Hey Readers!! This is the first installment of Whispers of Redemption so feedback and voting would be much appreciated.
Enjoy :)
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Prologue: "Adversity introduces a man to himself"
"What's this?" Bruce spat
"Ravioli" Kayla murmured.
"Well, hell. Did I say I wanted fuckin' ravioli?" He shoved the heavy plate off the table with a swift and brute force. Kayla flinched. She took an unconscious step back as her head began to pound.
"Girl you better speak when you're spoken to!" He jumped up and rushed towards her, Kayla tried to bolt but he caught her left wrist in an unforgiving fist. Bruce pulled her towards him and wrenched her hand behind her back; she cried out. He laced his other greasy hand through her long black curls just before he brought his lips only inches away from hers.
"Did I say I wanted ravioli, Kayla?" He whispered through clenched teeth. She lifted her free hand to push at his chest.
"You lift a hand to me and I'll break your wrist. I swear it. Answer the question." He warned
"No" Kayla managed to roar. His sinister smile grew slowly, while the hand in her hair loosened its death grip. But Kayla knew there was no such thing as alleviation when she was at his mercy. She closed her eyes hoping to God that he would let go of her wrist...that he wouldn't touch her; her stomach turned. No, she couldn't survive another attack. God never seemed too close, though. When he let go of her wrist she breathed out of a sigh of relief, a breath that would only get caught once more in her throat as he ruthlessly tore open her cotton button down cardigan. Kayla's eyes were as wide as saucers as she began to scream and claw at every inch of his body that she could come in contact with. But Bruce was so much bigger and so much taller. He would win. She didn't recognize her own voice-as she sobbed and wailed with wild abandon.
"Please! No!" She pleaded over and over again. He punched her square in the jaw and she fell silent. As the side of her face began to swell her voice escaped, yet her hands still fought. She knew he had already won. He threw her down on the kitchen floor and grabbed her ankles. She caught a glimpse of what had to be a blade in his hand.
"Open your eyes, Kayla or I promise I'll carve a little token of my love on this pretty little thigh" He growled. Kayla would take every hit, every insult, every cut, but she couldn't bear to look. She felt her legs being spread painfully wide. Why Me? Her whole life revolved around that one question. This was the second time Bruce had won.
Chapter 1: Angel
November 1st 2000 Boston, Massachusetts 6:09 PM
Kayla Warner walked down the steps of Bruce's old townhouse. Her head throbbed and the diminutive cuts on her swollen lips protested the ruthlessness of the bitter winter wind. She struggled with numb fingers to wrap her woolen scarf around her bruised and sensitive neck. There was no coat to engulf her shivering body, no heavy snow boots to protect her toes from the heartless cold, no gloves to hide her bleeding knuckles, no arms to hold her. A long, flimsy, white cotton skirt flowed to her ankles, surrounding stocking covered legs; the hem of her long-sleeved shirt barely reaching the waistband of the skirt, exposing a slither of her mid-drift and promising full blown fever. Tears of despair fell from her hazel eyes onto the pavement with every reluctant step she took. Tall willow trees stood amongst the even taller lampposts. The dark reflection of their lengthy limbs dueling with the dim light that shone over the sidewalk provided a haunting shadow dance. She heard a glass bottle crash against the pavement in the faint distance and quickened her step. She didn't know where to go or how to get to that nowhere. Bruce was back from a two week convention in Kansas.
Bruce Torch was a car salesman. He was also a forty-three year old alcoholic. Kayla had lost both parents to a fatal car crash when she was twelve. She was left in the custody of her father's best friend, Bruce. Bruce had abused her from day one. It had always been physical abuse though, a slap across the face for forgetting the dishes, a punch for ruining the dinner, a kick for dressing inappropriately, an insult for existing-that was until her eighteenth birthday. She had thought she had seen the regular hatred in his eyes when she had looked into those sickening orbs, but that night he wanted more than the satisfaction of bruising her; that night, she lost her soul. She resented how Bruce's heavy hand felt against her temple when he had too much to drink. She resented the vindictiveness his demeaning words elicited from her overbearing self-conscious. She resented the echoes of a belt lash in the bathroom and the cold water that followed. She resented the scars. She resented the rape. She was ashamed of the way she whimpered, begging for mercy. She was ashamed of her suicide attempts, ashamed of the immortality of the pain she felt everyday in every way. Pain. What a sad excuse of a word. What she'd been through, what she'd felt, was not pain, it was a boundless mock of hope. The ineptitude of hope was just as painful as the blows and insults. Just as damaging as her scars and just as weak as her will.
