Last Hope

Copyright ©2020 Katy Coombs

All rights reserved

No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission, except in the case of brief quotes or in a review or this book. Please don’t participate and or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, plots, places are the product of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to an actual person, living or dead, actual event or business establishments are entirely coincidental. The author does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

ISBN: 9798677297380

Imprint: Independently published; KDP Publishing

The cover was made with Canva: Designed by Katy Coombs

Now available on Amazon in Kindle and. Paperback 📱📖

Link: Last Hope Vol. 1 By Katy Coombs

https://www.amazon.com/Last-Hope-Vol-Katy-Coombs-ebook/dp/B08JPMJDNY

Warning this is for 18+, and over, there is curing, abuse and violence.

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Chapter 1

He’s coming back; my heart is beating against my chest wildly. My palms are sweating, and my stomach is rolling. I’m so afraid I quickly grab for my bunny and hide in the closet in the room at my foster home. I slide the closet doors closed, tucking myself inside, my knees pressing into my chest tightly as I tremble in fear. I rest my head on my dirty knees from days without a shower or bath.

I hear him barge in my room; I close my eyes tightly and wish that I was somewhere else. Suddenly the closet doors flew open, and I was dragged out; I scream and shout at the top of my lungs, which only makes Mark angrier in his drunken rage. He smacks me hard across the face; his knuckles hit my cheekbone, causing instant pain.

It is the same thing almost every day, nightmare after nightmare living in hell where I will never be free from.

I know by the stench smell of his stank breath, from the moment he enters my room that he has been drinking. The trace of cheap beer lingers in the air as it was such a common occurrence I have just gotten used to the smell. I have been here for two years, and this was one of the worst places.

Mark is physically abusive with me and touches me and makes me do things I hate to do. He will whip me with a belt or any object he chooses until I submit it to his sadistic and twisted ways. He has become obsessed with me, and he knows I try to hide; he is a sick sadistic monster. His rage will lead him to do what he always did, and this is just what he did.

I feel as if my world was never going to get brighter. It is so dark I see no sign of light in my dark abyss, everyday living in fear and pain. I want to go home, but I have no home; this is not a home, this is a torturer chamber for these people to get money and me to be beaten black and blue with scars so deep I will never be the same again. This will be the beginning of my end.

I want a home where they treat me friendly and don’t hurt me. But I would need a miracle and someone to piece me back together after this torturer. Somebody help me. I want to cry out and call out for someone to save me, but instead, all I hear is my cries that just bounce off the wall with no reply. I am all alone with no escape.

If this was a fairy-tale, my Knight or King would coin the rightght about now and save me from this villain. But this was no fairy this his was a horror movie on repeat.

He threw me on the stiff thin, dirty, stained uncomfortable mattress. He climbs on the bed; I was shaking, I tried to kick him with all my might, but he grabs me and whips me with the belt. Slicing at my clothes and into my flesh from every flick of his wrist, as the leather slices through my skin. The mixture or metallic scent from my blood and genuine leather fills my room, as my back, sides and front is left with open stinging wounds from this monster. Leaving me to bleed and feel mutilated, guilty, ashamed, powerless, disgusted—defeated.

Over and over again. Instant pain ran through my body. Each mark I know will leave a large scar, leaving me with this as a reminder what the hellell I have been through.

He flips me on my stomach and starts undressing me. His hands touch me, inflicting pain as I cry out for someone to rescue me, someone to save me from hell. I try to fight him off, but that only makes him angrer, and hit me harder. He was too big, too powerful against my ten year-old body. I was powerless. Tears ran out of, me but they didn’t offer comfort. Why me? What have I done?

I’m supposed to be running outside and playing with friends and making unforgettable memories. But these were not the memories I want to remember.

Next lash on my b,ody and I scream out l,oud nearly gagging from the pain. NOOOOO!!!

“—Nooo,” I jerked awake suddenly out of one of my recurring night terrors. I drew in a deep, shaky breath as I bit my lips as tears filled my eyes. I wiped quickly at tears that escaped. Sweat slid down my forehead. I wiped it with my sleeve.

