Saving Amy Read online

  Saving Amy

  by Nicola Haken

  Saving Amy

  Copyright © 2013 Nicola Wall

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, except in the case of critics or reviewers who may quote brief passages in their review. If you are reading this ebook and have not purchased it or won it in a blogger/author competition then you are reading a pirated version. Please support the author by deleting it and purchasing it from an authorized distributor.

  Dedicated to Michael. He knows why.

  xxx

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  I was awoken by the silence. The lack of raised voices told me it must be morning and my dad must have left for work. He was a lawyer for one of Seattle’s most prestigious law firms so that meant to the outside world he was an upstanding, respected member of the community.

  I knew different.

  Grudgingly, I swung my legs out of bed and headed to the window. I twisted the cord for the purple blackout blind and let the beams of early morning sunlight flood the room, startling my eyes. Then I glanced towards the small, black travel alarm on my bedside table and realised I was late. Shit. I had thirty minutes before morning registration and Mrs Clarke had already threatened to call my parents if I turned in late again. Good luck with that, I remember thinking.

  Thankfully there was only four months left until graduation and then I’d never have to lay eyes on her sour face again.

  After stepping out of the shower and running a towel over my damp body I quickly threw on the first clothes I came to – some black boot-cut pants and a cream vest top – before inhaling a deep, preparing breath at the top of the stairs, wondering what state I would find my mom in today.

  I found her wallowing in the kitchen, slumped over the round pine table and staring unseeingly into her mug. At first glance it looked like regular black coffee but I could smell the gin from across the room. As usual I threw a brief ‘morning’ her way and also as usual she didn’t bother to look up. It was when I grabbed my satchel off the back of the kitchen door she flipped her unruly black hair from her face, revealing a fresh, marbled bruise on her jaw. Rightly or wrongly, this was such a frequent occurrence I classed it as the norm. She took another sip of her gin disguised as coffee and I grabbed my black jacket from the back of her chair and left without looking back.

  The school parking lot was bursting at the seams and I circled it for nearly ten minutes before giving up and parking at the tyre shop across the way. After a quick will-I-do glance in my visor mirror I noticed I still had a faint scar-like indentation down my right cheek from falling asleep on Love Conquers All – a soppy (sickeningly so) book about a girl called Penny whose life only seemed worth living when she was with Neil. He was just a regular guy but the way she banged on about him you’d think he was some kind of superhero.

  Still, I have this thing about books – a disease almost – that won’t let me give up until I’ve read to the end. Plus, you never know – Penny might grow herself a set of balls along the way.

  My ears pricked up at the low hum of the registration bell across the street so I threw my satchel over my shoulder and ran towards the noise. My feet finally skidded to a halt as I reached classroom A1 and I breathed an exhausted sigh of relief when I noticed Mrs Clarke wasn’t at her desk yet. My best friend Julie waved me over to our table and I hurriedly scuttled in beside her. Julie is stunning; petite, brunette, electric-blue eyes and the kind of body that belongs on a hot beach somewhere – my completely opposite. Don’t get me wrong I’m no howler – just a ‘pass in a crowd’ type.

  We met in sixth grade. Julie was the new girl – just moved here from West Virginia. People didn’t exactly flock to be her friend. She might be beautiful now but back then she was the spotty kid with out of control hair and braces on her teeth. Kids are cruel and I guess I pitied her so I let her latch onto me. It was kind of refreshing to feel sorry for someone other than myself.

  It was the other way round now of course. Julie had made a ton of friends along the way but she still stuck by me. Whether that was out of pity, gratitude or genuine friendship I wasn’t really sure.

  “Jeez, Amy you’re cutting it fine,” Julie said, stating the damn obvious.

  “She been in yet?” I asked, pointing towards the empty teacher’s desk.

  “Nope. Think you got away with it this time.” In that exact moment Mrs Clarke appeared in the doorway, her stern, wrinkle-framed eyes boring into mine.

  “Just in time, Amelia,” she stated, her dull eyes bursting with warning.

  Damn.

  I looked down to my desk and rolled my eyes when she turned away. After a run through of everyone’s names the second bell rang and the sound of thirty screeching chairs pulling out from under their desks deafened my ears.

  “Ugh, Biology,” Julie muttered as she remembered our first class of the day.

  “Screw it. I’m getting out of here,” I replied defiantly, unwilling to spend yet another day being told what to do by the usual mix of patronising teachers on a power trip or the interfering ones who pretended to care.

  “You want company?” Julie winked. I nodded eagerly and we hurried towards my car (Julie takes the bus to school) knowing the swarm of other students making their way to class would conceal our getaway.

