Read Scars (Marked #2.5) for Free Online Page B

body. “This is between me and that boyfriend-stealing cunt.”
    Lance, in a sudden bout of rage, stormed over to me. “Don’t. Just don’t.” His hands reached out and grabbed my upper arms tightly, not enough to hurt, but to immobilize me. “Look in the mirror, sweetheart. This, this madness created inside your head is of your own doing. You are to blame. Not her. Talan will never love you.”
    “Let me go, asshole!” The fingers on my arm flexed once and then pushed me away. I stumbled but managed to keep myself upright. Still, he glared at me. Where was the concern for my safety?  For my emotions?
    Just like with Sarah, it was still all about Maya.
    “Leave, Janice. Leave, and don’t come back. Forget about Talan…start over fresh. Get help.” It was my turn to glare. Enough with the ‘ help’ talks. “Find someone when you are ready and healed that loves you for you. Do everything you’ve ever dreamed of and be happy, but do it out of Miami. Out of Florida.”
    “Fuck you.” Before he could stop me, I slapped him across the face. How fucking dare he? Lance’s head snapped back from the force of my palm connecting with his face. The sound from the contact echoed inside my small apartment.
    Rubbing his palm against his reddened cheek, he laughed. “We already discussed this, Jan. The answer is still no.”
    “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.”
    “Then you leave me no choice.” Lance stated with a small touch of remorse in his tone. He shook his head and walked over to the door, but then paused with his hand on the wooden structure. “I’ll tell him everything.”
    “Everything?” I whispered in pure panic.
    “Sarah, your parents…even the times you’ve been arrested for violent outbursts that he doesn’t know about. The times you’ve been held for involuntary seventy-two-hour holds inside psychiatric hospitals for evaluation. Why you left for a couple of months after his father died and suddenly appeared back in his life asking for a job. Everything.” With that, he opened the door and exited the apartment. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
    This couldn’t be happening to me, not when I was so close.
    Talan couldn’t find out. No. Never.
    “Fuck,” I screeched out at the top of my lungs. The sound echoing around the room hurt; it was loud and full of pain. It was feral. Harsh. So much anger and pain resonated through me at that moment that I almost crumbled to the floor.
    My knees felt weak, and my body shook. I was out of control.
    Everywhere my eyes landed was a reminder of him. A memory of how I’d gotten to be where I was now.
    A TV I’d purchased with my first official paycheck from Cox Tattoos. How proud I felt and how it symbolized how satisfied old man Cox and Talan were with my work. How every bead of sweat and bruise from carrying heavy boxes while I fixed their chaotic mess was worth it.
    It was me that organized that backroom.
    I was the one that filed and made sense of the businesses financials.
    They had no system. Just a bunch of receipts and bills piled atop the old man’s desk. It had been my ideas that changed the flow of the store. That brought in more business, since they no longer had to deal with the paperwork and could now focus on their clientele.
    All me.
    Not fucking Maya.
    The TV was the first thing my hands destroyed. Rage consumed me and made me crazed with the undeniable need to demolish everything before me. And so, even though a part of me hurt at the action, it felt like sweet relief to see the flat screen meet its end. Picking it up, I threw the 32-inch against the wall and took pleasure in hearing it crack.
    Clumps of plaster fell to the floor.
    Smoke billowed out from the back, and the electricity still pulsing through it crackled. Hastily, I pulled the cord out of the wall and kicked the piece-of-shit appliance out of my way. My all-white wall now had a dent, and I wanted it to be bigger. To resemble my damaged heart.
    Disappointed by the lack of