Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga (6 page)

“The usual, pretty little lady?”

“Yes,” I reply, trying to keep my eyes away from his.

Failure, defeat, succumbing to the incubi that once plagued me. Who am I kidding? They’ve always had the upper hand. They were just in hibernation. They’ve never not been present. Giving in for me is the same as claiming rout. It was just a matter of time. Now I have to do what I did so well before I lost control, hide. Conceal the choices that I am making once again and put on a happy front.

He retrieves the pint of liquor and hands it to me, “Smokes? Still prefer Parliament Lights?”

“No, I’m good. No stags.”

“Well, I expect my payment,” he says in a near whisper, gesturing me back to the stock room of the liquor store.

I follow his heavy steps as he opens the door to the storage area. I take a few steps back so he can get a full view of me, scars and all. He knows how fucked up I am, but he keeps it secret. With those thoughts flooding me at full force, I feel the misery wash over me as I think of the times I shared with Nathan. I’m nothing more than a fuck buddy who isn’t worth anything more. I am his dirty little secret, along with Bill and Davis. Proof that I am unfit.

I pull my Rigdon High tee off of my battered young body and his gaze remains unchanged. The scars no longer phase him, even the raised ones that are a few months old. I unclasp my bra (a must for him because pulling them free from the cups is not equal payment for the loot). I shake the straps off of my shoulders and allow my bare breasts to stare at him in the face. His hand makes its way to his trousers as he adjusts himself while licking his lips. The front door dings, indicating a customer. The look of surprise shoots across his face.

“Get out of here,” he says while placing the contents I earned on a cardboard box, then pointing to the back service door.

I nod in agreement, eager to get the hell out of there to enjoy the liquor that will make me forget. I am trying to clasp my bra, but it won’t take. I’m growing impatient, so I just take it off and begin to pull my shirt over my exposed breasts when the demon of my past comes back to haunt me worse than ever before. Davis Mitchell Moore, the stealer of my innocence, is standing in front of me with a smile on his face as he sees that I am bare chested before him.

“Bill, get your perverted ass back up front and let me take care of this. I better never hear of you doing this again. If she comes here asking, you call me and only me. If you listen, I will keep this between us.”

Bill agrees with a nod, perspiration misting his forehead. I’m surprised he didn’t piss his pants with the look of terror on his face. I’m indifferent, honestly. I know what I deserve and the man that will give me my punishment is only feet away.

I am given strict instructions to follow his cruiser to a trail off Chapel Lane. Ironically, the same road that the church I have grown up going to rests. Davis allows me to have the pint from Bill, only because deep down he knows what he does to me isn’t right and it is a way for me to tolerate it.

I drink most of the pint within twenty minutes before arriving at the ominous destination. I light a cigarette, trying my best not to swerve off of the one lane gravel road. I see the bright red of his brake lights and I push on mine to allow my car to come to a halt. My heart feels like it is about to explode. The alcohol isn’t helping this time, it has only made the anxiety worse. I wish I had some cocaine to snort before he makes me his again.

He walks up to my car door with his chest out and his hands on his belt buckle.

“I’ve missed you, Lyla.”

I don’t respond. I can’t because I know that no matter what I decide to say, it won’t change his mind. He has the evidence against me. He’s blackmailed me and it worked. I will not allow anyone or anything take my scholarships and one way ticket out of Rigdon away from me. So, I repeat the line over and over in my head again…
take it like a good girl.

Fifteen minutes later I still taste him in my mouth. For once, I am glad that he didn’t have sex with me. He decided that he preferred oral during this encounter. I know that it has started again, his taking of me when he wants. The fucked up part is, he thinks that one day we will be together. What kind of sick man is he?

• • •

It is past midnight and I know Rick is up waiting for me on the porch. I’m drunk, but I have an excellent way of hiding it, not to mention a pack of peppermint gum and body spray to hide the stench.

“Until next time, baby.”

“Fuck off.”

