Unbroken

by Jasmine Carolina

  I scramble to my feet and throw the doors open once more. She’s walking toward the back when I step inside again, and I race to the edge of the bar, my hands out in front of me to brace me for a stop.

  “Butterfly you!” I yell.

  She skitters to a stop, her arms flat at her sides. I see the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, see how tense she is from my words. Slowly, she pivots on one foot until she’s staring back at me.

  “What did you just say?” she whispers.

  “Butterfly you. Those were the words written on your shoes the first time we really met. I didn’t know what they meant then, but I know what they mean now. I asked Nickayla. It’s the only nice way in the entire world to say fuck you. And that’s what you’re saying isn’t it? Butterfly me, right? Fuck the fact that you’re the first girl I’ve felt something for in almost a year. Fuck the fact that you’re the only girl I’ve ever felt this strongly for. Fuck the fact that I need you like I need air to breathe, and you pushed me away. Fuck the fact that you’re the one person who makes my world spin.” I see the tears swimming in her eyes, and I advance on her, propping myself up on the bar and propelling myself over it. I’m in front of her now, invading her personal space as I finish what I have to say to her. “Yeah, butterfly me. That’s what you’re saying. Yeah, Sabrina, maybe I am broken. And maybe you are, too. We’re both missing something. But together, we’re not. All the pieces of me that were missing are filled in when I’m with you. And I hold the pieces of you together when you’re with me. We’re this one unbroken being. So you know what I say to the fact you think I’m too broken for you? Butterfly you. Because when I’m with you, I’ve never felt so whole. You know what I say to the fact you think nothing can fix me? Butterfly you. Because you fix me. And you know what I say to the fact you think we should stay away from each other? Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly you. Because I couldn’t stay away from you if I tried.”

  I’m breathing heavily now, and I’m centimeters away from her face. I watch every tear as they spill over from her beautiful chocolate eyes, and roll down the apples of her perfect cheeks. I watch her lower lip quiver as she struggles to keep herself composed. She takes one deep, calming breath, and she averts her gaze.

  “Brody,” she whispers through her tears. “I know about your father.”

  Five words slam me in the chest and push me against the bar. I grab hold, trying to keep myself upright, because I’m afraid I might fall.

  There’s no way she knows about my father. She can’t possibly. If she knew, she’d be dead. Or I would.

  Images from last year haunt me.

  He found out about Michele. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. And he beat me until I admitted to him that I wasn’t good enough for someone like her to love me. And he told me to break things off with her, or he would find her and kill her. Then he’d finish me off once and for all. So I did. To protect her.

  And I tried to do the same with Sabrina, tried to end things before either of us got in too deep. But I gave up giving him what he wanted because I thought I was free of him. I thought that once I was out of his home, I wouldn’t have to worry about him. I thought we were both far beyond his reach. Living with the Matteos protected me; they took me in and helped me escape my daily nightmare. They allowed my siblings to see what family is really about. The Matteos cared for us, truly cared for us, almost as much as the Quinns did.

  And I fell for Sabrina. I fell for her hard.

  I thought she was safe.

  “What do you mean you know about my father?” I ask. “Who told you?”

  She collapses onto a bar stool and furiously wipes tears from her eyes.

  “No one had to tell me, Brody! God! I found out for myself!” Her head falls forward slightly and she looks up at me through haunted eyes. “He hit me.”

  Nothing in this world could ever prepare me for hearing those words come out of her mouth. They’re the last words I wanted to hear. I would feel a Hell of a lot better if someone told her about him. That’d be easier to deal with than the thought of the bane of my existence putting his filthy hands on the love of my life.

  Yes. I love her. I love her so much, and if I could breathe right now, I’d tell her instantly.

  “When? How?”

  “The day we stopped by to get your clothes. And pretty fucking hard, actually.”

