Break Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 2)

by Tiffany Snow

  I had a sack full of musty paperbacks and my precious Van Halen album when I stepped outside. A man loitering by the curb and wielding a camera that had to weigh ten pounds hurried up to me and began snapping photos.

  “Who are you? What are you doing?” I asked, instinctively trying to shield my face.

  “I’m Ralph,” the guy said, face still behind the camera. “Nice to meet you.”

  That was one question down. “And what are you doing?” He followed me as I headed for my car.

  “You’re China Mack,” he said.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t explain why you’re following me and taking nonstop photos of me,” I complained, unlocking my car. He was in the way as I tried to load the bag into my trunk.

  “You’re the latest thing. There’s a bounty out for photos of you. Ten grand.”

  I shut my trunk with a thud, staring at Ralph. “You’re joking. Someone wants to pay ten thousand dollars for a photograph of me? Just a random photo?” How bizarre.

  “You’re trending, you know. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.” He snapped more photos.

  I stood there, uncertain what to do. Should I smile? I was finished shopping, so I wanted to get in my car and go home, but it seemed rude to just leave.

  “Um, well, it’s been nice meeting you, Ralph,” I said. “But I have to go now. I hope you get your ten thousand dollars.”

  “You bet,” he said, snapping more photos as I got into my car. “Sweet ride.”

  Now that was a compliment I could appreciate. My Ford Mustang was my pride and joy. Shaking my head at the bizarre events of today and the fickleness of popularity, I drove home, where Mia was waiting.

  “Oh my God, Katy Perry totally tweeted you,” she said the minute I walked in the door.

  “The singer with that horrendous stage show like an adult preschool horror film?” I asked, depositing my treasures on the kitchen counter.

  “I liked that show!” she protested. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. She tweeted you and said, ‘Go, girlfriend. #GirlsRuleBoysDrool.’”

  “So it was a tweet supporting me,” I said, getting a can of Red Bull from the fridge.

  “Yes and it was favorited over six thousand times and retweeted three thousand times.”

  Wow. That was impressive. “Have you been on Twitter all day?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve been on Instagram and Facebook, too. You’re trending on Facebook, by the way.”

  It was as though I’d stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Do they hate me?”

  Mia gave me an exasperated look. “No. I told you that. It’s like tons of massive love for dumping him.”

  “So what’s going to happen when they find out I didn’t dump him?” Ah, the double-edged sword of public opinion.

  “Yeah, about that. Maybe you should keep a lid on that for a few days,” she said, grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. “Like, he has to grovel to get back in your good graces or something.”

  I couldn’t imagine Jackson groveling to anyone, even me, though he had apologized, which was Close Enough in my book. “Bonnie thinks I’m lucky to have found a guy who wants a serious relationship and is thinking about marriage.”

  “True,” Mia said. “He can date anyone he wants to, but you—” She cut herself off, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said. “I’m not often exposed to situations where dating options are . . . abundant.” Painful, but true. Bonnie had been after me for ages to get out more and date, but it was just too stressful and littered with pitfalls if I said or did the wrong thing, which in those kinds of social situations, happened way too often.

  “I’m going with Bonnie tonight to a party,” I said, struck with an idea. “Will you do my makeup and hair again? Like you did before?” The first time I’d had dinner with Clark—back before I realized he was just playing a part—Mia had worked her magic to make me look all girly and pretty. It wasn’t something I’d been able to replicate.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “And I have the perfect dress for you to wear.”

  The perfect dress turned out to be a floaty little something with a floral print, spaghetti straps, and a skirt that barely brushed midthigh.

  “How do you wear dresses this short?” I complained, futilely trying to tug the hem lower. “If I bend over, everyone’s going to see my . . . well, everything.”

  “First, don’t bend over,” she said, running a brush through my hair. “You crouch down if you need something. Second, you’re short, so this hemline looks super cute on you. You’ve got great legs.”