You would think I would be over, it but after 14 ye,ars my past was still looming over me. They still haunted me as if I was still living them, so vividly, so heartbreakingly real and raw that I was trembling from the effects.

A few people looked at me, then went back to reading their magazines or scrolling through their phones, realizing how much their lives sucked comparing their lives to their friends' lives. The tech world where you could put up a front and everyone thinks yoexperienceife was fantastic. But, in reality, there were rough days and struggles people didn’t know about, but with a fake smile and a few Tik-Tok videos, people saw this false pseudo or that everything was just perfect. But they didn’t know how many selfies it took to get the one perfect shot, or how just after you posted your last vi,deo you cried yourself to sleep after being dumped or being made fun of on social media.

We live in a world where you couldn’t help but compare your life to one another. It’s like saying ‘the grass is always greener on the other side,’ but maybe in their life, they were thinking the same thing about someone else’s life. Maybe their grass was just as burnt as yours. Or the saying ‘keeping up with the Jones's.’ Maybe their relationship wasn’t as good as you think, you only saw the happy smiles and the way they affectionately touch each other when they are out, but they could be unhappy at home behind closed doors. I will be the first to admit that I judge people I know I shouldn't, but I do.

As I was sitting outside the Psychologist’s office waiting for my stupid appointment that my corrections officer was making me attend. I couldn’t help but focus on the dumb clock that was driving me crazy, the loud ticks solely messing with my brain. This was the last place I wanted to; I know I messed up but seriously, do they think I’m crazy? I was fucking defending myself and I’m the one in trouble? Fuck this.

My fingers shook as I chewed at my chippteal-colouredred fingernails, my heels tapped nervously against the floor, bouncing with jittery uncontrolled moveme as as I waited for my turn.

The door opened, and a tall man stepped out dressed in faded distressed jeans and a white shirt, his muscles were accentuated by the material stretched around them. He wore a baseball cap that he had flipped around backward, with one heck of a smile. Damn, that man is gorgeous.

He winked at me as our eyes met for a brief encounter, making me blush excessively, I let my hair fall to cover my red cheeks. My eyes wandered up his sexy body leading me to his smile. He looked like he just stepped out of a photo-shoot for the sexiest bad ass tattoo men’s magazine. His bulging biceps were covered with tattoos; they ran down from his neck to his fingertips’ tips.

He walked towards the exit door. Damn, who’s the hottie? He has to be the sexiest man I have ever seen. Just a glimpse wasn’t enough to satisfy my curiosity. I hated guys, but it didn't mean I couldn’t appreciate a very good looking man.

As he walked out, I got a glimpse of his ass. I bit my lip and dragged my teeth along my bottom lip to keep me from grinning like a crazed schoolgirl with a mad crush. Damn, he was fine!

“Ms. Rogers?”

I was pulled out of my wild fantasies, but in all honesty, it was much better than my traumatic nightmares I had lived.

My eyes landed on the woman that stepped out with the man. She was a stunning woman with light brown hair with creamier light tones throughout and light blonde highlights that were perfectly pla; herher crystal blue eyes sparkled as she smiled—fair skin with just enough hint of an even glow from the sun—every guy's fantasy. She looked prim and proper in her matching cream-colouredred pantsuit. The woman glanced at me and sent a friendly smile.

Fuck, I better get this over with. I stood up and just nodded—no need for pleasantries.

I followed the therapist into her contemporary pristine office sp,ace which had a large window that gave a lot of natural light to the space. Classy furniture and modern decor pieces strategically placed, everything had its place, it looked like it was right out of a photo shoot for ‘Modern living magazine’ or mock-up on how to create an inviting office atmosphere for your patients.

Honestly it was too clean, too perfect for me. I felt like if I moved wrong or touched something I would be banished from the premises. I felt inadequate.

“Please have a seat, make yourself comfortable.” She smiled sweetly at me as she led me into the room. She looked like an uptight bitch if you ask me. Like someone that thinks she’s better than everyone else. She was sitting there with her notebook and pen ready to figure me out, judging me, labeling me.

Yes, I was judging her, but you would too if you’ve been through what I have. People are fake and just put out this pseudo of not being who they really are, hiding the real them. Or maybe it’s just me being jaded by jerks and bad people letting me down. My broken heart made it hard to trust people with their genuineness.

