3. My Angel
MY ANGEL
An angel saved me.
Gentle hands cleanse my battered body as I pass in and out of consciousness.
I have no idea who this person is, only that she has the sweetest voice.
A nurturing voice. The kind that soothes you when you need it and can make you forget the pain—if only for a moment.
The kind of voice I never got from my mother or even my nanny.
“I’m sorry,” she says again in her American accent as she cares for me in a way no one ever has.
I must be dreaming or dead. No one is here with me. I can’t see or smell anything to sense where I am. I know I’m outside. I have no idea where. I have no idea how this girl found me.
The only thing I know for certain is my parents left me here to die.
It could have been their plan all along. The man my father hired to fight me had two helpers who jumped in when I was a punch away from winning. I should have assumed my father wouldn’t play fair. He never has.
After endless kicks to my face and ribs, my body ached with such agony, I wanted to die. I welcomed it and could have died here, but fate had other plans—ones that have gentle hands and a tender voice.
I don’t know how long this girl stays with me, only that one time when I come to, she’s gone. Maybe she was never here. I cough up blood, my ribs aching, but she’s not here to wipe my face and whisper words that I can’t recall other than her chanting, “I’m sorry.”
Wes
The ground shifts beneath me like it’s moving. I jolt fully awake but can’t open my swollen eyes. The sun isn’t bright behind my closed lids, and it’s cooler. Night.
Something shoves against my body.
I groan in pain.
“I’m sorry,” that sweet voice says. “I’m so very sorry, but I can’t leave you on the ground in all this grass and dirt.”
Grass? Is that what is itching my ears and neck?
“I’m trying to be gentle, but you weigh as much as a bear,” she pants.
“Leave me,” I murmur, my throat dry. I cough. It feels like I’m being kicked in the ribs again. I wince.
“Here, I brought more to drink.” My head is lifted, and cool, sweet, flavored liquid dribbles down my throat, easing the dryness.
“Better?” she asks. My angel.
I make a noise of approval. Even that hurts. All my ribs must be bruised or broken.
She shoves me again.
I let out a long groan.
“I know. I’m sorry. I hate that this is causing you pain, but I’ll hate myself more if I leave you out here, exposed to the weather. It’s supposed to rain.”
The air does feel a bit humid.
“Where am I?” I mumble, unsure if she would be able to understand with the way my words roll into one.
“A garden. In the back of the manor.”
I tense, and pain erupts throughout my body. It’s not safe here. If my father finds me, he’ll finish me off. Maybe even hurt this sweet girl.
Wait. How is she here? Who is she?
I want to ask all of this, but my strength is already gone. Blackness tugs at my mind. I give in.
Wes
“Hey? Big guy? Bear? Time to wake up.” Soft hands caress my hair and cheek.
She’s still here?
“Sorry. I have to keep waking you in case you have a concussion. But don’t worry, I’m going to stay with you.”
I try to open my eyes again. Useless.
She gives me more juice and feeds me pudding that she explains has crushed-up pain medication.
She moves me again, huffing and puffing with great effort.
I don’t want her to hurt herself because of me.
“Stop,” I murmur.
She halts at once. “What’s wrong?” she asks, sounding closer to my level.
“You’ll… hurt… yourself. Leave me.”
“No can do. Sorry. I can’t stop you from catching pneumonia if I leave you out in the open. I mean, maybe I could, but I’d rather not have to try when there’s a perfectly good shed nearby.”
Shed. I must be in the abandoned garden. My grandmother’s favorite. My mum hated her with such passion that she had it locked up and left to rot. Much like my father did to me.
I could die out here, and no one would know. My body would never be found. My remains would become one of many things lost in this garden. But someone could come to make sure I’m dead.
I need to be healed enough to leave before that happens. And I need this girl to be far away from here. Who knows what will happen to her if my father finds out she helped me? Nothing good.
I open my mouth to tell her she needs to be very careful, but my back slides over something hard, a lump or a rock. I flinch in pain, then flinch again from the pain that causes. “Fuck,” I groan.
She stops and chants, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Her hands caress my hair, face, and arms, soothing me and distracting me from the pain.
I drift back to sleep.
Wes
“It’s that time again. I hope you had a good nap and you’re ready for more Gatorade and pudding?” She sighs. “It’s all we had, and I can’t leave you to shop for something better. Not yet.”
This goes on for the rest of the day. Night?
Rain patters outside when I wake. I feel slightly better than death.
“Hello?” I murmur.
No response.
How am I dry? Did she manage to get me into the shed?
