Final LockDown (15 page)

“Please to meet you Leighton, I’m Marcus. And kid, please don’t swing for me again because I will break your arm.” He smiles widely and puts his hand out for me to shake.

I place my palm to his and acknowledge the journey I am about take.

Dead. That is what I am. Well, I might as well be, because the second Leighton walked from this room taking my heart with him, I became an empty shell of a girl with nothing left.

He doesn’t understand, I don’t care how damaged and broken he is. I already know of his thirst for blood and violence, I knew as soon as I knew his business. It wasn’t hard to see how he thrived on the death of people. It is sickening for sure, it makes me want to heave every time I think of him ending somebody's life, but it is always someone who deserved it, always those who have hurt somebody beyond repair. I know he’d never hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.

As soon as Leighton had revealed the fate of his father I had seen how much the fucking arsehole had damaged my husband. His influence had been nothing but evil and venomous. If he were alive now I’d kill the bastard myself for subjecting a very young Leighton to that.

He had misunderstood me when I said my heart was breaking. It was breaking, shattering and splintering into a million tiny pieces, it hurt and bled. It doesn’t hurt for my loss, it hurts for him, for the little boy whose life had been shaped in a way that made me feel an anger I knew I’d never possess again. I can see how much he is hurting himself by revealing that part of himself. I wish he would have opened his eyes and looked at me, and seen the pure and utter love I hold for him, how much I admire his strength and determination to better himself.

Over the last few months, since the attack on me from Phillip, I have seen the change in him. The shortness in his temper, the frequent trips out, the even more frequent trips to work. He owns a restaurant, I am sure that isn’t the work he is referring to. I refuse to believe he is killing people; I don’t want to subject my imagination to the vile images it likes to create when I think of my beautiful husband turning into a vengeful psychopath.

“Mrs Lock, are you okay?” A quiet voice sounds from the doorway. I am still sat on the bed where he has left me. My knees are pulled to my chest and my one good arm wraps around them. I look to the woman stood there, it is Andrea.

I smile weakly at her as more tears spill forth from my eyes. “Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asks me as she walks to the bed she had been bent over and fucked brutally, only an hour or so before.

“Nothing, I’m fine thanks.” I wipe my eyes and turn my head away from her.

“Honey, I heard you screaming for Leighton only twenty minutes ago and now your crying. What’s wrong? I’m sure we’re on a truthful base now.” Yes, I’m sure we are, but I really don’t want anybody feeling sorry for me right now. I just want my Leighton.

“I had a nightmare. When I woke he had gone,” I lie.

“Probably going to see that beautiful little girl of yours, hey. You want me to call him to come back?” she asks me.

“Could I call him? Could you get me a phone?” I request. I need to make this right before he does something I know he’ll regret when he comes to his rational sense.

“Sure thing babe. Give me a minute and I’ll be back.” She disappears out of the door, the hinge swinging it closed behind her.

I lean back on the headboard and drop my head back. I sigh hard, having used all of my tears. Stupid, stubborn man. Why does his pride always drive him to make rash and stupid decisions? I would have held him, told him it would be okay and that I understood his feelings. I would have fought to the very end to keep him with me, but no, what does the stupid bastard go and do? Walk out, that’s what. It is becoming a regular thing in our relationship. Whether it is on my behalf, or his, that we are failing, instead of fighting and proving that we are destined to be happy he runs and hides until he gets over his emotions enough to approach me.

A little knock sounds at the door and Andrea re-enters holding a phone for me to use. I had been rushed in here, having nearly lost my life, only two days ago. All my belongings still reside at home; my wedding dress is most probably thrown in the bin, as it is guaranteed to be covered in my blood and possibly my spirit, as it has long since left my body.

“I’ll leave you to it sweetheart,” she tells me before leaving the room and closing the door firmly shut behind her.

