Read Nearly Broken for Free Online

I didn’t have to
worry about feeling exposed or putting more clothes on to go pee. And
for the love of God, I couldn’t keep from peeking over the back
of the sofa on my way. My jaw dropped as I silently gasped. Oh,
why did I have to look?
    He was passed out on
his back, the blanket covering him from stomach to knees, and every
inch of exposed skin was bare. No shirt. No pants. Just a sleeve
tattoo on his upper left arm that spilled onto his chest and
shoulder, the lack of light too dim to define it. I sucked my lips
into my mouth and hurried off to the bathroom, scolding myself for
wondering if he was completely naked under there.
    Great. Just lovely. So
he was nice and freaking hot. That was just so awesome.

Nick woke up before I
did and was quietly watching the news. I wasn’t sure if I was
relieved or disappointed to see him fully clothed again. Doesn’t
matter, Megan. No boys allowed.
    “Morning,”
I murmured, averting my eyes, going to the refrigerator to get the
bottle of water he had made fun of.
    “Morning,”
he replied casually. “I was going to get kolaches for
breakfast, but I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked while
you slept.”
    My eyes widened.
“Yeah, please don’t do that. Ever.”
    “I’m still
going to go, but I thought I’d get your key copied while I was
out.”
    “Okay.” I
drank a few swigs of water on my way to the closet. Digging the key
out of my purse, I swished the water around in my mouth, trying to
rid myself of any lingering morning breath. When I passed the key
off, I told him, “Don’t worry about getting me anything.
I’m not hungry.”
    With his back to me,
he shook his head and playfully cried, “Hush!” before
closing the door behind him.
    I thought I’d
have enough time to shower and make it back to the safety of my room
before he got back. No such luck. I gathered my dirty clothes and
froze two steps into the living room, nothing but a towel wrapped
around my body. I frantically debated whether to make a run for the
bedroom or retreat to the bathroom.
    Sitting on the sofa
reading a paper he must’ve picked up, his torso turned my way.
I gasped, my heart suddenly putting in double the effort. His lips
parted, and all expression fell from his face as he honed in on the
last place I wanted him to look. My damaged skin was a stark contrast
to the creamy beige complexion of my healthy skin. I hated the look
of disgust most people gave when they caught sight of it, or the pity
given by others.
    I didn’t wait to
see which was going to appear on him.
    Making a mad-dash for
the bedroom, I roughly slid the doors closed behind me. Backing up, I
sat on the edge of the bed, releasing a few silent tears, hating the
splotchy spots randomly splashed across my arms, chest and abdomen,
even getting part of my left breast. My right forearm got burned the
worst. It was the spot I always covered first, to protect its
deformity at all costs. That spot reminded me of a topographic world
ball, similar to the raised peaks that marked the mountains and
ridges, though mine were more subtle. At least I hoped they were,
because my mind could sometimes be cruel with its interpretation.
    One year, five
months, sixteen days since I singed my lungs, my skin melting before
my eyes.
    But what I hated most
about my burns was the constant reminder of why I had them. Of
what I’d done. Why I’d never feel peace of mind
again, always living in fear of retribution.
    A few minutes later I
still hadn’t moved, my hand securing the top of my towel, my
skin now dry by natural means. At least the tears had stopped. My
fingertip pressed down in the center of the worst of my burns, the
one at the bottom of my right forearm. I felt nothing. Unlike the
lighter burns that simply felt numb when I touched them, this
particular area lost all sensitivity, my nerve endings completely
obliterated.
    Sometimes I wished a
few selective memory cells had disappeared along with it.
    When Nick rapped his
knuckles