Authors: Dawn Keane

Surviving Him (24 page)

Twelve years earlier

I drain the cold liquid from my glass and tip the remaining ice cubes into the wastebasket. Placing the glass against my bedroom wall, I listen closely to the loud noises coming from the next door neighbour’s bedroom. My lungs begin to fill with much needed air, the muffled ringing in my ears begins to dull. Closing my eyes as tight as they can go, I gasp, trying to control my breathing, not wanting to make a single sound. My heart beat thunders a hundred miles per hour inside my chest, and I attempt to slow it as well. I cover my other ear with my free hand, in hopes the sounds come through the glass and into my right ear.

It sounds like someone is shouting, a woman and a man. They’re arguing about something, screaming at the top of their lungs. She’s crying now, hiccupping with each sob. I can’t hear anyone else in the room with them, just those two unfamiliar voices.

Standing here, on the chair, in my pink nightgown, in the dark, I see him: a boy standing against his window. I jump with fear, startled. What is he doing? I move my head closer, squinting my eyes together. He’s crying. I think he is hurt in some way. I can see his hands, his palms are flat against the window pane. The tears are streaming down his face, soaking his cheeks like the heavens have just opened and poured down around him. Like the rain, stained with blood, as he stands underneath the big black cloud weighing heavy on his heart.

I step off the chair slowly, not taking my eyes off this boy with skin stained with blood and tears. Placing my glass on the nightstand, I move slowly over to the window to get a closer look. I want to go to him, ask him why he is in so much pain, but I don’t want to scare him. A dull ache settles in my chest, my heart hurting for him.

As I lean against the cold glass, my heart breaks a little bit more. I watch hopelessly as his pain unfolds in front of my eyes. Each tear falling from his beautiful, dark eyes pierces my heart, sending a wave of pain through me. I press my hands and cheek against the glass, my breath steaming up the window. My palms flat, reaching out.

I want to help him.

He might be hurt.

Someone else might be hurt?

But I can’t do anything but reach out to him. My body slides down the wall to the floor while my eyes remain glued to the figure before me. Tears roll down my cheeks, my own fear matching the beautiful boy’s.

Dawn A. Keane

I was brought up in Manchester and I am now living in the beautiful Scottish borders with my three children.

I have enjoyed writing my story as I had a pretty hard upbringing and have suffered like everyone does over the years in different situations, but everyone has a story to tell.

I just hope my story can help someone out there who is, or has been through the same sorts of situations as myself.

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To my beautiful kids and the rest of my family. Please forgive me for the nights I have spent writing this, the late night dinners, a messy house, and neglecting you all while I was working on it. And for all the crazy book talk. Thank you for not having me put away into a hospital for having imaginary friends.

And to all my lovely friends, thank you for putting up with me, especially you Rose Hogg. You are an amazing friend. And to all you girls in the book world, I love you so hard. Virginia Tesi Carey, thank you for being you.

To my beautiful Mum, you are my best friend, my angel. You saved my life and I love you with all my heart.

Thank you, to my editor Nicola Rhead, my gorgeous cover model Jase Dean, and my amazing Street Team, Dawn’s Diamond Dolls. Thank you for everything you do. Jane Deeney, Sarah Payne, Rose Hogg, Debbie Talbot, Debbie at DMB Art Lucci Grub. Too many to mention.

Thanks also to Leigh Stone for kicking my butt. Love you girl.

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Cover artist RE&D - Margreet Asselbergs

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