I stare blankly at the phone, typing in Leighton’s number, which is etched into my brain, over and over again. Each and every time I delete it, returning it to a blank screen. What will I even say to him? He won’t understand that I can rationalise this for the both of us. He is too proud to want to face the facts he is fucked up and needs help, but far too stubborn to accept any of it from me.

I breathe out a deep breath as my shaking hand finally presses the green key on the touchscreen.

I look to my bad arm as the phone rings, begging for even the slightest movement. I need it to work for me now so I can get out of this place as soon as possible. My family needs me, all of them.

“Come on Leigh, answer the god damn phone you foolish man,” I curse him, hoping he will somehow hear me and have some sense knocked into him. I hope he is with one of his men, preferably Ant, so they might be able to explain to him what a stupid decision he is making, walking away from me. I will support him through anything in this world, unless it involves the abuse of children or the killing of
innocent
people.

“Welcome to the O2 messaging service, please leave your message after the tone.” The phone answers in my hand and I want to throw it across the room, letting it shatter like my heart is rapidly doing so.

“Leighton, where are you? Please don’t do anything stupid. We can make it work baby, I’ll help you, I’ll always help you. I’ve known about this part of you for a long time, this isn’t a surprise to me, I knew how much you needed to do what you did. You never let me finish what I was going to say. My heart wasn’t breaking because I didn’t want you anymore; it was breaking for you because of how hard you were being on yourself. Please come back to the hospital so we can talk and sort this out. Melissa needs her father, I need my husband. I love you baby.”

“ERGHHHH!” I shout and slam the phone down onto the sheets surrounding me. My head falls into my hands and I begin to scream, releasing some of the un-expelled hurt.

“Stupid fucking arsehole.” I am angry beyond belief. I haven’t felt this angry in a long bloody time. “Always got to be right,” I scream again, trying to clench both my fists. “Stupid fucking hand, stupid fucking shitty bloody life.” I have been upset before, in despair at the near loss of my life and then my husband walking out when we needed each other most. Now I am fucking fuming, I want to punch him in his god damn perfect, godlike face.

I read the clock, a very late 05:10 showing on the LCD display. I am so tired, emotionally and physically. I have been through a lot in the last week, so many ups and downs I don’t know where the normal level ground is anymore, or if I’ll even find it again.

I submit, letting myself fall into the sleep I so desperately need. I relax into the softish pillows, begging them to swallow me whole right now and end this shitty fucked up mess I seem to be engulfed by, in the last two days.

My life has been perfect for months now; since Phillip was killed, everything has been smooth and beautiful. Only the few weird things my father has done to unsettle us, but we have worked through it all as a family and come out stronger than ever.

But my wedding, the day that should have changed my life for the better, turned it on its head, giving my entire being a fucking concussion.

Goodnight world. Hopefully for a long time,
I say to myself as I drop into sleep, the softest clouds surrounding me, comforting me and protecting me.

*****

“Mrs Lock, wake up, you need to eat something and take your meds.” I hear a soft voice call me from my deep sleep. I blink rapidly trying to force my heavy eyelids to deliver me light. “You’ve been out for the count Abigail,” she continues and I manage to tilt my head to look at the clock. 17:59 the red digits show me.

“Fuck.” I sit up sharply, a pain zipping through my shoulder. “CUNT!” I use my good hand to cover the spot where a burning pain stems from.

“Careful Mrs Lock. You need to take it easy. Those stitches could easily reopen again. We don’t want you back down in surgery for a third time. Now, can I check your BP please sweetheart?” she asks sweetly and I smile and nod to her.

I grit my teeth as the cuff begins to tighten to almost unbearable around my arm. “It’s up a little, but that’s to be expected after the trauma you’ve suffered. I’m sure you’re going through a range of emotions right now.” I roll my eyes as she turns her back to hang the equipment back up. Like she really understands what is going through my head.

I have had just about enough abuse and destruction to last a lifetime if not longer. There isn’t a person on this shitty planet that can possible feel what I feel, nobody could have endured as much as I have and still be here to tell the tale. The only reason I haven’t topped myself like my useless mother did is because I have ambition and hope. Every day it gets harder and harder to believe that hope is even worth it.