  After yanking the passenger door open on my rusty, red Ford Fiesta I dashed round to my side to do the same. My car was possibly older than me. The driver door was a more faded shade of a red than the rest, the bumper clung for dear life by the licence plate screws and there was a huge dent spanning the entire width of the trunk at the back. But I loved it nonetheless. I spent a whole year working every hour the weekend sent washing cars for a guy called Fat Phil at his second-hand dealership last summer. My car was there when I started right through to the day I drove it away as my own.

  It was like we were destined to be together.

  Julie giggled as I hit the ignition – amused at yet another unseen escape. I had no laughter in me today so I pretended I hadn’t heard her, grabbed two cigarettes from the stash under my seat, lit one for Julie then one for me and headed straight for the highway.

  I pulled up ten minutes later at Lake View Cemetery – our usual ditching hideout. It was quiet and peaceful and we could talk for hours on the benches beneath the trees without being disturbed. We walked through the maze of moss covered gravestones and flowers and for a moment I found myself admiring the earth, unable to suppress the pang of jealousy I felt towards the bodies underneath.

  How peaceful they must be…

  We settled down on the familiar wooden bench, under the shade of the vast green canopy of trees and grabbed two more cigarettes. I slumped myself backwards as I looked out onto the
shimmering lake which was rippling softly in the spring breeze, the wooden slats boring into my back as I welcomed the calming nicotine into my lungs.

  “Another bad night?” Julie asked, noticing my subdued disposition.

  “Yeah. You know, the usual – shouting, cups throwing…” I replied, not wanting to go into too much detail and relive it all over again.

  Julie knew my mom drank too much, my dad had a short fuse and they argued relentlessly but she had no idea just how bad things can get. Nobody did; I wouldn’t want them to. I didn’t exactly have the kind of upbringing to be proud of. Besides, I’d be getting the hell out of there after graduation and they could enjoy their fucked-up relationship in peace. I just needed to work out how and where and I’m gone.

  I doubted they’d even notice.

  “It’s been so long since I saw you smile. You can talk to me you know?” Here was me thinking I was putting on a good act.

  “I know. I’m fine though… honest,” I lied. I couldn’t talk to Julie. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I was too ashamed. If I was honest with myself, I was probably afraid too.

  “I know just what you need,” Julie said with a mischievous grin. “Romy’s throwing a party tomorrow night; her parents have booked a last minute weekend away. Should have everything you need to put that spring back in your step. Cute guys, alcohol…” The one good thing about having parents who were too busy hating each other to care about me is that I didn’t have to ask for permission to go out – or stay out. I could come and go as I pleased.

  Julie winked and breathed her childlike giggle again. It was infectious and my lips seemed to regain the ability to smile.

  “Count me in. Text me the details later,” I replied enthusiastically, welcoming the thought of a night out of earshot from the screaming match – even though I couldn’t stand Romy. She was a typical cheerleader – blonde, immature and shamefully dumb. I was pretty sure she didn’t like me either – not many people did. But that suited me just fine.

  Glancing at my watch I noticed the time had flown straight into the afternoon and I needed to get Julie home before the school bus arrived. Unlike mine, her parents gave a damn and insisted one of them drove her to and from school for a month last time she was caught skipping school.

  We headed back to the car and once inside Julie doused herself in perfume from her purse to mask the smell of stale tobacco and I dropped her off at the bus stop near the end of her street before heading home myself. I huffed into my shoulder when I noticed my dad’s car on the drive and then walked reluctantly down the concrete path.

  I hated this house. I hated the white walls, the arched russet door, the overgrown lawn… they all led inside. Animosity consumed me as I turned my key in the brass lock and my heart plummeted into the depths of my stomach when I saw my dad stood before me. He was dressed impeccably as usual - ever the professional in his grey, pinstripe suit with a crisp white shirt. His slick black hair was combed neatly to the side and his thick black moustache was groomed to perfection.

  “And where the hell do you think you’ve been?” he yelled in my face. I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of the answer he wanted from me. “I’ve had some up herself teacher on the phone today, reading me the riot act about you skipping school. You think I need that while I’m at work?” I was stunned into silence. “Well DO YOU?” he roared, more force with each word.

  His face was just inches from mine and the vile stench of Old Spice aftershave burned my nose, making my stomach churn. I shook my head at him. My mom appeared from the kitchen door across the hall. She didn’t intervene. She never did. She simply bowed her head, hiding her face with her greasy black hair while she listened to him yell at me.

  “You fucking stink. Have you been smoking?” he shouted and I wanted to scream ‘and what if I have?’ but I couldn’t seem to summon the courage for fear of where this was heading. Instead, I nodded once.

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered, fixing my eyes on the marble floor. I was forbidden from addressing him as ‘Dad’. It took only a handful of slaps across the face to learn that. It was a power thing, I assumed.

