Read Broken: Book 1 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga for Free Online

the hardest at nighttime when I close my eyes, trying so hard to let sleep find me. Instead the memories flash before me and I want to make myself forget, but I can’t. I’ve promised Momma that I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore, and I will continue to try my damndest to keep that promise. So far, I haven’t given into temptation, but it’s a ticking time bomb. Girls like me never really change, we merely go through phases of goodness and gloom. I happened to be on the upswing of things, so I might as well embrace it while it’s here.
    I stand before myself in my bedroom, eyeing my wardrobe choice carefully in my vanity mirror. I won’t say that I look cute, because that is a compliment and I can never come to praise myself, but I will say that I look presentable. I’m wearing a jean skirt, bright pink flip flops with tiny rhinestones along the straps, and a white tank top. I grab my purse and head downstairs to wait for Nathan to pick me up. I’m a bit nervous, but happy. It’s nice to feel excited because I can’t remember the last time I felt a normal kind of excitement. (Please note that excitement over cocaine doesn’t count).
    Five minutes later I see his figure walk up onto the porch. Before his fist can hit the door, Rick swings it open. Great, he is about to give the “ don’t fuck with my daughter because I’m a good ole country Daddy that owns a gun and a shovel” talk . If he only knew what Davis had done to me.
    Fifteen minutes later, a very nervy Nathan and I head into his 1970’s fully restored Royal Blue Chevy pickup truck. I hop inside and welcome the warm air rush over my cheeks. Then my song comes on. The Dixie Chicks start belting out Not Ready to Make Nice and I am finding it hard not to sing along to the lyrics. I feel him smiling at me as his hand brushes over the seat until it is locked with mine. My heart drums in my chest and jumpiness swims heavily in my gut. I am trying to compose myself. This is normal. Eighteen-year-old girls are allowed to hold hands with a boy, right?
    Ten minutes later we arrive at the neighboring town’s drive-in. It’s nearing dusk as we cruise into the grassy area to find a prime spot to park. He pulls his truck away from others in the corner of the lot.
    “Come on. Let’s go grab some food then we can set up to watch the movie.”
    I admire his grin, it seems real. I’m trying not to have expectations, but a girl like me yearns to feel wanted and accepted. I nod and then he takes his hand in mine, leading me to the concession stand. He orders two popcorns, soda pops, and a Hershey bar for us to split. My subconscious is yelling at me, telling me not to give into the snack. Your hips will only get wider. Your stomach definitely doesn’t need that kind of food. Don’t eat it, fatty. I try to push the horrendous thoughts aside, but I can’t. I can only learn to make them bearable. I don’t want the anxiety to show because I am trying my best to have a good time.
    After placing the blankets over the metal bed of his truck, he helps me to the back. It’s now dark outside and the film lights roar to life. I know he chose a scary one on purpose, most boys do this to try to get a girl to snuggle into them. Maybe I will allow myself to do that, but movies like this don’t scare me, especially after the nightmares I have already lived through.
    An hour later, I’m tasting his lips and tongue as they are brushing against mine. I feel okay about this. It seems alright and I’m enjoying it so far. I feel the aching between my legs that is yearning to be touched. His hands find their way under my shirt. He pulls his lips abruptly away from mine as his fingers graze the raised scars on my stomach. His brows furrow and the look of uncertainty bathes his once genuine features.
    “You should probably take me home. I’m sorry about this, really…” I trail.
    “I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. Are you okay?” he asks.
    I’m confused, but I respond, “Yeah,