Her hair was smoothed back so tight in a bun, making her whole face look pinned back. I couldn’t help the smirk that was spreading at the corner of my mouth.

“So, Ms. Rogers, shall we get started?” She said with a smile that seemed staged; I was not sure if it was a real smile or not.

Did she just call me Ms. Rogers? Like I’m some old lady? Hahaha. We were seriously close to the same age. I’d guessed she’s in her mid 20’s.

I rolled my eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest, slouching back into her pristine white leather couch. My eyes wandered over her, I noticed her nails were perfectly manicured, and her clothes looked expensive. Her perfectly slim body that she could probably get away with eating whatever she wanted—with good genes and my guess she didn’t gain a pound. She’d probably been with the same guy she’d been with for years. Ha ha, what a joke. Perfect people made me want to puke. It's unreal; couples aren't that happy, life isn't that good.

I was the complete opposite of this chick. My nail-polish had been chipped away and had been chewed to the quick, I'm a curvy, vibrant, not everyone’s cup of tea, tattoo junkie that didn't believe in happily ever afters and rainbows or finding that ‘one’ guy who understands me and wants all of me.

Prince charming does not exist. My knight in shining armor does not exist or come to rescue me from my nightmares. That's why fairy tales are fairy tales; they're fake made up stories of perfection and unrealistic ideas of what love is, it doesn't exist. So I like just to believe that I’ll be okay all on my own, that way I’m not disappointed.

This woman screamed Pilates and yoga enthusiast, manicured parties with her besties, drinking a specialty mocha frappua-fucking latte, with no whip and an extra squirt of espresso, but keep it a skinny one. Ha.

My eyes floated over to the door, I briefly thought about just running out. But I didn't. Why am I here again? Oh, right because my life sucks and guys fucking suck period. If I were attracted to pussy I’d go for this woman too. But I could still appreciate a nice cock and a good looking man; I just didn’t trust them; in fact, I hated men. I couldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.

This doc cocked her perfect arched drawn on eyebrow at me like she was waiting for me to speak. I watched the clock that was placed right behind her, it wasn't ticking fast enough, I wanted to walk out of here right now and never look back, but I have no choice, or I’ll be heading to the slammer, and orange was not my color. But let’s be real, is orange anyone’s color?

“Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and soft but highly irritating to me. No one is this nice. She closed her folder and gave me her full attention.

I think about this for a moment thinking of something to tell her, but I decided to turn the questions around. “Do you have a man?” I asked.

I saw a hint of pink spread over her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to let my question fluster her. “This isn’t a session about me. This is because you have to be here. I’m here to help you.” She spoke softly, barely a falter in her response.

“Then make me feel comfortable and answer my question.” I raised an eyebrow at her.

She crossed her slim legs and sat up straighter, smoothing her hands down her thighs. She rubbed her chin with her thumb as she contemplated her answer.

“Fine, yes, I have a man.” She replied.

“How long?” I asked her.

“Two years.” She spoke in a monotone voice.

“Do you love him?” I asked, knowing her love life was probably perfect. I didn’t even care, but this was better than talking about myself.

“Yes, I’m madly in love with him. Does that satisfy your curiosity in my life?” Her red lips show a little hint of a smirk along with her arched brow. She

replied in a monotone voice, strumming her nails along with the armrest of her expensive chair.

“For now!” I felt jealousy creep inside me, that these women seem to have it all; they had the best man, best life, a great career—and she's ‘hella’ gorgeous, yet I couldn’t find one decent man.

What’s up with that? It had to be me.

“Tell me something about yourself?” The doctor got back to me. She appeared perfectly posed, barely showing any slight waver in her demeanor, staying nonchalant and non-threatening. Her eyes stayed on me, waiting for me to say something.

“I hate men!” I spat out like venom, pure hate for the male species because all I have ever known is pain.

“Why is that?” Her lips pursed together. Her pointer finger rubbed against her temple, probably from the lack of my cooperation.

I breathed out in a wavering breath feeling frustrated and highly defensive, just not ready to share my past when the pain was still so engraved in me.

