Saving Ren: Saviour Series Book One, page 1
SAVING REN.
Saviour Series Book One.
Lesley Jones
The Saviour Series
Book One: Saving Ren
Lesley Jones
Copyright © 2021 Lesley Jones
All Rights Reserved.
Editing by Lisa Edward @ More Than Words Copyediting and Proofreading.
Cover Design by Tiffany Black @ T.E. Black Designs.
Cover Image by Wander Aguiar.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organisations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
WARNING
This e-book contains scenes of domestic violence and both verbal and physical abuse. It also contains adult language which may be considered offensive to some readers. This e-book is intended for adults ONLY. Please store your files wisely, where under-aged readers cannot access them.
Contents
For The Brave . . .
A Little Help With Those English/Aussie Words . . .
Upload The Tunes Mentioned Here:
1. Prologue
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
End Of Part One
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For Other Books By Lesley Jones . . .
CARNAGE BOOK ONE THE STORY OF US
Thank You’s . . .
Untitled
For The Brave . . .
For those who left, and those who stayed. For those who died, and those who survived. You matter. We see you. We hear you. You matter.
A Little Help With Those English/Aussie Words . . .
Glossary of Terms
The following is a glossary of terms that have been used throughout this book. These euphemisms and slang words form part of the United Kingdom’s and Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember that the words are not misspelt, they are slang terms and are part of the everyday United Kingdom and Australian lifestyle. This book has been written using UK English.
If you would like further explanation or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.
Amazeballs: Amazing
Arvo: This afternoon
Bird: Female
Bloody Oath: Yes it is/Absolutely
Blue: Argument
Bogan: A person from an unsophisticated or uneducated background
Bonzer/Bonza: Excellent, attractive or pleasing
Bottle Shop: A place where you purchase alcohol
Bub or Bubby: Babe or baby
Cacks: Underwear
Chin Wag: Chat or gossip
Dag: Unfashionable, amusing, quirky, likeable person
Darl: A term of endearment, like love, hun or babe (abbreviated form for darling)
Doona:Duvet
Feral: Untidy, unclean, unkempt
Grog: Alcohol
Grommet: A young surfer
Huey: To vomit
Jog: Get lost
Leg Over: Sex
Loo: Toilet
Maccas: McDonalds
Pash: Kiss
Pash Rash: What you get from too much pashing (kissing)
POM: Of English descent
Pub: Bar
Pull: To seek out or pursue someone to make out with or get off with
Root: Sex
Screw Your Loaf: Think Carefully/Wisely
See Ya After: See you later
Shag: Sex
Sheila: Female
Shit-faced: Very drunk or off their face
Spa: Hot tub or Jacuzzi
Spit and Saw Dust: Rough pub where fights regularly break out
Swivel:A general dismissive term – leave me alone, or a stupid person
Thongs:Flip flops
Trackie Dacks: Tracksuit/Sweatpants/Jogging Bottoms
Tradie: Tradesman or builder
Tub: A bath or shower
Tubbed: To have bathed or showered
Unit: Small single-story apartment
Ute: Utility vehicle or truck (like a Hilux truck)
Vajazzle: To bling up your pubic area
Wharfie: Docker or dock worker
You Right? Are you mad/crazy?
PLAYLIST
SAVIOUR SERIES PLAYLIST
Saving Ren
Prologue
My mobile clatters against the stone benchtop, and I hold my breath as I watch it slide along the surface, thankfully coming to a stop before reaching the edge and its possible demise.
Letting out a long sigh, tears of frustration burn my eyes, and my chest heaves with the force of my silent sob.
He promised.
It's Thursday night; we've not had dinner together once this week and just this morning, Jay promised he'd be home. It's now almost nine, and there's no sign of him. Since six this evening, he hasn’t picked up the three calls I've made to him or responded to the two texts I've sent.
A lone tear finally escapes my eye. I swipe at it angrily, pissed off with myself for once again crying over a situation I’ve obviously not done enough to rectify.
I’m so tired. The anger I’ve aimed at myself for being the only one trying to save our marriage has consumed me. I know now, this is the end, and the admission of my defeat leaves me feeling exhausted.
The tension I’ve held inside has left me with a physical ache. Not just in my poor broken heart, but in my head, neck, and shoulders. All of me aches.
Drawing in a deep breath, I pull myself together enough to slide back the doors leading to our deck, remove the cover from the spa, and turn it on.
