Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

“You should hate only them,” said Abbie. “But you won’t. For some time, you’ll be awash with self-loathing. All I can say is: I promise that phase will pass.”

“You’re talking crazy,” said Jacob. “I’ll never hate myself.”

“You will,” said Abbie. “I know. I remember.”

“You…” He stopped as her words slotted into place. As her implication became clear. He didn’t know what to do with her confession. That was okay.

“You ever want to talk,” said Abbie. “I’d be happy to listen.”

As expected, Jacob lashed out with venom.

“Why would I want to talk to a pathetic victim like you?”

“Hollow words,” said Abbie. “I may have suffered, but I’ve proven tonight I’m no victim. Also, I kick ass. I think you noticed. Still no good with nanotech, though.”

From her pocket, Abbie drew a slip of paper on which she had written her latest number. Approaching Jacob, she pressed the slip into his hand. She was trying not to remember Michael, the last teenager with whom she had shared her number, three weeks ago. He had taken her up on the offer to talk. If he had never called, would it all have gone so wrong?

She couldn’t let that put her off now.

“Anger will only get you so far,” she said to Jacob, knowing he was not ready to hear this now, hoping he would keep it in the back of his mind for when it became useful.

“I’m not pathetic,” he said. “Don’t expect a call.”

“I won’t,” said Abbie, noting the way he scrunched up the number and shoved it in his pocket, rather than discarding it onto the beach where the wind could toss it into the sea. Perhaps he hated littering.

“Sure I can’t walk you home?” she asked.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“That’s a firm no, then, is it?”

Jacob didn’t think this required an answer. Fair enough.

“You’ll never see me again,” Abbie confirmed.

“Good.”

Without another word, he stomped away, following the path already trodden by Charlie. Abbie watched him reach the stone steps and disappear into the darkness. She waited until he was gone.

Then followed.

Four

Unknowingly, Jacob led Abbie through winding streets, past darkened windows, over cobbled stones.

He was agitated. His head swivelled this way and that. If the sun had been up, he would have jumped at the shadows. Instead, he flinched at every little noise and screamed when the wind blew a leaf into his hair.

Abbie remembered the days after Harry and his friends had drugged and raped her. Most her time she'd spent in bed, trembling, trying and failing to sleep, blurred memories tormenting her damaged mind.

Having been arrested after he brutalised and permanently disabled Harry, Paul, Abbie’s brother, was out the way. The most powerful family in town bore his loved ones a grudge. For some weeks, Abbie had spent her limited time outside walking like Jacob was now walking. Agitated, afraid, jumping at the slightest sound, rushing on at the sight of people. Refusing to meet anybody's eye.

Jacob feared brutal reprisal by Ana and her pals as Abbie had from Harry's father, Ian, and his hired muscle. Despite the nervousness, the fact he was on high alert, Jacob was rubbish at spotting anything that mattered. Consequently, Abbie had no trouble following him for twenty minutes between the beach's stone steps and the iron gate of what was presumably Jacob's family home.

At the gate, Jacob stopped a final time. He looked left, right, behind. Abbie was across the street, pressed against one of his neighbours' hedges. Jacob's eyes raced over her but didn't stop, didn't return. Once again, he had failed to spot her, and with his search complete, he opened the creaking iron gate, stepped between two high hedges, and disappeared down a paved path.

Abbie watched him disappear, then left the cover of the hedge against which she had hidden. Crossing the road, she came to the outskirts of Jacob's home, stopped to one side of the gate.

Jacob's home was detached and sizeable. Six bedrooms, at a guess. Abbie remembered the way Jacob had referenced his father. His tone had indicated a wealthy background. It was always good to be proven right.

From her position, Abbie tracked Jacob's progress up the path by the sound of his feet. After thirty seconds, Abbie heard the jingle of keys then the scrape of the lock. Another pause. Jacob taking one last look back, still partially sure Ana would appear from the darkness to seize and spirit him away.

Ana didn't materialise. No evil garden gnomes attacked. Abbie imagined Jacob releasing a long breath; she heard him open the door, step inside.

As the door closed, Abbie left the hedge and stood behind the gate, peering along the path Jacob had walked. A downstairs room lit up. Jacob's silhouette appeared behind a closed blind. His positioning indicated he was by a sink. Abbie imagined a running tap, the sound of a filling glass.

Jacob was safe. Abbie didn't leave.

Though he had seemed a thoroughly unpleasant teenager, Abbie's heart ached with worry for Jacob. It was not so much fear that Ana might return to finish what she had started, but that he might struggle to cope with what had happened tonight.

Yes, Jacob had escaped performing sexual acts on Gray while a camera recorded his rape. But he would have fulfilled Ana's request had Abbie not arrived. That capitulation would haunt Jacob. In his nightmares, Abbie would not save him. Night after night, he would perform for Gray and Ana.

And who would support him through his grief? The single mention of Jacob's father indicated to Abbie that he was not the kind of man Jacob could confide in. Was there a mother? Would it make a difference if there was? Abbie’s father had walked out when Abbie had relayed the story of her rape. Her mother had slapped her, called her a slut. How easy it was for these things to spiral out of control.

Jacob left the sink, and Abbie shook off her reverie. She knew she was projecting. Obsession was a virulent, infectious disease. Abbie was in