  And then it came… a harsh, smarting slap to the side of my cheek – swinging my head to the side and making me stumble. Enough! A brave voice buried deep in my subconscious bellowed and suddenly I refused to be afraid of him any longer. I breathed a defiant laugh.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I goaded him, feeling bold and rebellious. His blue eyes widened and for a moment he was paralysed with disbelief. Then I saw the veins in his neck begin to bulge under the pressure of blood rushing to his cheeks and I knew what was coming but for the first time I didn’t care.

  I watched as his hand clenched into a fist and transformed into a blur as he rammed it into my side with excessive speed, thrusting me into the wall. I slid to the floor against it and watched vacantly as his fist retracted and flew back again, then again… but I couldn’t feel it. My eyes locked onto the bottom stair and I completely tuned out of my body. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t hear anything. I could see hazes of movement in the corner of my eye but my mind was firmly focused on the plum carpet hugging the stairs.

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he said sternly, forcing his boot into my thigh and snapping me back into consciousness.

  I stared after him, feeling physically sick with revulsion as he retreated to the magnolia living room. My mom was still stood in the doorway and her eyes met mine for a brief second. Part of me wanted her to rush to my side and hold me, but the rational part of me knew she was too selfish to bother. I was proved right when she turned away and headed back into the kitchen – to pour another glass of gin no doubt.

  I used to love her… I think. Or at least I used to believe she loved me. I was only a young girl – five, six maybe – when she first witnessed me scream as my dad jabbed his fist into my ribs and yet she did nothing to stop him. Too young to know any better, children love their mothers instinctively and so I used to believe she was too afraid to help me. It was only as I grew older I began to see her for what she really was – a selfish drunk who blamed my entrance into the world for my dad turning into a violent monster.

  I ran to the bathroom taking two stairs at a time and slammed the door closed behind me before bolting it and sliding to the floor against it. I hugged my knees and thoughts of razor blades slicing into my flesh overwhelmed my mind. I tried to ignore it, rocking back and forth, closing my eyes and fighting desperately against the urge, swearing I wouldn’t visit that dark place again.

  But the craving was too intense.

  I opened my eyes and found my hands picking apart the plastic casing on a razor from my vanity case and not remembering how I got there. Perching myself on the edge of the bath I rolled my pant leg up to the top of my thigh. A faint voice in the back of my mind was telling me to stop but I defied it, craving the relief I knew it would bring.

  I glided the blade through the skin of my thigh slowly, meticulously. I needed to see it. I needed to physically see the excruciating pain I felt reverberating throughout my insides. Again, I tuned out of the pain as I focused on the rich, red blood spiralling down my pale leg. I sighed contentedly and repeated the process, trying desperately to carve away his touch. It was deeper this time and I felt an even greater sense of release. And pride. I felt fulfilled and I smiled inwardly at the knowledge that my dad couldn’t hurt me as much as I could hurt myself.

  I noticed spots of blood dripping onto the white marble floor tiles which stunned me back into reality and I realised I needed to clean myself up. After cleaning the floor, wrapping the blade in tissue and flushing it down the toilet, I took a steaming shower – feeling similar relief as the hot water stung my thigh. Then I took myself to bed, applying pressure to my cuts with a hand-towel. The house was eerily silent but I savoured the still and drifted into a heavy sleep.

  **********

  When I arrived home from school I was relieved to see my dad’s car wasn’t there. I hurr
ied inside and headed straight upstairs without bothering to look for my mom. I knew she was in the house somewhere – she hadn’t ventured farther than the mailbox in years.

  I emptied my school satchel and placed the textbooks in a neat pile on my dressing table, making room for my clothes for the party tonight. I’d arranged to get changed at Julie’s so we could go together, and the fact that meant being away from this godforsaken house for even longer was an added bonus.

  Next, I placed my journal and notebook under my mattress. I had to either carry them with me or hide them since my dad burnt the others. They were the only way I could share my thoughts before my mind exploded under the pressure. I wrote for hours some days. Mostly stories – immersing myself in a hope-filled fantasy world to escape from the harrowing one I actually existed in for a while.

  I headed to the en-suite and ran a bath overflowing with lavender bubbles. I gasped as I tentatively lowered my thigh into the stinging foam and delicately trickled the steaming water over the dried blood. The seeping scars were a welcome distraction from my life and my thoughts and running my finger over them caused the urge to build once again so I quickly dismissed it and clambered out of the tub before I succumbed and prized open the healing wounds.

  After towelling myself dry I patched up my leg with a dressing from the draw under my bed, threw on my most unflattering pair of grey sweats and gathered my things for Julie’s.

  **********

  Romy’s porch was alive with fairly lights of at least nine different colours and a swarm of people were spilling out of the house. Julie breathed one last tut of disapproval as she eyed up my formal black pants then she hitched her already too short ivory skirt up a little further before dragging me towards the blaring music coming from inside.