Love Me Broken Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  LOVE ME BROKEN

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2014 by Lily Jenkins

  No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior written permission by the author.

  To contact the author, please email [email protected]

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  For David.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  Note to Readers

  The night is especially black. I lean over the steering wheel, trying to peer past the swishing windshield wipers that can’t seem to keep up with the rain. The outline of a row of buildings appears. The tires squeal as I turn into the parking lot, slipping on the pavement, and I overcorrect with both hands.

  “Damn you, Conner. Why did you have to get drunk tonight?”

  I get back in control of the car and pull over to the side of the lot, not bothering to turn off the engine. The Pacific Ocean is in the distance, but I can’t make out the waves through the rain.

  I don’t see my brother, and I start to panic at the idea of going outside to look for him. Not that I’m afraid of the rain—I live in Oregon, I’m used to the rain—but I was in such a rush after Conner called that I didn’t bother to change out of my pajamas. I flip down the visor mirror and look at myself. My eyes look sleepy, my features look too soft without makeup, and my auburn hair looks lazy, tied up in a ponytail with strands sticking out. I look like a little girl woken up during a slumber party. Except at seventeen, it’s more embarrassing than cute.

  I blush, imagining Conner’s friends seeing me like this. They already think of me as a dork, but the way I’m dressed—I’ll never be able to face them again.

  Plus I didn’t bring an umbrella. I nod at this more logical excuse for staying in the car, then take out my phone to call my brother. I hear his phone ring, and I grow tense at the idea of the call going to voicemail. It rings again.

  He picks up on the third ring.

  “Hey, sis.” He sounds like he’s been laughing, and his words are slurred. I can hear the waves in the background.

  “I’m here,” I say with no amusement. I lean forward and squint out the windshield. “Outside some awful tourists’ shop, the Laughing something—I can’t make it out.”

  He laughs as if I’ve made a joke. “I think I see you. You’ve got your lights on.” I hear the sound of the wind loud on his receiver. Then there’s a beep, and I realize he’s hung up.

  I’m already pretty annoyed, and as I sit there waiting I happen to glance at the clock. It’s 2:14 a.m.

  At 2:19, he pounds on the passenger side window and starts pulling at the door handle. My brother is eighteen, with short brown hair, an upturned nose, and an impish smirk. He’s also soaking wet, with rivulets of rain streaming down from his hair. I press the button to unlock the doors, and he climbs inside. There is a rush of cold, damp air, and then he’s dripping onto the leather seats.

  This is our mom’s car. I didn’t exactly ask permission to borrow it.

  “You’re soaked,” I complain.

  My brother looks over at me with a grin, and I look at him, his wet hair illuminated by the overhead light. He’s wearing only a white t-shirt, no jacket. It’s practically transparent, it’s so drenched.

  He giggles. “I went swimming in the rain.” His breath has the warm scent of beer in it. “You could have come too. Derrick was asking about you again.”

  Derrick is one of his friends. I have absolutely nothing in common with Derrick, but I blush a little anyway.

  “This isn’t a joke,” I say, trying to change the subject. “If Mom catches us—”

  “Oh, lighten up.” He reaches over to pull at my ponytail. “Let down your hair a little.”

  I swat his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Then I reach down and shift the car into reverse.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to have fun,” he pouts.

  “Yeah? Buckle up.”

  He gives a labored sigh and fumbles with his seatbelt. We turn onto the main road without talking. The wipers are on full speed, but the rain is getting heavier. I switch on my brights, and it’s like a forest has appeared out of nowhere on either side of us. We live in Oregon, land of poor weather and poorly lit roads. I can feel my heart beating faster as I think of the long drive home. I hate driving at night.

  Suddenly, the tense silence is broken by the sound of a guitar screeching. Conner has switched on the radio.

  “Turn that off! I need to focus.”

  He scoffs, but he complies. A moment later he’s shuffling in his seat. “I’m bored,” he whines.

  “I don’t care,” I snap. The road slants to the right, and I see headlights in the distance. I switch off my brights and hold onto the wheel as we pass each other, going in opposite directions down the two-lane freeway. There are no streetlights this far out in the woods on the I-26—nothing but curves and darkness.

  I hate driving at night so much. I’m nervous enough during the day. I’ve only had my license for two months.

  “You don’t have to be such a bitch,” Conner mutters, drawing my attention back to him.

  I’m hurt, but I remind myself that he’s drunk. It’s not worth a fight. “Just try to sleep,” I say. “We’ll be home soon.”