“Because they suck the life out of you. They take, and they take, not caring how they treat you. They start reeling you in with their charm, their good looks, then once they have you, they turn into a completely different person, a monster in disguise.” I held back the tears that were surfacing. Do not let this woman see you cry. I chewed anxiously at my nails. She probably had never had a chipped nail—split lip or a black eye, nothing close to the pain I had endured, not only once but sadly more times than I would like to count or admit.

“Is this one guy or more than one?” She asked, her tone stayed monotone.

“Many, unfortunately,” I said grudgingly, sounding pissed, as I stared blankly out the window. Anger and pain was building up inside me like a fuse

ready to burst at any minute, I clenched my hands into a fist. I didn’t want to talk about this shit; I wanted to scream.

“So how many guys have treated you wrong?”

I paused and had to count in my head—every single painful one. “Too many,” I said with sadness and shame. These were the ones that left the most marks. I felt like an idiot, like admitting the number of guys made me look like the damn sheep with my eyes covered in wool. Like how blind was I to be dealt bad hand after bad hand?

She scribbled some gibberish on her notepad. She stayed unaffected by what I said. “Can you talk about any of them?” She rubbed her lips together.

Agitated, I stiffened and wiped my hair off my shoulder. “No,” I said bluntly.

“No? as in not now or no as in not ever?” She asked as she played with her bracelet on her wrist with different charms dangling from it.

“Fuck I don’t know; I just don’t want to go back there.” I said in frustration as my voice trembled a little, as it rose, as my emotions surfaced, I held back my tears and pushed through the lump that was building in my throat. I felt mad and angry that I had to go back to such dark times. Bad times I just wished to forget.

“Okay, let’s change the topic.” She spoke calmly. “What led you here?” She waited for my answer, not pressuring me. She just sat there patiently with her legs crossed her foot seemed to be mindlessly bouncing as if in a rhythmic movement, like she was moving to some beat in her head.

“Don’t you already know? I’m sure you already have me all figured out and ready to diagnose me with some kind of daddy issues or mental illness that makes me the reason for all the shit that has happened to me.” My voice almost cracked as I got even more upset and unsettled.

“Is that what you want is for me to diagnose you with something, so you feel like there's a reason for the way you've been treated?”

Ding ding ding. She nailed it right on the head. I would like to know

why I had been the target of so many bad misfortunes. Why my life had so much darkness and horrific things happen.

I cracked my fingers loudly, making her flinch a little. “Fuck, no, I don’t even want to be here.” I snapped back.

She didn’t even flinch, she must be used to us crazies. “Well, we can’t change that right now. So why don’t we just cool down and talk about what you want to.”

My eyes scanned around the room. I looked out the window, my eyes locked on a bird perched in a tree. How did I get here? My mind drifted to my not so fabulous life for a moment.

...Since the beginning, since birth, my life had been anything but fun or full of love, all the things you read about or see out there; loving families and beautiful homes where everything is picture perfect, well—that’s not my story. I grew up without parents that didn’t want me, they abandoned me outside of a church where I was put in foster care, where I lived in countless homes where men physically and mentally abused me over the years.

The effects of the abuse made me start acting out and would get sent to a new home hoping things would get better, but it always ended up the same, people taking what isn't theirs, ME.

My life was filled with monsters and heart destroyers, memory takers, and assault abusers. Not a life I cared to remember.

I ran away when I was fourteen and ended up living on the streets, this sent down the rabbit hole as I got into drugs and hung around with the wrong kind of people. With no adult figure I was all on my own trying to figure out this life. But it was better than living the nightmare I was living in before, at least that’s what I thought.

I was sixteen when I found out I was pregnant, but sadly two months later I had a miscarriage, probably because of the drugs or just, my bad luck. It still haunted me to this day the torment and abuse that I endured and painful scars left inside and out. Ever since that day, I knew I had to change my life. My mind floated back to reality as I remembered where I was.

This had been the longest hour of my life. I would need way longer than an hour a week to tell her my shitty sob story and horrible luck with shitty ass men and boyfriends that treated me like dog shit. No, they actually treated their dogs better than me.

Scars I couldn’t escape. I will forever be branded by the monsters, my body was a temple of the abuse I endured.

