Crying Out Silent Read online

  CRYING OUT SILENT

  Marita A. Hansen

  Copyright

  Crying Out Silent

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2018 © Marita A. Hansen

  Cover Design by Marita A. Hansen

  Cover Photo by piola666

  Sourced from iStock

  Editor: John Hudspith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: [email protected]

  All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Note on Language and Dialogue Used

  Acknowledgements

  An Important Note from the Author

  1 Llewellyn Davies

  2 Llewellyn

  3 Jenna Hamilton

  4 Jenna

  5 Ash Rata

  6 Llewellyn

  7 Ash

  8 Ash

  9 Ash

  10 Ash

  11 Ash

  12 Ash

  13 Jenna

  14 Llewellyn

  15 Ash

  16 Llewellyn

  17 Jenna

  18 Ash

  19 Jenna

  20 Ash

  21 Ash

  22 Llewellyn

  23 Ash

  24 Llewellyn

  25 Ash

  26 Ash

  27 Llewellyn

  28 Ash

  Epilogue

  Character Information

  Graffiti Heaven Sample

  Broken English Sample

  Reviewing Information

  About the Author

  More Books by Marita A. Hansen

  UK English is used due to the New Zealand setting.

  All other variations are also due to where the book is set, as well as the characters’ cultural and socio-economic backgrounds. This is why some characters use different speech patterns from others, such as in the use of ’cause versus cos or was versus wuz, the latter representing a Māori accent. Though, please note that not all Māori speak the same way, plus many of my characters are of mixed heritage, such as Ash Rata. Ash is half Croatian, almost half Māori, and the rest Romanian. But due to where he grew up in South Auckland, New Zealand, he speaks more like his father than his mother.

  I hope this explains the way in which dialogue is presented in Crying Out Silent.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my long suffering family for having to put up with all the time I spend on trying to make my writing career a success.

  In addition, I would like to say a special thanks to:

  John Hudspith – He’s edited many of my books, and is absolutely great to work with. I always feel that I’m putting my best work forward after he’s been through the manuscript.

  An Important Note from the Author

  Crying Out Silent has been languishing on my hard drive for years due to the sensitive subject matter. I’m glad that I finally plucked up the courage to publish it, though it wasn’t easy, some of the scenes hard to read. But you can’t gloss over a topic such as suicide or what makes someone consider it. It’s not only terrifying for the person committing or contemplating it, but also for their loved ones—the devastation left behind for them a lifelong pain. If you are considering suicide please, please talk to someone about it, get help from loved ones or call a helpline. You don’t realise just how important you are and how your life is worth so much. Once you’re gone, you can’t change things for the better, only leave things for the worse. But if you choose to live, people can help you. If you can’t get that help from your family, look elsewhere. I know how much it hurts on the other side of the equation, how it has affected me when a loved one contemplated suicide and how I did everything to help them. So, again please ask for help. Talking or writing is the first step, and I hope you take many more steps in life rather than a final, unchangeable one into death.

  Lifeline New Zealand: 0800 543 354

  Australian Lifeline: 13 11 14

  American National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

  Or google your country’s lifeline, suicide prevention, or emergency numbers for help, such as seen here:

  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

  1

  LLEWELLYN DAVIES

  February 2000

  The boy was sitting on the other side of my new homeroom, staring at me like he wanted to play dot-to-dot with the freckles on my face. It reminded me of the bullies from my last school, which I had to leave due to being picked on relentlessly. And he was big like them, even looked a bit like the ringleader with his number one haircut and rough features. He was the type of guy who’d be at home on the rugby field or in a WWF ring. I tried not to look back, knowing it could get me hurt, but I couldn’t help it, because his stare was like a magnet, drawing my gaze to him.

  “Anthony Torres!” the teacher called out.

  The boy’s gaze snapped to the teacher. “It’s Ant, and you know it!”

  The teacher visibly tensed. “Watch your tone! I won’t put up with it this year.”

  A smile split Ant’s face, which made the teacher shake his head. The man didn’t look much older than Ant. Even from across the room I could see the stubble on Ant’s face, not something that was common with Fifth Form students. I wondered whether he’d been held back a year or—with the way he looked—five, because there was no way he could be fifteen or sixteen.

  He looked back at me and lifted his chin up in what appeared to be a friendly hello. The dreadlocked kid sitting behind him glanced my way, probably wondering who Ant was looking at. He frowned when his gaze landed on me. He said something to Ant, which wiped the smile off Ant’s face. Looking angry, Ant snapped something back, then his gaze returned to me. He scowled for a second, then a mean grin split his features. He pushed his tongue against his cheek and moved his fist in front of his mouth, doing the cock-sucking gesture. My face heated, my complexion no doubt resembling raspberries splattered across snow. I was pale-skinned and had orange hair, which I’d inherited from my Welsh ancestry. My family had moved to New Zealand five years prior—when I was ten.

  Both Ant and his friend laughed, the third boy in their group looking like he wanted to be in on the joke.