  God. I need to touch her. I need to hold her and soothe her and let her know that everything will be okay, even if I don’t necessarily believe it. I walk over to her, wrapping her in my arms until I’m not even sure where I end and she begins.

  I don’t know how to comfort her. I don’t know how to tell her it will be okay when I’m not even sure it will be. I don’t know how to take away her pain when I’m the reason she’s dealing with it in the first place.

  Hands below her knees and one at her back, I drag her from the stool and carry her outside. I make it to her car and I climb in the backseat. I gather her into my lap and rock her as she continues to cry.

  I knew she was haunted, knew she was broken before I made love to her for the first time. But this isn’t the brokenness I saw. This didn’t happen before me. This happened because of me. And I’ll never forgive myself for tainting her life with my existence.

  I rest my head atop hers as, sobbingly, she recants her encounter with my father, including the threat he left her with. By the end of her tale, I am choking to death. The weight of what happened to her isn’t on my shoulders. It’s wrapped around my neck and squeezing tight, taking every ounce of air I have. It’s strangling me. It’s killing me knowing what I’ve done. This is why I tried so hard to stay away from her. This is why I tried to stop myself from falling in love with her.

  And none of it worked.

  I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t stop him from hurting her. And I couldn’t stop myself from falling completely, unregrettably in love with her.

  “Sabrina,” I whisper into her hair as she hides her face in the fabric of my shirt. “I’m so sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear but I can’t…I can’t think of any other words but the sorriest words in the fucking dictionary. I’m sorry.”

  She nods against me, and I know she’s too afraid to speak.

  Of course, now I know for sure the universe is against me, because the one day I admit, unabashedly, how I feel about a girl is the same day I find out said girl’s life is in danger because of me. I can’t win, no matter what I do.

  The minute I think that, she lifts her head from its place against my chest.

  “I am in love with you,” she says, full of conviction and with no regrets.

  I shake my head at her words. Even though they’re the words I’ve been longing to hear from the moment I knew how I feel about her, this is not what I want to hear right now.

  “You can’t love me. I’ll only hurt you. Look what my dad did to you because you’re involved with me. Pain comes with the territory of falling in love with me.”

  She shakes her head, an unsteady hand coming up to cradle my face.

  “These are my feelings, Brody, and I have them. You don’t get to tell me I can’t love you just because you think I’ll get hurt. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m still here. You don’t get to take away the right I have to be in love with you. Because I am, whether you like it or not. And whatever happens, I want to deal with it with you, not without you.” I suck in a sharp breath and she continues to speak. “I apologize for shutting you out, and for making you think I didn’t want to be with you. And I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not broken.” She gives me the tiniest of grins. “You’ve just let assholes run your life for far too long.”

  I let out a rugged laugh at her choice in words. “Are you always this articulate?”

  She smiles at me, a full, megawatt smile. “Hercules.”

  TWENTY ONE

  HE’S SO SEXY WHEN HE’S domesticated. Right this second, he’s outside with Mom, putting barbecue ribs, burgers, and hot links
on the grill. There’s no specific special occasion or anything. He just wanted to cook, so Mom humored him.

  Laid out on a lawn chair, rays of sun beaming down on my normally pale body, I can’t help but watch him. He wears a white wifebeater, shorts hanging low on his hips, and a pair of flip flops. Beads of sweat roll off his face, and his mouth sets into a thin line as he flips the burger patties over.

  He’s chatting it up and laughing with Mom while the girls are throwing water balloons at each other. Dad is inside playing video games with Cason, and me, I’m really relaxing for what seems like the first time.

  I should be reading, doing homework, fixing my signature potato salad, but instead, I’m admiring my insanely gorgeous boyfriend. I have never seen him this happy, or carefree, not even when we’re alone together. It makes me wonder what his life could have been like if his mother had lived. Would he still be the boy I love? Or would he be different? Changed?

  I’m not sure.