My life had been anything other than sugary gumdrops and beautiful roses. More like a dagger to the heart, time after time. I suddenly got, ‘Cindi Lauper’s song, Time after time,’ playing in my head. Each time letting someone take another piece of me until there’s nothing left but broken pieces, and agonizing holes of emptiness.

I’m still sitting staring out the window, praying for this to all be over.

Sorry, not sorry.

But I just couldn’t get into it all. Especially with some stranger who looked like she’s never been through hell and back. She didn’t know what it’s like to be dealt a shitty hand at every point of your life. To never have a home, or to never feel loved, or to never celebrate a Christmas or birthday.

I still haven’t said much. I glanced at the time, and thank goodness it’s almost over. Five minutes and counting.

She gave me a glare over her pad of paper. Probably super pissed off at me. But she didn't care, she got paid regardless if I spilled my guts or not. This has got to be the easiest job in the world. Just sit and listen to people talk about themselves. Why didn’t I think of this job?

“So Dr. . .?” I cocked my head towards her desk; I noticed that everything was perfectly placed. Every pencil was sharpened, and there was not a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. I saw a gold plated plaque front and center with her name in black lettering. Dr. Laura James. She probably deserved it along with her framed official license, which stated she was a licensed Psychologist and that she went to Harvard. I turned my attention back to her. “Dr. James, do you trust men?”

She pursed her lips together before she spoke. “I’m not going to talk about my private life with you.” She stared at me as she spoke.

“Hahaha, ah—I see it, you have doubts too. Does your boyfriend stay out late or work late?”

“That’s enough!” She spoke with a more crisp authority enriched in her tone, with slight irritation.

Oh, did I strike a nerve? Hahaha, I sure hope so. She actually looked like her eyes were brimming with tears. Maybe not such a perfect life as I thought. I did feel kind of bad now, but it still didn't make me care. Yes, you can think I am a bitch, I’ve been called worse.

“See all guys suck.” Maybe we aren’t so different. I still couldn’t read her blank expression. She’s like a porcelain doll that won't crack or a robot.

And—that’s a wrap.

Times up buttercup—Fuck yes, I am out of here. I shot out of my seat and almost sprinted to the door. “Peace, see ya next week.” I didn’t look back as I headed out of the building.

After that waste of time, I headed to the closest bar within walking distance. I desperately needed a drink.

Up ahead, I saw a cool-sh dive bar, it gave off a trashy biker vibe, with the neon glowing bud light sign on the outside, guys with leather, long beards, and tattoos hung around the outside, but it was good enough for me. Who was I to be picky when I needed a drink?

I walked through the large wooden distressed door and walked up to the dimly lit bar. I slid my ass onto one of the red leather stools. I laid my head in my hands as I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes for a moment.

“Hey, sweetheart, can I get you anything?”

Without looking I spoke, “yeah, a shot of tequila and Whiskey neat pu...lease,” I begged. Like I was desperate for a glass of something or take away this uneasiness that was running through me.

“Coming right up babe.”

I haven’t even looked up to see who’s serving me, as I was trying to fight off an intruding headache that had been brewing since I walked into that psychologist’s office.

A shot glass and tumbler filled with Whiskey was placed in front of me. I tilted my head back and let the shot slide down my throat, followed by the auburn liquid, warmth spread to my extremities.

“Another,” he offered as I slid my glass back. “Bad day?” He asked.

Like he cared.

“Hahaha, you could say that. How about a fucking bad life,” I said under my breath keep it low so he wouldn’t actually hear me.

“What was that?” He asked. Damn, I guess he heard me.

“Oh, I’ve had the best life anyone could ask for.” I said hastily, giving him my fake everything is a fine short story.

I finally looked up, and my eyes locked on this man. My eyes widened when I saw who’s standing in front of me. It’s the same man that walked out of the psychologist’s office when I first arrived. His eyes locked with mine. I couldn’t help but be drawn into his smokey gray eyes. “Hey, it’s you.” A grin spread across his amazing mouth, I averted my eyes quickly, but it was too late I was already blushing. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier. Let’s just say I’ve had a hard-on ever since.”