I mentally kick myself for even letting those thoughts enter my mind. I have to remember my beautiful daughter who needs me, who needs her mummy strong enough to protect her from the cruelty this world possesses. I was damned that my own mother hadn’t been around to do that for me, to protect me from the shit I had to endure.

I flop my head back down into the pillow in a huff. “How you feeling after that sleep Abigail?” Twelve hours has done my levels of exhaustion wonders, physically that is. I still feel as shitty as I had before falling into unconsciousness.

“More awake.” I answer simply.

“And your arm, any movement today?” I look to the limp useless limb attached to my body, and strain to get my brain to signal the nerves to work but they ignore my pleas. “You’ll get there. I don’t care what the doctors say, I think it’ll work. Just think of your daughter and you can do it. Anything is possible if you believe it is sweetheart. The Physiotherapist is coming in this evening to talk to you about the régime you’ll go through.”

I just smile back at her, fiddling around the bed sheets to try and find the phone I’d fallen asleep with this morning.

I lift my bum cheek and fish out the plastic thing. I click the button, saddened by the lack of a returned message or call. NOTHING. ZILCH. It pisses me off further to know he is completely ignoring me, as though he has surrendered to never healing. If I had fucked off for this long with no sign of safety, I would have a spanked arse at the very least. A funny thought of having Leighton over my knee and my hand smashing against his skin pops into my head and makes me chuckle.

Yeah, like that will ever happen, I think the giant would break my legs just from his sheer powerful size.

“That’s a lovely sound Abigail. I hope we get to hear it a little more whilst you’re here. Would you like me to ask somebody to bring little one up for a bit?” she questions me and the smile that infiltrates my face gives her the clear signal she needs. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She winks to me and leaves the room, returning ten minutes later.

“I called your landline and an Antonio answered and god, wow he has a very sexy voice. He’s going to bring Melissa up straight away.” I smile widely at her and my broken, shattered heart heals on the spot. Well, a little anyway.

“Thank you so much,” I reply, snuggling back into my bed.

I have to look after my daughter, keep her safe and well until her father decides he wants to return. I just hope he will come back to me, because I don’t think I can do this without him.

He is my world, my entire structure, my life and my home.

“Leighton.” I ignore the irritating sound of the new guy interfering in my stress relieving activities.  “LEIGHTON! I WILL KNOCK YOU ON YOUR FUCKING ARSE IF YOU DON’T STOP NOW!” His voice raises an octave, or twelve.

I keep my grip on the guy’s throat as I look over my head at Marcus. “What do you want man? You’re kind of, you know, getting in the way here.” I laugh manically.

“No I’m not getting in the way, I’m stopping you from taking an innocent person's life. Come on man, let him go.” His hand clasps around my elbow, trying to pull me off of the fucking dickhead that had mouthed off a little too much.

“Get the fuck off of me Marcus. Don’t try and preach to me what’s right and wrong, you’re no better than me, you live the same fucking life I do, except, I get to fuck a sweet pussy every night and you run home and cry about your shitty life with that old prick.” Ok, so that is a little too far. The guy has been through hell, and is somehow still standing. I’d known him all twelve hours, but he knew who I was deep down, without me even mentioning it. He has seen himself in me.

“Ha, really? We’re turning this into a pissing contest are we? Okay let’s do it. Yes you get to fuck someone every night, but Leighton face it man, it’s the same boring pussy every time, you know what to expect. Me? I get to go to the club, fuck a nice OBEDIENT submissive whore, blow my load inside her or on her, then I get to fuck off and have a nice scotch without my phone repeatedly ringing to find out where the fuck I am. Want to look at who’s got the better sex life? I win hands down dude. Didn’t you say that she liked to be fucked by other men? That’s a little fucked up man, not enough for her?” I drop the cunt's body to the floor, his feet struggling to get away from me.