  “Ant and Joel, please be quiet,” the young teacher said, glancing up from his desk. I couldn’t remember his name since he hadn’t bothered to write it on the whiteboard. Though, he didn’t look like someone who got called Mr. often due to having as many, if not more, zits than the teenagers he was paid to teach.

  Ant grinned back at the teacher, while Joel, who I assumed was the dreadlocked kid, sniggered. The teacher sighed then looked back down at his list, continuing to call out students’ names.

  The door banged open, pulling my attention away from the man. A tall boy walked into the room, looking out of breath, as though he’d run a mile. His wavy black hair was a mess, but to my eyes it looked perfect. If it wasn’t for his scruffy uniform, he could’ve walked out of a fashion catalogue, the guy model-beautiful.

  “Ash,” the teacher said, sounding exasperated, “it’s not a good way to start the year by being late on your first day. I hope this isn’t going to be a repeat of last year.”

  Ash grimaced. “It’s not my bloody fault, it’s my
brother’s. That li’l shithead totally made me late.”

  “Watch your language.”

  “I didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “You swore.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  The teacher exhaled loudly, like it pained him to be here. “Just take a seat.”

  Mumbling something under his breath, Ash weaved his way between the desks, grinning at a pretty blonde girl with pink streaks in her hair. He blew her a kiss, causing the girl to giggle, then climbed over the dreadlocked boy’s desk to get to the one by the window.

  “Ash! Do not climb over desks,” the teacher snapped.

  “Sorry,” Ash said sarcastically.

  His mates started sniggering, Ant the only exception. I blinked, realising he was still staring at me, no, he wasn’t staring, he was glaring. He looked like he wanted to punch me, something I’d seen on too many bullies’ faces. I dropped my gaze to my desk, which was where I should’ve kept it in the first place.

  As soon as the bell rang, I jumped up and grabbed my bag, heading for the door as fast as I could, but two girls at the front of the class stopped to talk to each other, blocking my way. Apologising, I pushed between them, then had to stop again as a massive girl stepped in front of me. She peered over my head, calling out for her friends to hurry up.

  “Hey, new kid!” Ant yelled out.

  I looked in his direction. He was heading my way, the dreadlocked boy behind him grinning.

  “Ant, come here,” the teacher said.

  Ant ignored him, pushing a student aside. He was so tall it made me feel even smaller. I was considerably shorter, only five-foot-four, while Ant had to be at least six foot, if not more.

  “Anthony!” the teacher barked, his face going bright red from being ignored.

  Ant stopped and turned to the teacher. “What?!”

  Resting his hands on the desk, the teacher pushed to his feet, his expression furious. “If you keep this attitude up, you’ll be seeing the inside of the principal’s office more than my classroom.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll be a good boy, just for you.”

  The teacher’s jaw clenched, giving the impression he was going to give Ant a blasting.

  The massive girl finally moved out of my way. Seeing my opportunity to escape, I took off out of the room, rushing down the corridor, slipping between the crowds of students emerging from their homerooms. I headed into the boys’ restroom and planted myself in one of the stalls, using the door as a barrier to the outside world. I was used to seeing the back of toilet doors. It was always the first place I went to when I thought I was going to be bullied, and right now, I had more than a gut feeling that Wera High was going to be no different from my last school.

  Since everyone in my class had English next, I decided to skip the lesson, because there was no way I was risking going near Ant. Ignoring the crude drawings on the toilet door, I hung my bag on the hook and put the toilet lid down to sit on. I grabbed my novel out of my bag and started reading it. Over the next hour or so, students came in and out of the restroom sporadically. I lifted my feet occasionally, willing the minutes to tick by faster, while hoping I wouldn’t get in trouble for skipping class.

  The bell for the end of English rang, which resulted in more people using the toilets, until it finally quietened down. I sat silently, continuing to read my book, totally wrapped up in the story. It was Carrie by Stephen King. I’d only just started it a couple of days ago, but I liked it a lot, and sort of sympathised with the main character, because she was picked on like I had been… no, was being.

  Everything went quiet for a while, then the restroom door banged open. A male laugh filled the room, followed by a female voice shushing him. A rat-ta-tat-tat on my door made me lift my feet off the floor. On the other side, I heard a noise, which suggested someone was looking underneath my door. I sucked in a breath, praying they didn’t see me. A few seconds later, the door next to mine closed, the lock clicking in place. I exhaled soundlessly, relieved that I hadn’t been caught.

  The girl started giggling, which stopped abruptly. “Shouldn’t you wear a condom?” she said.

  “Why? It’s not like I’m fucking your pussy,” the boy answered gruffly, sounding like Ant.

  “But I thought you were.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then, what do you want?”

  “I wanna fuck your arse.”

  “No way!”

  “You said yes before.”

  “Only cos I thought we were having normal sex.”

  “Well, too bad, you agreed.”

  A bang followed, the girl yelping in response. “Don’t, Ant!” she cried.

