Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga

Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga by Mary E. Palmerin Read Free Book Online

Book: Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga by Mary E. Palmerin Read Free Book Online
Authors: Mary E. Palmerin
Tags: Scars and Sorrow Saga
table of obnoxious girls hearing their remarks about how hot all the boys looked in their uniforms. I smile when appropriate, but remain quiet sipping on a glass of soda pop.
    “What about you, Lyla?” asks a girl from the end of the table.
    Her southern drawl is so thick, I have to take a second to process what she just said.
    “Come again?” I ask.
    “Who is your crush right now?” she asks.
    “No one.”
    “Come on… you’re not a lesbo are you? You must be if you don’t think any boys are cute…”
    “Of course I’m not,” I interject.
    What a bitch! I knew this was how the evening would pan out. I try to shield myself from the comments that will come, but I am still a wounded little bird. I’d be lying if I said that their words and rulings don’t hurt me.
    “Who then?” she presses.
    “I don’t have a crush, but I think Nathan Wilcox is cute.”
    Betsy stares at me, and if looks could kill I would be dead. It’s inevitable to be attracted to him, any girl would be lying if she said she wasn’t. Girls make up most of our class, so it’s only normal for the boys to bounce around between friends. Lyla Elizabeth Harper isn’t one of the girls, though. It’s at that inkling in time that I know this gathering was premeditated.
    “You know, Betsy, I have seen Lyla’s car and Nathan’s truck parked in the lot by the stadium several times. I wonder if she is fucking around with him behind your back.”
    “What? No, I wouldn’t,” I say, trying to convince the army of girls surrounding me.
    “Makes sense. He’s been off the past few months,” seethes Betsy.
    Before I have time to think about the words that are streaming from my mouth, it is too late.
    “He broke up with you, Betsy. Get over yourself.”
    I try to stand to leave and feel a tight grip around my upper arm.
    “Don’t think you are going anywhere, you stupid skank,” fumes Betsy.
    “Fuck off,” I say, before yanking my arm free.
    I try hurrying out the doors to my car, but I hear the clicks of their cowboy boots, and yes, heels, on the surface of the blacktop. As I insert my key into the lock of my old Toyota Corolla, I feel a sting of pain on the back of my head. And then another. Before I have time to defend myself, I am curled up on the ground, covering my face from their punches.
    “Fuck with him again, it will be worse next time,” says Betsy, before spitting on me and walking away.
    I should’ve known that their intentions were not wholehearted. Again, my need for acceptance is my own worst enemy. I wait until I am certain that they are gone and stand to get into my car. I see the bright royal blue truck pull into the lot next to Betsy’s Honda Accord. Nathan steps out and eyes me carefully, his gaze apologizing without words. It doesn’t matter, the destruction has been completed. The girl that is good enough for him jumps into his arms and presses her lips to his.
    My tears well up in my eyes as I enter my car to drive away. The urge snakes up my spine and I’m finding it impossible not to head to Concord Street to grab a pint from Bill. I need to be numb again. The cruel world has shown its angry side once again, and I am at the brunt of its evil. Please God, help me forget. Take away this pain.

Concord Street Nightmare
    It’s ten at night and I am sitting in the vacant parking lot at the liquor store. My feelings are in a heated battle with one another. One side is telling me that it isn’t worth it and to deal with the shit for a few more months before I start over in Chicago. The other side is telling me to feed into my sorrow, because quite frankly it is the easier route… to give into the dimness.
    I pull out the hidden pack of Parliament Lights in my glove box and retrieve the pink Bic lighter from my console. Out of habit I reach under the passenger seat only to find nothing. I don’t feel the brown paper bag beneath my grasp and I make the choice to go inside after I finish my stag to get a pint of

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