  After I confessed to him what happened at his father’s house, he broke down and told me all of his history. From the first beating to the one that took place the night he showed up with the kids at Le Chateau D’If, he bared his entire soul to me. He told me about his father’s threats against Michele, Mrs. Quinn, and even Nickayla. He wanted to hurt anyone who meant something to Brody. Suddenly, his trying to keep me at a distance made complete sense. And I wish I didn’t understand it. It just makes everything that much worse.

  I know there’s a storm brewing. This happiness we feel is fleeting; it’s only a matter of time before the world comes crashing down on us. I just hope we both make it out alive.

  I stand up, stretching and walking over to him. I lean against his hard body, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He relaxes immediately beneath my touch, and he turns around, metal tongs in hand, to embrace me fully. I soften, melting into him. He holds me for a long while when a movement catches my eye just over the other side of the fence.

  A smile creeps up on his face, and mine fades. I glare at him over Brody’s shoulder, and he scowls, seeing that I’m wrapped up in someone else.

  Fucking Maddox.

  “Hello? Sabrina.” Brody pulls away from me, tipping my chin up and demanding my attention. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t respond. I can’t. But I cut my eyes in Maddox’s direction, and Brody turns around, too. When his gaze lands on Maddox, he turns back around to face me.

  “Who’s that?” he asks.

  “My ex.”

  Brody frowns. “You didn’t tell me your ex lives across the street.”

  I shake my head.

  “I didn’t because he doesn’t. He goes to college over an hour away. He comes down sometimes… Why is he here?”

  Brody glances at him again, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth as a pensive expression settles in his features. He places the tongs on the table beside the grill, then looks at Mom. Mom’s hands go in the air in surrender, and she juts her chin in my direction. My shoulders droop in defeat, and I grab Brody’s hand, leading him toward the inside of the house.

  Walking into the kitchen, I prop myself up on the counter and close my eyes.

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say things didn’t end too well with you and your ex?” Brody asks before I have the chance to speak.

  “You could say that,” I reply dryly.

  “Explain, then.”

  Jesus, where to start? With how we met? How I fell for him? How he fooled me into thinking he was one kind of person, and turned out to be someone totally different? How long it took me to stop crying once things were finally over between us? God, I knew this was going to come eventually, but I didn’t expect for it to happen this way.

  “His name is Maddox. He and I dated for a year and a half. My parents liked him a lot, and he loved my sisters. If Bianca needed help with her homework, he helped her. If Grace needed extra practice on her spelling words, he took the initiative to test her. If Mom was looking tired, he volunteered to watch Mila if I was unavailable. But then this one day…” I shake my head, unsure of quite how to go on. “Bianca is bipolar. She was diagnosed a few years ago. Some days are good and some are bad. You haven’t seen a bad day just yet. This particular day, she was feeling particularly blue. I don’t know which episodes are which half the time, but I know my sister, and I know when she’s not herself. Daddy chalked it up to her having an episode, and he made sure to give her her medication for the day, and let her sleep. My parents had left me with Bianca and Mila, and I was happy to stay home to make sure Bee was okay. Maddox and I had been arguing, and he came over to try and talk things out. But he was drunk. I couldn’t let him go to his parents’ house, because his dad would cut him off without question. And I damn sure wasn’t going to let him drive back to school. So I took him up to my room, put him to sleep, and went downstairs to feed Mila. We were playing. And I lost track of time. I put Mila in her high chair and was about to serve her when I heard a noise come from upstairs. Something just told me to go up there…” I shake my head, unable to fight the tears threatening to spill over. “He had his tongue down her throat. She wasn’t even awake. Her body was limp as shit. Hell, she could have been dead for all he knew, and he was literally on top of her, and he had his tongue down her throat. I took a picture. For evidence. I wanted my parents to see it so they could press charges with more than just my testimony. He saw me, and he was unapologetic. He asked if I wanted to join him…”

  I don’t get to finish my story. Don’t get to tell him what happened after my parents got home, or how Bianca refused to place a restraining order on him, or how his parents tried to deny what he’d done. I don’t get to say any of that because within seconds, I’m racing after Brody who has bolted out of the kitchen and through the front door.