A man could barely move me, let alone a girl whose hands seemed so small. Again, I’m convinced I’m dead or unconscious and dreaming.
The next time I wake, she’s there.
“We’re past the critical concussion phase,” she says happily. “I’m very proud of you.”
She’s proud of me. I haven’t done shit. She’s the one doing all the work.
“Who are you?” I ask, trying not to breathe when I talk to avoid the pain that comes when I inhale too deeply.
“No one.”
“How did you find me?”
She hesitates. “I come to this garden to make videos. I guess you could say I like abandoned things,” she adds sheepishly. “There’s beauty in it everywhere you look.”
The awe in her voice makes me wish I could see if it mirrors her expression.
“What color are your eyes?”
“My eyes?” She sounds confused.
“Trying to picture them,” I murmur.
“They’re weird. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Explain?”
She rests my head on her lap and strokes my hair as she talks.
“They’re too light to be brown, but they’re not any other color either. My mom says they’re beautiful, but they remind me of my dad’s eyes, so I… well, I don’t like them much.”
“Why?”
“I hate my dad,” she whispers. “He’s not a good person.” The sorrow in her voice stirs my anger, which has been dormant in me for days. It distracts me from the pain.
“What did he do?”
She doesn’t answer, and her hands stop caressing me.
“Did he hurt you?” Something tells me he did.
She lets out a shaky breath. “We’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
For the first time since this happened, I have a reason to live. So I can kill the motherfucking bastard who hurt this sweet girl.
Wes
Three days pass with my angel making regular visits. She wants to get me out of here, but she’ll need help or to find a way to open the gate.
“That key is long gone,” I explain.
“But someone brought you in here. They couldn’t have just thrown you over the wall. You weigh too much.”
Three large men could toss me over. I’ve no doubt they did.
“How tall are you anyway?” she asks.
“Six-four.”
She laughs. “I’m five-two. No wonder you were so hard to move.”
That and I’m all muscle—lean but ripped. “How were you able to?” I ask, bewildered.
She hesitates. “I tied a rope around a sleeping bag, rolled you onto it, and wrapped the rope around a nearby tree. Then I used my feet to push against the trunk and pulled the rope, sliding you to the shed. It took all day.”
“Did you hurt your hands?”
“They’re fine. I wore gloves.” She pauses, then blurts in agony. “I hate that I hurt you when you were sleeping.”
“You’d rather I had been awake?”
“I’d rather you not hurt at all, but causing you pain while you’re sleeping seems like a betrayal of your trust.”
I almost laugh, but wouldn’t dare. “I’d rather be asleep and not feel the pain.”
“It wasn’t too far. I had to hack down a bush first to get a straight path, but the distance was about the length of your body, so you weren’t in extra pain for too long.”
This tiny girl is unbelievable.
I can open my eyes enough to see her, but not clearly. I have no idea what she looks like other than a dark, fuzzy silhouette.
“What color is your hair?”
“Dark brown.”
“Long or short?”
“Long.”
“What color is your skin?” I want a full mental image.
“Purple.”
It takes me a few seconds to catch on that she’s joking. I laugh and regret it immediately.
“Sorry. Sorry. Oh my god. That was horrible. Please forgive me.”
“I owe you my life.” And the death of your father.
I sleep as much as a cat. She’s not here as often after that day, explaining her mum is getting concerned about where she’s always going. Her mum works during the day in the manor as a housekeeper. The day and night she stayed with me, she told her mum she was staying at her friend’s house.
She’s new to the UK, hiding from her abusive dad. Definitely killing that bastard when I’m healed and have my life sorted out.
By nightfall, I can open my eyes enough to see almost clearly. I’d been sitting up most of the day, and it’s helped with the swelling.
Fable, whose name stole my breath when she told me, is supposed to visit me after her mum goes to sleep. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble because of me.
She’s seventeen. Older than I thought, but still too young to know how to care for my wounds and not be scared of the condition she found me in. That means she’s seen this or worse.
Her dad, I’d bet. Can’t wait to get my hands on that sick bastard.
When she gets here, I’m going to ask to use her phone.
I can’t stay in this garden, and I can’t escape without help. She can’t tell anyone about me. She doesn’t know who I am either, only that no one here can know where I am and that I’m alive.
The only person I trust to get me is Lachlan. He’ll figure out a way to rescue me and hide me until I am fully healed and able to work out what to do about my family wanting me dead.
Crunching sounds outside the shed, mixing with the beat of the falling rain. The space is just big enough for the two of us. She’s made it comfortable with pillows, blankets, and even bug spray.
I have so much to repay her for.