I mentally high five myself, unable to realize the amount of courage that I had to say such a thing to Davis. I try to tell myself it is more like a job, a job that I must do for months until I leave and never look back. Now comes the hard part of knowing that the blades are tucked mysteriously beneath my mattress. They have never been found by my parents and I have succeeded at avoiding them thus far, but I am certain that I will have a reunion with them tonight. A reunion that will be unforgettable and addicting again.

I start the engine of my car and speed off, kicking dust and rocks into the face of the man that robs me. I don’t have tears or sadness any longer. My mind is set on the actions that will soon take place to remind me why I am wasted for any other for the rest of my life. Enough pain to make me forget Davis, Nathan and Bill, for the time being at least.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. Please give me strength to persevere through this living hell.

I sweet talk my way through Rick and convince him that I was having a splendid time with the good girls from Rigdon. He’s harder to convince than Momma, but considering the shit storm I put them through a few months before, I know he wouldn’t have a problem confronting me if he suspected something.

I make my way through the front door after a conversation with Rick, patting myself on my back for not slurring my words, and head up the stairs to the second floor to my room. I am trying to replay my mantra over and over in my head and tell myself all the reasons why I don’t need to cut, but it doesn’t matter. What is done is done. I was sure before, but I am beyond certain now. I am positive that I radiate a trait that makes me be unlovable to all except for my family. They don’t really have a choice, so their love doesn’t count.

I don’t believe in fairy tales or love, not the relationship kind of love. I only recognize that in cheesy one star films, Lifetime movies, poems, and novels that make me sob as I feel the emotions of happiness until I have reached the last page, and reality punches me in the face hard, making me wake up and realize it isn’t in the cards for me. My existence is real life, not those words, though I still get lost in the stories and find a bit of contentment for the hours as the tale forms images and plays out in my mind.

I shake the joyful thoughts as my hand turns the knob on my door. I open it and go into autopilot mode.

Shut the door and lock it. Take ten steps forward and lift. Grab the blade. Lower the mattress. Clutch the blade in my hand. Discard my tee and bra. Stare at myself in the vanity mirror and remind myself why. Take my trembling hand that is holding the blade and put it to my belly. Cut until there is blood. Stop. Stare. Get dressed. Hide the blade, lock the door, curl up beneath the warm duvet, prepare myself for the nightmares to come, and cry myself to sleep.

Being good is not easy. Life goes through phases, I understand that and nod appropriately when my counselor reiterates that to me on a weekly basis, but for fuck’s sake, when will I get a nice long good phase? It’s getting old and I am nearly past the point of being depressed. I’m entering the angry stage.

I drink occasionally, but not as much as I used to despite the circumstances the past few months. I have succeeded in staying away from drugs up until temptation bit me in the ass last night. I went to the liquor store to show good ole boy Bill a pair of 18-year-old imperfect breasts. He should’ve been smart enough to realize to give in as well. I am going to play that against him, certain that I will see Davis in a matter of time. I plan on telling him where I got my latest stash, from Mr. Bill himself. With that information Davis will be sure to make Bill lose his job. I don’t care because then it will be close enough to graduation time where I can deal with not having a fix. A pack of cigarettes will hold my nerves over, along with the object hidden beneath my mattress.

Bill gave me an eight ball of cocaine. When I saw the powdery heaven, excitement coursed through my veins again. I relish the feeling of anticipation. The feeling that I get when I line it up perfectly and place the straw or dollar bill up to my nostril and inhale the poison into my body. Those are the thoughts that are overtaking my brain as I sit in AP English waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. With its first chime I stand abruptly, eager to get out to my car and hit up as back road to sin. I rush out of school and into my car, destined to taste the drug drip down the back of my throat.

After snorting the lines, I feel it again,
failure.
Why couldn’t I be strong enough not to allow the past to win? Will it always be one step ahead of me? Will I ever be content? Then my nightmare gets worse as I see Davis’ cruiser pull up behind me. It strikes me at that point in time that I have never been intimate with him when he was not on duty. I wonder how the Shelton County Police Department would feel about his actions the past several months, let alone his former police chief father, Steve Moore.

