Forsaken

By Camilla Isles

Natalie's life was consumed by an abusive and alcoholic father. The day Elijah rode into her life she finally discovered what real love was. But for how long? Will Natalie's father ruin the first good thing that has ever happened to her? In the end someone will have to pay the ultimate sacrifice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camilla Isles
• Release date: Jul 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524246532

Book preview

Part One

I stood standing in the rain on the sidewalk in front of my home, not wanting to enter. I was 19 and old enough to move out but without enough money to afford it. I work hard, but most of what I earn goes to my drunken and abusive father. My mother left when I was 12, not able to take the abuse he bestowed upon her. Cracked ribs, bloody lips, and then the last straw, a broken arm. She left me a note saying she wanted to take me but couldn’t afford to. What a crock. She didn’t want the baggage or the reminder of the past. In a way, I couldn’t blame her for wanting out. But didn’t she know that by leaving me here she had almost certainly left me to take her place with the beast?

I learned how not to make him mad. Keep him in a drunken stupor. He drank anyway, mainly whiskey and Coke, but I offered to make his drinks and double up on the whiskey and stingy with the cola. He drank quickly and before he could yell and curse at me, he was snoring like a bear in the recliner. I would pull off his shoes and put a blanket over him. Not sure why. Just seemed like the right thing to do.

But today I stood in the rain, my long dark hair soaked to my scalp. I would rather stand in the cold damp weather than be inside the gloomy old house in front of me. We never had much money since Dad couldn’t hold down a job and Mom worked at the nursing home as an aid. So our home was a ramshackle dump that was drafty in the winter and smothering in the summer. Of course, it didn’t stand out since the neighborhood we lived in was all old dumps so it wasn’t like anyone was envious of the other. I grew accustomed to our difficulties in life and tuned out the arguments of my parents the best I could. Once mom was gone, I learned, sometimes the hard way, what to say and how to act around my father. I suffered verbal abuse, usually about my weight, and some slaps and hits to the stomach, but I never let him defeat my spirit. It was the only thing I had left.

I walked slowly towards the house, but before I could open the front door, it swung open and my father loomed in the doorway.

What the hell took you so long, he said while grabbing the soaked sack out of my hand. I had been on a mission to the liquor store to buy two Jim Beans whiskey and a 6-pack of Coke, and the master was itching to get his drunk on.

The soaked sack tore open and the whiskey bottles fell to the floor along with the 6-pack. Fortunately, for me, the bottles didn’t break. Dad scooped them up as if they were gold bricks.

Get the Coke, he yelled as he headed towards the kitchen.

Our kitchen looked like something out of the 60’s with all ancient appliances, speckled with patches of rust on the fronts and sides. Fortunately, for us, refrigerators and stoves were built tough back in the day so they continued to rattle on although I feared the end was near.

Here Dad, I’ll get your drink for you, I said. Go ahead and sit down."

He grunted his usual affirmation and made off for the living room. I poured three times the whiskey this time around, as he seemed particularly agitated today. Hopefully he’d be snoozing away when I got off from my waitress job later tonight. What I didn’t realize at that moment, was I wouldn’t be home that night anyway.

****

I was a waitress at a truck stop out on I-70. Most of the truckers who filled the joint were good guys, but a few could be jerks. Maybe driving 10-hour days would sour anyone’s mood, but they didn’t have to take it out on me. Maybe it was the rainy weather, but it seemed every trucker who came in was in a dark mood that night. Great, I thought, I leave one burly attitude for a dozen others. Most of them didn’t talk, just looked bleakly at the menu and gave their orders.

It was about an hour before closing time and most of the truckers had left to bunk down in their cabs. A few were left, nursing their coffees and reading the newspaper. I heard the bell tinkle signifying someone either came or left and looked up. I didn’t like what I saw.

A trucker the size of a refrigerator entered through the front entrance. He had tattoos that snaked up each arm. He looked to be in his 40’s and around the block a few times. A long scar dented his face from the outer corner of his left eye to his jaw. I never saw this trucker before. Most of them were regulars, but he was new.

He sat down in a booth with a loud thud and grabbed the menu off the table. I walked over to him and asked, What would you like to drink?

Coffee sweet cheeks and make it hot, he said with a leer.  I turned and headed back to the coffee station and poured his cup. I could tell he was boring holes into my ass with his dull like eyes. I couldn’t wait for this night to be over.

I brought his cup o’joe back and set it on the table.

And what can I get you to eat? I asked pulling out my pen and pad.

What I want isn’t on the menu, he said looking straight at my breasts.

Oh, what did you want, I said, knowing full well what it was he was after.

Well, we could start with one of your perky titties sister.

Now I’ve