Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga Read Free Page A

gesture of saying no, but he is bigger and tougher than me. He tears my tank top away and gasps in surprise.
    “What the fuck is this, Lyla?” How screwed up are you?” he questions.
    Is he really asking me that? He’s the one forcing himself on me and he has the nerve to ask me why I am fucked up? I remain silent. He rips at my jeans and the button pops off. With one swift yank, my jeans and panties are down to my ankles. He pushes my knees apart, exposing the virginal flesh between my thighs. My sobs are no longer silent. My chest is heaving. I am crying out in terror. I still cannot summon the word ”NO!”
    This is my fault. Just tell him no! Maybe he will stop if I tell him that . Before I can try, he mounts himself on top of me and thrusts hard, making me his. Pain sears through me as my purity is gone. Forever.
    “I’ve always wanted you, ever since we met. Now, you are mine,” he whispers into my ear as he removes his assaulting mouth from my now tattered lips.
    I taste the blood from his abuse when he bit my bottom lip. I try to remove myself emotionally as best as I can. I do not want to feel it, but I do. His groans of pleasure make me sick. Every thrust is agonizing and uninvited. I want it to be over. His tempo grows faster. With one last deep thrust he spills himself into me. He pulls out of me and kisses my cheek as he brushes the tears away from my face.
    He stands up and looks down seeing the evidence of what he has just done. Blood covers him. He remains silent and pulls his pants back up to his waist. He buckles his pants and belt and gets into his cruiser and drives away, leaving a thick trail of dust from the gravel road. I am still lying on the ground with my pants and underwear around my ankles. My breasts are still exposed. I am frozen. I am broken forever. I reach between my thighs and feel warmth. I look at my hand and see the proof. Blood. I pull myself together. I have to get home. I need my own release. I have to be numb again.
    I barely remember driving myself home. The next thing I know I am standing naked in my bathroom with a razor blade in my hand. The shower is on high, the temperature so hot that a fog covers the mirror. My inner thighs are bloodstained and I need to forget, even if for a second. A moment of peace is all I seek.
    I push the blade to my stomach and cut and cut even more. When I am done, I have marked myself eight more times. The blood is running down my stomach and dripping onto the white porcelain tiles. I launch myself into the scalding hot water, crouch down in the fetal position and sob until there are no more tears left to be shed.

2
The Morning After the End Begins
    I wake up to the cold water raining over my body, each tiny drop feels like a dagger piercing my skin. My eyes are swollen and it’s blurry to see. I am shivering involuntarily with my arms still wrapped around my knees. I feel colder than ice. My skin lost its usual olive hue and is replaced with a mottled gray. I have no concept of time; seconds, minutes, hours, or days could have passed. With effort, I unclasp my hands that are interlocked with one another in front of my drawn-up legs. Every muscle in my arms cries out in protest. They are sore and strained.
    I take a moment to allow my shoulders to adjust. Moving my neck hurts, too. My head feels like a million tiny jackhammers are crushing into it. I straighten my back and feel a pain shoot through my spine, starting at the base of my neck and ending at my tailbone.
    Fuck, how long have I been huddled in the shower? My body is a damn mess.
    I avoid eye contact with the part of my body that will only remind me of my sins and imperfections. It is a canvas that holds the terrible memories of my life, and I added eight more ugly marks. It stings and burns with discomfort, enough to remind me of what exactly happened on the night of my eighteenth birthday. I must still be in a state of shock because I am not crying. I remain numb. I know I will