After our usual exchange and my inability to say no, he leads me into the woods with a blanket tucked under one of his arms. We go deep into the woods on a four wheeler track that I am not familiar with, and yes that is possible even in a tiny town like Rigdon. There are tons of trails throughout the county and even if you spend days walking and searching for them, by week’s end you still haven’t visited them all.

When he is satisfied that we have traveled far enough back to be concealed, he lays the blanket down on the uneven ground and tells me to lay on top of it. I know better than to decline, after all he knows the secrets of my debaucheries along with the key to prevent me from ever getting away. I have to do what he asks and give him what he wants, whether I want to or not.

The kissing and touching starts. The inevitable tears quietly drip down my face and he brushes them away with his calloused thumbs, humming in my ear telling me to relax and enjoy our act. His fingers find their way inside of me and his rhythm is gentle. Sardonic for me to regard it in such terms, but it’s true. He isn’t rough like our first night together. It doesn’t make it any less tolerable, but at least I will be able to walk after this, unlike previous times.

His fingers free themselves and I feel relief for seconds. Then his mouth covers my sex and the awkward movement of his tongue is stirring something inside of me that I haven’t ever felt before. Confusion rushes over my body as I feel the coiling start in the dark depths of my abyss, also known as the soul I once had. My muscles tense moments before the unavoidable explosion occurs. I try to fight it, but can’t. His tongue continues its assault to the spot that sends me over the edge, making me succumb to my first orgasm by force.

He spreads my legs further apart, mounts me, thrusts a few times, and releases himself inside of my body. And here I am again, drowning further down in the bleakness of misery, uncertain if I can be saved again.

“Better go to the clinic tomorrow to get the morning after pill.”

Then he walks away and leaves me alone, in the woods with the conflicting feelings he forced upon me. Thoughts of a baby with him make me ill and I let my stomach spill its matter next to me while I am still unclothed and vulnerable.

I’ve got to get to the clinic.

The day that I have been waiting for has come. Graduation Day. I have successfully kept my secrets from my parents and given Davis what he wants. I’ve got my ticket to get out of this hellhole and I cannot wait until August to leave. I plan on leaving the end of this week and landing a job in the Windy City. Thoughts of my new home bring a smile upon my face, this time not fake.

I think about the hustle and bustle of things in Chicago, the faces that won’t think twice when they see my appearance, and the quiet. Yes, the quiet. I won’t hear the whispers from everyone, adults included. I won’t be known as the girl who tried to kill herself or the slut who tried to steal Nathan Wilcox from Betsy Snyder. I will just be me, Lyla Elizabeth Harper, a girl craving a new beginning. I will only look forward, never back. I have promised myself to keep the regression away. I don’t have to be concerned about Davis Moore any longer once I pass the Shelton County line. There isn’t anything but rainbows and unicorns in my future. Well, I won’t go that far, but anything is better than the past.

I try to convince Momma that I want to avoid walking in the graduation ceremony, but she insists and wants to take photos. I decide to go, wanting to leave her with happy memories of me. Little does she know that I have no intentions on returning to Rigdon, whether it is Christmas or not. The holidays will never come before my happiness as I am certain that revisiting a place that did me wrong will do nothing but backfire and cause me trouble. I make the choice to never come back, to only take steps forward and progress towards my dream of becoming a fiercely independent and self-sufficient businesswoman.

The girls and boys were paired with one another via lottery. Guess who won the jackpot with me? Nathan Wilcox. I can’t wait to see the look on Betsy’s face when she sees my arm intertwined with her lover’s. As far as I care, she can try to embarrass me all she wants. I will fight back and win. I will be victorious because I am breaking the vicious cycle of Rigdon. I am leaving and starting life anew while she will end up dropped out of college and pregnant by Nathan while he works full-time at the local plastics factory trying to make ends meet. He will still be talking about the game changing moment in sectionals from senior year five years from now, but in the big scope of life it doesn’t mean shit.