While it’s warming up, I head into our bedroom, take off my clothes, pull on my bathing costume, collect my kindle from my nightstand, and head back to the kitchen.
I want, no, I need a good cry. I need to curl up in a ball, alone in my bed, and sob my broken little heart out. Instead, I pull a piece of paper towel from the roll and dab at my eyes and nose. After disposing of the tissue in the bin, I take another moment, and for some reason, I start to laugh.
There’s nothing funny about my situation, but while standing at the sink and washing my hands, I grin maniacally anyway. Retrieving my wine glass, I fill it with the crisp, cold New Zealand Sav I pull from the fridge. After rescuing my phone from where it sits precariously on the edge of the benchtop, I head outside.
My phone connects to the new Bluetooth speakers Jay’s just had installed in the ceiling of our alfresco area. In the mood for comfort music, something I can drown my sorrows in and sing along to, I search for a playlist.
Because I'm short, Jay had our spa sunk into the ground, so rather than me having to climb into it, I step down.
Balancing my phone, wine, and kindle on the edge of the spa, I sink into the warm, bubbling water.
Reaching for my wine, I bring it to my lips and take a large gulp. Lowering myself further, I allow the jets to hit me right between my shoulder blades, which instantly, along with the wine and the voice of Adele, helps to finally ease some of the tension I’m feeling.
I close my eyes and relax back into the padded headrest. I’ve only just finished my wine when I hear the sliding of the door leading from the kitchen. When I open my eyes, Jason, my husband of twenty-four years, is standing in front of me. My eyes meet his, but I don’t say a word.
He makes a big show of looking around while shrugging and shaking his head, so, despite the silence, I know precisely the kind of mood he's in.
“So, you’ve called me seventeen times to come home and eat. Where the fuck’s my dinner?”
I wish I had more wine in my glass. I want to make my own show of dramatically taking a sip before dragging out my response. Instead, still without saying a word, I blankly stare at him for a long moment. I know it'll probably piss him off, invoke an angry response, but at this stage, I don't fucking care.
“Baked potatoes in the oven, steak and salad are in the fridge,” I eventually state while placing down my wine glass and picking up and opening my kindle to the story of sparkling vampires, my eldest son
There's no warning, and I don't see it coming when my kindle is snatched from my hands and slung across the deck. Before I even get a chance to see where it lands, I'm grabbed by the messy bun my hair is in, a hand wraps tightly around my throat, and I'm pulled from the spa.
My shins hit the sides; my hands too slow to find purchase on the edge of the spa to be able to lift myself out.
"Jay, please, stop. You're hurting me. Please, please stop," I choke out. My protests go unheard as I continue to be dragged on my knees across the deck.
Unable to breathe, my eyes stream with tears of pain and absolute fear. When he finally releases my throat, I barely manage to gasp in a breath before his hand moves to the back of my neck. He keeps an agonising grip on my hair, but I instantly forget the burn in my scalp when he rams my face into our fridge door.
His hot breaths hit the side of my face, the stench of alcohol filling my nose, all while forcing my cheek against the stainless steel and holding it there.
"I'll tell you once, and once fucking only, get my dinner out of wherever you've put it, and get it on the table now. Right. Fucking now, Lauren," he spits into my ear.
Roughly, he pulls me back, away from the fridge.
"Open the fucking door," he demands.
I choke out a sob, my eyes and nose stream, my head pounds, and my heart bangs hard inside my chest as I pull the fridge door open. I reach for the plate with the steak I seasoned earlier on it, but it's snatched from my hand as Jay roars, "What the fuck is this? It's not even cooked. All those times you called and told me to get home, and you've not even cooked it."
He finally releases his grip on my hair, and for a few long seconds, the pain is actually worse.
“It's steak, I didn't want to ruin it, so I wasn't going to cook it till you got home.” I can barely breathe, let alone talk through my sobs.
“That's why I kept calling…” I attempt to gasp out my explanation, but he cuts me off by spinning me around with so much force, my back slams against the fridge, and the whole thing shifts.
“That's why I called,” I try again. “I just wanted to know what time you'd be home, so I didn't ruin the steak. . . I didn’t want it ruined,” I sob.
His eyes meet mine as he pins me by my throat and for an infinitesimal moment, he's there, Jay, my husband, the man I've spent over half my life loving, he's there.
And then he's gone.