  I get up to speed on the road, and Conner looks at the beads of rain on the passenger window. Then he shakes his head. “It’s stuffy in here.” His hand shoots up to a button above our heads, and instantly the sunroof whirs open. The sound of the wind rushes past, and the icy air billows down into the car.

  “Conner!” I scream. “Shut that! It’s freezing.”

  Instead of complying, he unbuckles his seatbelt.

  “What are you doing?” I try to watch him, but the road bends and I have to face forward. My heart is hamme
ring. “Get back in your seat!”

  He ignores me and shuffles to stand and prop himself out through the sunroof. We have to stop; this isn’t safe. I look to the side of the road, but there’s no room to pull over. “Shit,” I whisper, but the curse has more fear to it than anger. I don’t know what to do.

  Conner whoops into the night. This strikes a nerve with me, and I want to smack him. Can’t he act his age for one night? I got up in the middle of the night to rescue him, and in return he’s freaking me out.

  And the worst part is that I can hear my dad laughing off the whole night—if he were to find out about it. Conner can get away with anything. I’d probably be the one that got in trouble for sneaking out with the car.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to put up with this. “Conner, get down right now.”

  He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care.

  I take one hand off the wheel, my body tensing, and tug on the leg of his wet jeans. He tries to kick me away and almost knocks the gearshift into park.

  “Shit shit shit!” This is getting too dangerous. I barely notice as the road curves to the left ahead, and I have to use both hands on the wheel to keep us in our lane. As we head into the curve, Conner’s whole body slides in the opposite direction in the sunroof. “Conner!” I yell, but he’s laughing. He sounds so far away.

  The road straightens out, and Conner screams wildly into the night. There’s reckless joy in his yelp, like he’s parasailing or surfing rather than sticking half his body out of a moving vehicle in the rain. “This is incredible!” he yells to me, and then I see him bend down in the corner of my vision. “The air,” he says. “It’s so clean. It’s just, just—”

  I look up at him, and see his wet face in a wide grin, his eyes still hazy from whatever he drank at the party. But he looks happy. And in this moment, seeing his spirit glowing with energy and life, I’m filled with an overwhelming love for my irresponsible, uninhibited brother. I’d come get Conner in the middle of the night. I’d drive to the ends of the earth for him. He looks so content with life.

  Then his mouth snaps open. “Watch out!”

  I look back through the windshield and there is a deer—a buck—in the middle of the road. Its front hooves are over the double-yellow line, glowing white in my headlights. There’s a surreal instant in which it almost looks like the deer is hurtling through the night toward us, rather than the car coming forward to meet it.

  I panic and swerve to the right. The tires skid, screeching and making a horrible sound as they fail to grip the pavement. I try to do something, gripping the wheel, but it’s too fast. The road disappears and the next instant there’s a horrible bang as we hit something. Was it the deer? Did I not miss it?

  I’m thrown forward and the seatbelt digs into my torso, burning into me. I feel the sudden stop in my bones, it’s so abrupt. Then just as quickly as I’m thrown forward I’m thrown back again, the airbag filling in around me and sending white dust into the air like smoke.

  I cough, struggling to breathe. The air has been knocked out of my lungs, and for a horrible moment it feels like I’m drowning.

  This has all happened in perhaps two seconds, and it feels both impossibly quick and impossibly slow at the same time. My body is unable to keep up, but my mind has an instant flash: Conner.

  I turn to my right, where my brother’s legs were a moment ago.

  He’s no longer there. His seat is empty.

  “Conner?” I gasp, tasting blood in my mouth. I look up, trying to see over the airbag through the windshield. I’m shaking. Tears are forming in my eyes, and when I turn to my left, my entire body aches with the effort.

  I look out my window, but I can’t see anything but blackness. Where is he? I can’t see him. The rain drums down next to me through the open sunroof, and the air smells like soil and burnt rubber.

  It’s quiet. Too quiet.

  Please no. Please please please no. “Conner?” I scream. “Conner!”

  There’s an eerie emptiness to the night. If my brother is out there, he is not screaming for help. He is not saying a word.

  I try to move, but my body is stiffening. My vision is darkening, and I realize with horror that I’m not able to stay awake. My body is shutting down, even though my mind is in a panic.

  “No,” I whisper. I imagine us being found. People will know this is my fault. They’ll know what I’ve done. I’m a terrible sister.

  I start to cry, and I look out the window again.