  When I make it to the porch, all I see are fists flying, and all I hear is profanities spewing from that gorgeous mouth of his. He’s beating Maddox to a pulp, but Maddox got a few hits in. The thought makes me sick, thinking of any harm coming to him. He’s yelling at the top of his lungs punch after punch, and I can’t bear to watch. I cover my eyes and grimace, wondering why I told him that story. I should have known how he would react to it. He does things first and asks questions later.

  “You…son…of a…bitch!” Brody shouts between punches. He grunts, and the sound of fist connecting with flesh seemingly echoes. Maddox moans from his place below Brody on the concrete, earning him a punch to the head. “Mother…fucker!”

  It takes my father, my mother, and his brother to drag him off of Maddox’s body. And Brody is fucking heated. He’s fuming and shaking with rage. Maddox lies on the ground, curled into a ball, and Brody kicks at the air, struggling against my parents’ hold. When he’s fully calmed down and Maddox’s father comes over to lead him inside, I drag Brody into the house and deposit him on the couch.

  I’m so frustrated with him, so pissed that he went after Maddox. What was his purpose? To prove a point? Which one?

  I am not the kind of girl who thinks violence is attractive. His home life was full of violence, so why would he willingly invite more into his new life, the peaceful one we’re trying to give him?

  I grab an ice pack from the freezer and press it to his face—a little forcefully, which I don’t notice until he winces. I regret it for a split second, but I’m frustrated. I’m not this damsel in distress who needs someone to fight my battles for me. I sit on the coffee table so I’m directly in front of him.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. I can handle Maddox—I have been handling him for six months now. You punching him out didn’t do a Goddamn thing,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He stares up at me from behind his ice pack. “’Course it did. It made me feel better.”

  I shake my head. Brody hitting Maddox wasn’t going to solve anything. All it did was ruin a perfectly good day, bring old demons up for Bianca and me, and possibly put an assault charge or a restraining order on his hands. I groan at th
e thought. Maddox was the one in the wrong, and Brody’s the one who could potentially get in trouble for it.

  I stand up, angrily pacing the living room. My parents have gone back outside to deal with the aftermath of Brody’s outburst, and I fold my arms over my chest.

  “You wanna know what I don’t get? You’ll punch out a guy for my sister, who you’ve only known about a month. But you let your dad kick the shit out of you whenever the mood strikes. Why the Hell is that?”

  He shakes his head and slams the ice pack on the table. “First of all, that’s not fucking fair. I let him do what he wants because I’d rather it was me than Cason or Dalis…or you. I can deal with the pain of being hurt by him, but knowing any of you got hurt knowing there’s something I can do to stop it, that’s unacceptable to me. I care about her. And I care about you. You guys are my family now. And she didn’t deserve that, to be taken advantage of when she was in no state to object or consent. You didn’t deserve that, to be betrayed by someone you so clearly trusted without a doubt in the world. That Maddox guy is a fucking snake, that’s what he is.” He pauses, shaking his head. “And second of all, because. Because Bianca is worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for. I’m not.”

  I take a seat in front of him again and take his face in my hands.

  “If you think that’s true for even one second, you’re even stupider than I thought.” I lean forward and kiss his jaw, which is starting to swell before I place the ice pack there once more. “You lay down your life for everyone else, but who is there to pick you up?”

  He’s got this look on his face, the one he gets when he’s in really deep thought about something, and he gives me a timid glance. “You are.”

  In spite of myself, in spite of the fact that I’m pissed at him, in spite of all that’s transpired since we got together, and in the past week alone, I smile. I do it because that’s not an answer I was expecting from a guy who rarely shares his feelings, and he’s doing it with me.

  “No more fighting,” I say, trying and failing to contain my smile.