A revolting whistle of appreciation pierced the emptiness of her solitude. The sound came from behind her. Whoever had made the vulgar gesture was close. Kayla didn't dare look back. She was losing her breath briskly, due to the agony of taking deep breaths in itself. Her chest hurt; hard boots that were not hers, hit pavement just as fast- crunching fresh snow beneath their rough soles.
"Slow down, sweetness" a male voice called out in a drunken slur. A different voice laughed wickedly. Kayla's ears grew hot and her throat started to burn. She whimpered involuntarily when her legs began to grow numb, she was so tired. Her body was giving up but her mind was screaming fight. It was like being set on fire after paralysis. She didn't want to cry but her tears cascaded now, she needed to run faster. She needed to fly. There was no way she'd let them touch her, she'd rather die. Yes, that was the solution. Kayla glanced at the street to see if any cars were passing by. All she had to do was throw her self into the street just before one did, that way she'd get to lie down and the pain would stop. It would stop forever. She smiled through her tears and prayed for a car. Prayer answered. The excruciatingly loud engine of what was most likely a motor cycle or sports car ripped down the road, she couldn't tell the difference. Her hands commoved. Ten, nine, eight...she started to count down the seconds...two. The sports car screeched to a stop just before she jumped off the slightly elevated sidewalk.
"Get in, now" A deep voice urged. Kayla didn't consider the possibility of this stranger being no better than her pursuers, she considered nothing but hope... the painless kind. Her movements were a blur as she ran to the car and jumped in. As her back hit the warm seat and the car sped miles away from her should-have-been death she broke down in unearthly sobs. The mysterious driver quickly turned on the heat and pulled off of the road. Kayla left her head in her hands because she couldn't stop crying. She didn't want this stranger to see her bruises; she didn't want to be judged.
"You're okay now" He whispered. His voice was deep yet gentle in hesitation. Kayla lifted her gaze to the hood of the car and wiped at her eyes and nose. She was hardly aware of him reaching into the glove compartment. A warm hand grasped hers. She flinched back and her wide, startled eyes grew wary.
"I'm not going to hurt you" the man murmured. He reached for the water bottle in the cup holder and opened it. After turning on the overhead light and pouring some of the water onto the napkin he began to wipe the blood from her knuckles. Kayla stared at the young man beside her. After he cleaned both of her hands, he reached for a dry napkin and handed it to her.
"Are you okay?" He asked. His voice was soothing. Kayla would have answered the question if she could but the truth was she couldn't. He had the most compelling green eyes she had ever seen. A color you could only find in a jewel or untouched fertile grassland. His hair was midnight black and cropped short, it lay against his forehead lazily, the snow must've gotten to it. He had high cheekbones and a defined jaw line. A gorgeous straight nose graced his unblemished olive skin tone, adding the finishing touch. He wore a pastel green dress shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing toned looking tan forearms. Thick veins intertwined under his smooth looking skin-she couldn't see them because of his lightly tanned skin but she could trace the shape of them with her fingertips if she had the audacity. Enthralling, sensual lips opened and closed and she gawked at them mutely. A second passed before she realized he had spoken.
"Are you ok?" he had repeated. She nodded while closing her eyes and turned away. She wiped at her wet cheek and blew her nose. When she turned back to face him with the napkin balled up in her fist she found his gaze fixed on something. She followed it to her numb left leg and gasped when she saw blood, bright red, staining her white skirt. Her stitches. She hadn't even felt her stitches rip open! She had stitched a deep cut Bruce had caused on her inner thigh, only a few nights before. Before she knew it he was lifting up her skirt. She saw red. Kayla thought she would die.
"Don't touch me!" She screamed
"Hey, hey, hey you're leg is bleeding. I have to take a look at it. I won't hurt you." He said softly "Miss, I won't hurt you." He reached for her skirt once more but Kayla flinched back into the door of his sports car. He sighed.
"What is your name?" he asked. Kayla looked down at first and then slowly gazed into his eyes. She felt safe; she wasn't going to try to lie to herself. But then again she didn't know what safety was anymore and she wasn't going to try and guess at what exactly it felt like.
"Kayla" Her voice was hoarse and tiny. She cleared her throat.