He launches the plate across the kitchen; I watch as it crashes into the sink, breaking into four large pieces.
I'm not sure if it's his fist or his palm that makes contact with the side of my head, but the blow takes me off my feet, and I crash to the floor.
“Well, it's sure as fuck ruined now.” Jay stands over me and sneers while I curl into the foetal position. “My steak, my night, my entire fucking life, you ruined it all. You’re nothing but a fat, lazy, useless bitch.”
My ears are ringing, but I hear his words and the venom and spite with which they’re delivered.
The blow from his boot hits me low in the belly. While I gasp for breath, he turns and leaves while I vomit over the kitchen tiles we chose together when building our dream home.
I’m not sure how much later it is my tears finally stop. I’m still lying on the cold kitchen tiles. My heart rate has slowed, the pain in my scalp eased, and the echo of my blood whooshing through my ears has quietened. The bubbling of the spa and Nazareth’s cover of ‘Love Hurts’ filter in from the alfresco. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, wincing at the pain the movement causes. My stomach cramps and I wonder for a moment if I’m going to throw up again. Rocking from side to side, I contemplate my next move.
I should leave tonight, things have become progressively worse between us over the past couple of months, but he’s never been this violent towards me before.
You’d think at my age it’d be an easy decision to make. I’m forty-four, my kids are grown, but my only income is from my interior design business, and that’s been a bit hit and miss of late due to a lack of effort on my part. I’ve become that woman. I lunch, I get my nails done, my brows and lashes, my hair. I’m not big on the gym, but I enjoy my weekly yoga class. I meet my friends for lunch and drinks, and we have girls’ weekends away. All of this has meant I’ve let my business slide, but I’m good at what I do, and I’m sure I could soon pick up clients old and new if I put the word out I was looking for work.
I have friends, close friends. I have brothers, a sister, and my own two sons, who I know wouldn’t hesitate to help me out. But there's not a single one of them I've told about the deterioration of my marriage over these past few months.
Given time, I thought Jay would change. But now, lying here feeling devastated by my husband's abuse, isolated by the secret I'm keeping from people, I know love and care about me, and devoid of any hope that things are likely to improve, I know I have to get out. I need to escape this marriage. I need to find the woman I used to be or at least a version of her. And to do that, I'm going to have to confide in someone and ask for help.
Chapter 2
Lauren
As soon as I hear Jay’s key in the front door, I rush to use the heel of my hand to wipe the tears from my face and attempt to compose myself.
Deep breaths.
Relax.
Don’t let him even think you might be awake.
It’s dark, and I know. . . I know he can’t see me, but the irrational part of my brain is scared he’ll somehow know I’m awake. This has been the routine every night since he attacked me almost a week ago.
I contemplated sleeping in one of the spare rooms the night he attacked me, but I’ve done that before, and it just made things worse. Much like the way he dragged me out of the spa the other night, in the past, he’s dragged me from one of the spare rooms and back to our bed, just so he could carry on the fight, and I really don’t think I have any more fight left in me. Thankfully, he’s stayed out late every night since then, and there’s been zero communication between us.
Rolling onto my side and into the recovery position, I settle facing away from Jay's side of the bed.
My heart rate picks up as I hear our bedroom door open.
I know exactly what to do as it closes.
I've done this so many times lately it’s become my new normal. That realisation alone has me swallowing back a sob.
Now is not the time for tears. The time for sentimentality is over.
That time has passed.
Deep breaths.
Relax.
Don’t let him even think you might be awake.
I keep my breathing slow and steady, not altering its pattern as he slides into bed beside me.
His hand lands heavily on my waist, and he gives it a squeeze. It takes everything in me not to freeze or attempt to back away from his touch.
I used to crave his touch, used to long for it. It’s a touch that once upon a time, I couldn’t live without. Never imagined I’d have to, let alone want to, but all I can think right now is how dare he. After what he did to me just days ago, without even attempting to make any kind of apology, how dare he come home here and instigate any form of intimacy.
After a minute or two, I make out to twitch, first my leg, then my arm, the way you sometimes do when you’re dreaming or just about to fall asleep, this seems to do the trick. I hear him sigh and turn his back to me.
On the outside, my breaths remain steady. Inside, the sigh I let out is even more significant than his.
When my husband begins to snore, I allow my silent tears to once again fall. I allow the sense of failure to once again wash over me.