  “C’mon, Kelley, you promised, and if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone you did it anyway.”

  “I don’t wanna— Ouch!”

  “Stay still.”

  “Ant!”

  Another bang happened.

  “Okay, okay!” she cried. “I’ll do it, just don’t hurt me.”

  A scuffling sound followed.

  “No, Ant, put on a condom.” She yelped again. “Let go, that hurts.”

  “Then stop bitching and turn around.”

  “Put on a condom first.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Then it can wait.”

  “No, it can’t, you got me hard, so turn the fuck around.”

  The girl let out a cry.

  “Shut the fuck up or someone will hear,” Ant snapped.

  “Just stop pushing me.” She let out a shriek. “What are you doing?”

  “You said not to hurt you, so I’m loosening you up.”

  “That feels wrong, I don’t like it.”

  “Just shut up, you’re pissing me off.”

  A rustling followed, along with a zipper being pulled down. The girl squealed, which was abruptly cut short, sounding like Ant had clamped a hand over her mouth. The girl sniffled while Ant grunted and moaned. I wondered whether I should say something, but instead pressed my lips together, too scared to open my mouth, Ant terrifying me.

  Not long after, Ant let out a gasp, then everything went quiet for several seconds, even the girl silent. Rustling clothes followed, then they left, disappearing with the bang of the main door.

  I exhaled, relieved that they were gone, but still upset over what I’d heard. I wondered who the girl was, the name Kelley not meaning anything to me. Was she from mine and Ant’s class? Or from another one? And if she was from my class, should I speak to her, making sure she was all right? Because what Ant did...

  Was it rape?

  Feeling sick over it, I opened the door and went for the sink, freezing at the sight of Ant. He was leaning against the wall by the urinals with his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring at me. I blinked, taken aback he was still here, too tongue-tied and scared to utter a word.

  He pushed away from the wall and walked towards me, making me back up fast. “Enjoy the show?” he said.

  My back hit the stall frame. “I didn’t see anything,” I spluttered out, finally finding my voice.

  He stopped in front of me, giving me a stare down. “Not even a peek under the door?”

  “No,” I replied, realising he must’ve known I was there all along.

  “What you heard is none of your business.”

  I nodded vigorously. “I won’t say a word, I promise.”

  “You bet you won’t.” He reached out to touch my hair, which was long, almost reaching to the small of my back. “Are you a girl or a boy?”

  “A boy,” I replied with my usual answer, even though it was only partially true.

  “Then why do ya have long hair?”

  “I like heavy metal.”

  He wrinkled his nose, as though my reply offended him. “Well, you should cut it, cos it makes you look like a girl—or gay. Are you gay?”

  I shook my head, telling the truth. I didn’t care what was in someone’s pants. I was equally attracted to both females and males—as long as they we
re beautiful. Not pretty or hot. Beautiful. Otherwise they didn’t capture my attention. As a small kid, I used to cut out pictures of models from my mam’s old magazines, fascinated by how perfect they looked. Back then I’d thought they were angels, graced by God’s hand, but now I just liked to look at them.

  “Well, I reckon you are gay,” Ant said.

  He glanced down at my crotch, making me worry that I hadn’t done up my fly. Unlike his black pants, I was wearing the summer version of Wera High’s uniform, which was black shorts and a white button-down shirt, my red jumper in my bag.

  His hazel gaze returned to my face. “At homeroom, you were staring at my mate like you wanted Ash to fuck ya.”

  My eyes widened in horror. “No I wasn’t!”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not!” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. I hadn’t even thought about sex, just had been enthralled by Ash’s beauty.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway, cos you’re sweet outta luck with him. He’s straight.”

  “I wasn’t looking at him like that, I swear.”

  “Still lying, but I understand why you were lookin’. That prick’s a pretty bastard. Too bad he’s a pussy-muncher, totally into it, can’t get enough of slurping up those fishy juices...”

  I gaped at him, his words shocking me.

  He continued, “And Ash would pro’bly punch you if he knew you were eye-fucking him, so you’re lucky he didn’t notice.”

  “I promise I wasn’t eye— Doing anything like that.”

  “Quit it, I already told ja I don’t believe ya.” He looked me up and down. “You’re so tiny, a total pocket fuck. How old are ya?”

  “Fifteen,” I said, not knowing what a ‘pocket fuck’ was.

  “You totally don’t look it. I thought maybe you’d been put up a class.” He grinned. “I betcha your dick is small too, that’s if you even have one.”

  “I have one!”

  His grin widened. “Prove it, then.”

  I took a step to the side. “No way!”

  “Is it cos you’re a lesbo, pretending to be a guy?”

  “No! And I’m not going to show you my...” I cleared my throat, not wanting to say it.

  “Stop being a pussy-shit. If you’re really a guy, I’ll see it when you piss at the urinals, so you might as well show me now. Unless you sit on the toilet for a piss, cos you’re a girl.”