Just as he was leaning over the bar I had taken a sip of my drink, in shock I spat out my drink all over his face, the liquid dripped down his beautiful face. My cheeks grew crimson even more so now.

What now? He didn't just say that, did he? Maybe the drinks had already

gone to my head. The heat crept up my chest rising to my face which I'm sure|

he could see. Was this heat and breathlessness from the drink or from this sexy man that I felt like I couldn’t breathe? Maybe a bit of both?

He leaned back against the back of the bar; he pulled his shirt up to wipe off his face. Of course, his body looked like it was massively chiseled by stone. Is that an eight pack? And damn that sexy V shape imprinted on his body that pointed towards what was below his jeans, his lower torso sported a sexy trail of hair that ran a path down under his pants.

Fuck

I had to look away. I spun around in my seat, needing a breather. Could I really make that man hard? No way, he’s way too good looking for me he could have any girl. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head. The heat was climbing to every orpheus, making me blush profusely. But as sexy as he was, I still didn't trust guys, especially one like him. He just held this cocky ‘I get whatever I want mentality.’ Like he’s used to getting what he wanted, and everyone falls at his feet. But h, ell when you look like, him I could see why.

This had to be a pickup line; they were all the same, sexy men were only after one thing, sex and nothing more. And if this man didn’t scream sexy god and man whore, I didn’t know men obviously, hence why am I single.

Some guy walked in and took a seat beside me. I could see his eyes lingered on my breasts longer than I felt comfortable with. There’s one that takes a glance maybe, but this dude might as well have his head in between my girls the way he was starring. He wore all black from his black beanie to his jeans, and is that Adidas sandals? His hair was black and one, July curling wildly at thee; his eyes were a dark midnight shade in his irises.

I guess he was cute in a ‘just out of the gutter look or dumpster diver look,’ and I know there are people that live on the street and I do know what that feels like, I have been there too, so I don’t think badly if he's got issues. I felt bad for the unfortunate people who had been dealt a bad hand, but it didn’t

mean I wanted to have sex with them.

“Excuse me? Can I help you with something, or have your eyes lost all control to stay upwards?”

The guy gradually looked up, like he was lost in a trance.

“Sorry, darling, you should take it as a compliment. They just look so juicy and perky. Can I touch them?” His eyes were back on my breasts.

Is this guy for real? “Seriously, fuck off, dude.” I wanted to slap him.

“Come on, just one squeeze?” He leaned in. He smelled like rotten onions, strong alcohol I could almost taste he was too close, and stale nicotine. Yuk.

“You better shut your fucking mouth.” My voice was raised. I could feel myself fuming from inside. My fists were clenched tight, my fingernails digging into my palms.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” His smile was not that of a kind smile, more of a creepy sneer.

“Fuck, no.” I tried to sound like I had a backbone. But ins, ide I was trembling.

“Come, on; you're hot; I’m hot; we can do hot stuff together.”

He just wouldn't back off. “Hahaha, is that your best line?”

He better watch what comes out of his mouth next.

“How about we get another drink, and then we fuck?” His hand came up to rest on my hip, and he squeezed his fingers into my flesh as he tightened his grip.

“Don’t touch me.” I moved back, bumping into the stool behind me.

“Or what?” He’s pushed right up into me, getting right in my face like we were having a face-off. I warned him, and now he’s going to be sorry. I grabbed his nut sack and twisted. He yelped like a bitch as my grip tightened.

“AAAHHHH fuck! Let go, you bitch.” He growled out in pain and through clenched teeth.

“Then, don’t talk or touch me again. Do you get that? I can squeeze even tighter if you can't behave. I am not playing.” I said with all the power I could exert.

“Yes…Yee—” He hissed out, he could barely speak. I let go, and he held his package.

“You might want some ice for that.” I grabbed my drink and hurried off to a table in the corner of the bar. The music overhead is playing some AC/DC song; I sipped my drink, and my eyes scanned the room, and they journeyed back onto the hot guy behind the bar.

Our eyes locked, I quickly averted my eyes and took another sip of my drink. He probably thinks I’m a psycho chick. He’ll be smart to steer clear of me. My hands were shaking slightly as I held my glass. I felt tears building up, the ones I tried to keep buried so deep.