Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga (7 page)

I am a firm believer in fate and karma, whether it is easy or not. I think that those who have made others suffer to make themselves feel better will get what they deserve, whether I live to see it or not. They have a higher power to answer to, and as long as I know I have not purposely inflicted physical or emotional pain onto another human being, I can sleep as soundly as God allows at nighttime. I will continue to pray to keep the demons at bay and remain strong enough not to cope in the way that I am used to, and I feel like I am strong enough to do that. With my past soon to be hundreds of miles away in a tiny southeastern Kansas town, the chances of confronting it are slim to none. Not many people get away from it. I consider myself lucky.

I am walking arm in arm with Nathan, sporting my red cap and gown with black accents, proud Rigdon High’s school colors. I can feel him fidgeting beneath my arm and I smile.

“What’s the matter, Nathan?” I whisper to him.

“Uh, nothin’.”

“You seem a little nervous…”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Want to know a little secret?” I flirtatiously ask in his ear while eyeing Betsy across from me.

“Sure,” he responds.

“Your three minutes didn’t do enough justice to affect me. In fact, I barely remember it. But just so you know, what goes around comes around.”

He doesn’t retort. He continues to sit stone-faced. Betsy’s look flushes a deeper shade of red as I give her a sweet wave. She shakes her head at me and I giggle to myself.

After the ceremony ends, Mom takes a few pictures of me and Nathan. He shifts back and forth as I smile proudly to the camera. He turns to walk away and I say, “Hey Nathan!”

“Yeah?”

“Say hello to Betsy for me.”

I’ve come out ahead. I’m ready to leave this place. Goodbye, Rigdon.

Love. That is how I describe my new home. I have been situated in the Windy City for three weeks now and I couldn’t be happier with how my life is going. I don’t give Davis or the others a second thought. I recognize it won’t always be like this for me, but I am embracing this good phase while it lasts.

I landed a job at a local coffee shop and I work as many hours as I can. The more I work, the less I have time to think about before and after. Classes start in five weeks and I am eager to be one step closer to attaining my degree with a major in public relations and a minor in marketing. When I am not working, I travel to the city and sightsee. I still see myself as a tourist, taking pictures of Navy Pier and downtown shops that I could only dream of buying from. It doesn’t seem real to me, not yet. I’m not sure if it ever will. Hell, I am not even sure what will happen tomorrow, I’m just soaking up every positive second that is coming my way. Any time away from the place I fled is happy.

There’s this guy, a really cute one. Isaac works with me at the shop and I find myself smiling a lot in his presence. He makes me laugh and shares the same love of music that I do. Plus, he can make a mean vanilla latte. Maybe one day he will ask me out on a real date, without judgments. Perhaps that is a possibility. Oh, how lovely it would be not to be someone’s secret. I push the thoughts of him away out of fear of disappointment. After all, there is no way that I will ever be able to be intimate with a man, not normally at least. My past will always have the upper hand. My belly will always hold the sins of why I am tainted for all men. What man would be attracted to that? None. There is no such thing as Prince Charming or unconditional love. Momma loves me without condition, but she has to because I am her daughter. That is a different kind of love. The other kind only exists in romance novels and Lifetime movies that I watch on Saturday nights with Thai food takeout.

I live simply now. Simple is good. I have photos with nothing other than landmarks and tourist sights to capture my new life. They make me smile. I have the memories of the grateful customers pleased with me when I give them their prepared coffee. I have the flirtatious conversations and genuine grins from Isaac, the guy who is hot and spends his nights chatting with me. (I still can’t figure out why, but I am rolling with the punches and taking each moment as it comes).

It’s 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday night. I am clocking out of work and heading home, looking forward to my routine of Lifetime movies or Sex and the City re-runs and takeout. I really should watch my caloric intake, but who the hell cares, right? I don’t have anyone to impress and I kind of like the “
I don’t give a fuck attitude
”. It’s quite refreshing and new. I talk more, care less, smile more, and laugh often. I’m a brand new Lyla, and I have to say, she kicks ass.

“Lyla?” questions a husky voice.

I turn around and see Isaac, his blonde hair mused and blue eyes perfection. His height is tall and he radiates sexiness, and his voice brings me to my knees.

“Yeah?” I respond, allowing a grin to curve at the edge of my mouth.

“How about a latte?” he asks, smiling.

“Sounds perfect.”

He makes my drink without me telling him how I like it, an indication that he pays attention to my preferences. We chat about our favorite films and music and hearing the passion in his voice when he speaks about his recent trip to Bona Roo makes my heart skip a beat. Music is such an amazing thing, evoking emotions and presenting messages so powerful in mere minutes. His pearly white teeth make me ache in places I thought were damaged forever. Deep down, I know I can’t allow myself to feel anything more than friendship with him. If I do, when it ends and I become disappointed I will be faced with regression. I can’t let myself.

Two vanilla lattes later, I feel like it is time to go home.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks, hopeful.

“Sure,” I respond as he takes his arm into mine.

The walk home is quiet. I am taking in the moments and the bustling people of the city that I now call home. Before I realize, I have reached my apartment.

