.”
“Great. It’s up to you. Just know that you’re welcome here.”
A tentative smile touched her lips. “Thanks. Are you here every day?”
“I’m a volunteer and I’m here just a few days a week.”
“Oh.” Courtney looked down where her fingers worried the buttons of her shirt. “I don’t know the others. I’m not sure...”
“We have a staff counselor you’ll really like. I promise. And the director, Mark, is awesome. All the kids love him.” Jade shrugged. “I might come around a little more often, if you think you’ll be here.”
The girl nodded slowly. “Cool.”
All these weeks of trying to get through to Courtney, trying to convince her to stay, worrying about what she might do to herself if she didn’t. Now she was here. And Jade might be leaving. She couldn’t stay with Bryce. Not now. But, could she leave the kids at the shelter?
She had money of her own, money she’d stashed away in case she ever needed her own funds. Bryce was wealthy, but his money was his. He’d insisted Jade quit her job before they married, and like a trained monkey, she’d acquiesced. After a year of marriage, she began to see that the secure, rosy picture she’d had in mind was a mirage. She knew that if she ever decided to leave him, she’d need cash. Unbeknownst to her husband, she’d begun keeping the books for Mark’s father’s construction company. He paid her under the table, and Jade had saved almost every penny. She now had close to five thousand dollars. The five hundred cash in her purse would put it just over that mark.
Enough to leave Bryce and at least make a start in a new place. But, could she leave the runaways? Could she leave Melanie, her best friend since childhood? Plus, her father had been so thrilled when she and Bryce became engaged. Told her she was ‘
marrying well’
. That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. The only time in her life he’d been proud of her. What would he think when he found out she’d failed at her marriage? Never mind that he’d failed to protect her all those years while she’d grown up with her mother’s abuse. After her mother’s death, she and her father had forged a relationship she’d longed for all her life. Not your typical father/daughter bond but definitely more than she’d ever hoped for. Could she spoil that tenuous thread by leaving Bryce? The real question was, could she stay in her nightmare of a marriage now that she’d seen his true nature?
****
Jade pulled into the garage, noting that Bryce’s white Mercedes was in its spot. So, he was working at home, not at the office. She didn’t want to see him, not tonight, not this soon. Maybe not ever. Fortunately, his home office was separate from the main house. He could be there for hours, coming in anywhere from six o’clock on up to nine or later, expecting dinner to be waiting when he was ready. Expecting Berta, his faithful housekeeper but really more of a servant, to have the meal ready when he was ready for it. Which, she always did. After all, Bryce was king. The world and his home revolved around his wants. Berta had been with Bryce for years and adored him almost as much as he adored himself.