  “Please let him—”

  I’m silent at the sight of movement. Conner? I force my body to swivel enough to face the rear view mirror. I see the road, glowing red in our taillights. I force my eyes to focus on the shape behind me.

  But it’s not Conner. It’s the deer, his antlers moving in the shadows. From a million miles away, I hear his hooves clack against the wet pavement. He’s walking back into the trees.

  I look forward. My airbag has deflated enough for me to see out the windshield. The glass is cracked, and the front of our car is smashed into the base of a tree. I don’t see Conner. I don’t see anyone. And my breathing increases with panic.

  I know we need help. Conner is hurt. I’m hurt. I try to scream but make no sound.

  Then everything goes black.

  I look over at Nicole. We’re sitting in my bedroom in the daylight, but my mind is somewhere else. Somewhere dark and rainy. I try to play it off and fake a smile. “Sorry.”

  But I can tell by her eyes that she knows where my mind has been. “You have to focus. This is important.”

  Nicole is my best friend. She describes herself as a sort of trailer-trash Marylyn Monroe, but she’s much more than that. Her eyes are big and brown with flecks of gold in them. She’s wearing long eyelashes and watermelon-pink lipstick that complements her platinum blond hair.

  She motions down to the bed, where five letters are spread out. Each is an acceptance offer from a different university. Good ones. With full scholarships.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I move to put them away, but Nicole stops me.

  “Not good enough.” She takes my hand and looks into my eyes. “Look at the dates on these. If you don’t decide now, they’ll give your place to someone else.”

  Anxiety makes my stomach clench. A year ago I would have given anything to be in this position. Now none of this seems to matter. It feels so petty to think about college when… Conner…

  “I can’t think right now. They’re all the same.” I start to look away, and she squeezes my hand.

  “Then pick one at random!” she says, and her insistence manages to bring me back to this room, this moment. I look at her and let her continue. She gives a small smile, then her expression grows firm. “I’ve had to help you study for too many AP exams and gone to too many mock trials and bake sales to have you throw it all away now.”

  I nod. She’s right. Nicole has never been much of a student—she likes to claim that life is her classroom—but she’s tagged along to every extracurricular activity that I’ve thrown myself into this past year. She’s been by my side even when I pushed her away. She’s been a good friend. I can do this for her.

  “Okay.” I fan out the letters like a deck of cards and pull one from the middle. “This one.”

  She takes it eagerly and looks at it. She squeals. “Columbia! I was hoping it would be Columbia. I’d have much more fun visiting you in Manhattan.”

  We live in Astoria, Oregon. We’ve been here our whole lives. It’s a pretty place to live, but for many teenagers the most exciting thing to do in Astoria is to leave Astoria.

  “Plus there are so many hot guys there,” she continues. “I bet there’d even be someone there that you’d like.”

  I stiffen. “I’m not going there for that.”

  “Oh come on, Erica. You can’t stay single forever. New York was made for dating.” She grins. “I know that’s what I’d do.”

  “You only want to pretend to be Samantha,” I tease, refere
ncing her love for Sex and the City.

  Her eyes widen. “Oh my god!” She jumps up and down. “We have to have a marathon! Like, we have to. It’s not a choice.”

  “You know that’s not really what it’s like. It’s a TV show. A fantasy.”

  “You’re such a Miranda, and not just because you have red hair.” She takes my hand again and closes her eyes as if in pain. “Let’s watch it. Please please please please!”

  I let out a long sigh, pretending to be annoyed, but really I love her enthusiasm and we both know it. “Okay. But I’m not watching the movies. They ruin it for me.”

  There’s a momentary disappointment in her expression, and then it’s gone. “No movies. I can live with that.” Then she looks down at the letter in her hand, her joy fading. “So… do you need to talk to your parents? About the deposit?”

  I shake my head. “My dad’s already written me a blank check.”

  Nicole blinks. “Wow. My parents would never do that. But then, my parents don’t have any money in their account, so it wouldn’t matter if they did.”

  I’m quiet. My dad didn’t write a check to be supportive. He wants me gone. My parents both do. I only remind them of the way things used to be.

  I take the letter from her and go over to my desk. It’s white and immaculate, with small pink roses on the corners. I’ve had it since I was nine. I pull open a drawer and take out the blank check, then carefully fill in the deposit amount and name of the college. Nicole is watching, trying her best to be quiet so I don’t make any mistakes, but I can feel her nervous impatience.