“I really like you, Lyla. Can we hang out again? I mean, outside of work?”

“Sure. I would like that.”

I don’t allow him to think about kissing me. I lean in and kiss his cheek, happy that I have met a normal friend. Because that is what Isaac will be to me, a normal friend and nothing more. As exciting as the opportunity sounds, I just realized that I have made progress understanding what my triggers are. I will be damned if I take steps back.

Hello, Chicago. I do believe we will have a great time together. Oh, and hey life? Bring it on…

One word for Loyola University. Badass. I love all of my classes, the people are more than tolerable, and yes, I actually enjoy the projects and assignments. Contentment and simplicity are such amazing feelings. Feelings I never thought I would attain. With each passing day, I find it easier to not think about what happened to me at home. Every night I sleep a bit better and every morning I am waking up recognizing that I am one step closer to grasping onto my dream.

I moved into a modest apartment in the city off Michigan Avenue. Azul Towers is nice, but it gets fancier the further up you go. The penthouse is on the twentieth floor, perhaps a place that I may reside one day in the future when I am making more than enough money. I moved into an apartment off campus because I am impatient. There was no way that I would ever wait to move away from Ridgon. I work enough to pay my rent and have some money for groceries, and Mom and Rick’s monthly stipends help as well.

I am sitting in a prerequisite communications class when I notice a beautiful blonde girl with bright blue eyes walk through the doors. She seems nice. Thoughts flood my brain on how lovely it would be to have friends. I have Isaac at the coffee shop, but since things aren’t moving towards sexual satisfaction with him, his calls and conversations have become less and less with each passing week. I am okay with that because dealing with that is much easier than dealing with the whirlwind of emotions that would course through me if I decided to have sex with him. Dating and intimacy are not good for me right now, and I am not about to go around to just anyone explaining why.

My past is just that. The past. I see no point in sharing it with someone that more than likely will not understand. Furthermore, how many individuals do you know would embrace such events and still look at the person that has endured it the same way? Not many, right? I don’t want to be seen as a victim, because I am not. I am a survivor, a fucking badass one.

I have also stopped trying to forgive those who don’t deserve it. Karma is inevitable and their fate is in her hands, not mine. They will face their judgment day, and what they have done is on them, not me.

I push the thoughts aside and continue scribbling notes about the different forms of communication and what works best and why. My mind is focused on getting good grades and I enjoy immersing myself into academia. It’s safe.

An hour and pages full of notes later, I pack my belongings into my knapsack, grab my purse, and pad down the steps. I am greeted by the same girl I noticed earlier.

“Hey!” she beams.

“Hey,” I respond, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind my ear.

“Want to grab a coffee?” she asks.

“Sure.”

“I’m Anya Ross, by the way,” she says, offering me her perfectly manicured hand.

I take it in mine and shake, “Lyla Harper. Nice to meet you.”

Our conversation flows nicely and I instantly feel at ease in her presence. I am a decent judge of character considering the past, and I am certain she is sincere. She doesn’t know the Lyla that was left behind in Rigdon, she only sees the new and improved Lyla sitting before here drinking coffee and chatting about the normal things in life.

I discover she is a political science major with hopes of becoming a lawyer. She is an only child and clearly comes from money. I discern a few details about my family, describing how wonderful they are and my new baby nephew, Deric. We discuss movies and music and share the same obsessions for red wine, Thai takeout, romance reads, and Sex and the City reruns. I know that we are going to be great friends.

I’m happy. I finally realize after all the heartache, pain and uncertainty that it all happened for a reason. It has made me stronger than before, because I am. I am strong and on the road to recovery away from the place that caused so much pain. I am free. I am a bird whose broken wing is now mended and I am able to escape the steel cage I was once trapped in. Freedom and hope are such beautiful things to embrace, though not always easy. I finally have that and I am going to do my best to never let it go.

Mary E. Palmerin is 27, married, the mother to two small boys, and currently resides in Indiana where she is hard at work completing the Sorrow Series. When she isn’t busy being a mother to her sons or writing, she usually has her nose in a good book and enjoys reading and reviewing when time allows. She loves to spend time with her family, is a fan of traveling, wine tasting, cooking, tattoos, art, and doing anything outdoors.

Mary grew up in a small town in southern Indiana and has been writing since she was a young girl. Telling raw and emotional tales that evoke various emotions from her readers is something that she strives to do. You can keep up with the latest news from her work and like her author page on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/succumbingtoscarsandsorrow
as well as follow her blog at 
marypalmerinauthor.blogspot.com
. You can also follow her on Twitter 
@MP_writer8
.

Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga

Lyla Harper’s life has always been shadowed. With her childhood full of unpleasant memories that she tries to tuck away and forget about, she succeeds at putting on a happy front and convincing those around her that she is content. But she isn’t.

Meet Lyla Elizabeth Harper, a teen whose journey is less than ideal. She experiences heartache, loss, and bullying; but through it all she strives for hope. She counts down the days until she has the chance to start over in a new city, unaware of her past. A city far away from the recollections that have scarred her physically and mentally.