  I looked down. They looked the same as always to me. Pale and spindly. Mia had wanted me to wear a pair of high-heeled sandals, but I put my foot down. Literally. I’d break my neck. Instead, I was adopting the same look as last night with a pair of pink Converse.

  “I’m going to do a loose French braid,” Mia said. “With a lot of body on top. Kind of like that girl in Frozen.”

  “What’s Frozen?” I asked, at a complete loss.

  Mia stopped and stared at me. “Please tell me you’ve seen Frozen.” I shook my head. “It’s only the best Disney movie of all time,” she exclaimed.

  That presumption had to be stopped right then and there. “No, you’re wrong. The best Disney movie by any measurement was The Lion King. But as with most young people, your concept of history begins at your birth, so I understand if you’ve neglected to take prior films under consideration.”

  “I actually have seen Lion King,” Mia retorted, pulling perhaps a bit too tightly on my hair as she braided. “It was cute and all, but nothing compares to Elsa’s signature song ‘Let It Go.’”

  “One song does not a movie make,” I argued. “The soundtrack to The Lion King holds the record for most copies ever sold for an animated movie at over seven million.”

  “Frozen is the highest-grossing animated movie of all time,” she shot back.

  “Oh yeah?” I combed my brain. “Well, Pumbaa was the first Disney character to pass gas.”

  Silence. The tugging on my hair stopped, too. “I don’t have a comeback for that,” she said at last. We both laughed.

  “Okay, time for makeup,” she said, gathering her many supplies and making me sit on the toilet lid.

  I’d gotten better at not blinking so much, but putting on mascara was still a trial and she muttered a few times under her breath when it smeared and she had to clean the marks with a Q-tip.

  “There,” she pronounced after about ten minutes. “All done.” She handed me my glasses.

  Standing, I took a look in the mirror, then shook my head in amazement.

  “How do you make me look like this?” I asked. The girl staring back at me looked sweet and pretty, with hair carelessly braided to appear as though it was about to fall down any second. The makeup was subtle but accentuated the blue of my eyes and instead of my skin merely looking pale, it looked smooth and soft.

  “You’re pretty, Aunt Chi,” she said. “I just make you stunning.”

  She hugged me then, which always took me aback. Mia was so touchy-feely, it had been hard to get used to. Her view that I was “stunning” was a bit farfetched, but it was sweet of her to view me that way, so I awkwardly patted her back. “What are you doing tonight?” I asked once she let me go. It was Saturday night, after all.

  “Michelle was going to come over, if that’s okay,” she said. “We were going to order pizza and watch a movie.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Money for pizza is in the cookie jar.”

  “I know.”

  Just then my cell buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID. Jackson.

  “Remember, you have plans with Bonnie tonight,” Mia admonished, pointing a finger at me. “Friends don’t ditch friends for boyfriends.”

  I waved her away as I walked back into my bedroom and answered the phone.

  “I’m on my way to pick you up,” Jackson said. “Thought
we’d grab some Thai food and stay at my place tonight.”

  My conscience twinged. He knew that Saturday night was Thai night for me, so he was talking my love language. And staying at his place was infinitely better because there were no teenagers to worry about overhearing . . . things. But what Bonnie had said stuck with me and I took a deep breath. I didn’t want him to take me for granted, right?

  “It’s a little late in the evening, isn’t it?” I asked. “I didn’t hear from you all day, so I’ve already made plans.”

  Nothing for a full five seconds. “I didn’t realize I was on a time limit,” he said, his voice frosty.

  I fidgeted, twisting the length of my braid around my finger. “You aren’t,” I said hastily, then winced. “I mean, it’s just that Bonnie had asked me to go to this party a few weeks ago and I said I would.” Which was true.

  “You hate parties.”

  “I know, but I love Bonnie, so I said I’d go. I did just attend a party with you as well, so it’s not unprecedented behavior.”

  “Does this have to do with your newfound fame?” he asked.

  That conversational twist left me at a loss. Had the phone line cut out? Had I missed something? “I’m not following you. How does Bonnie’s party have anything to do with us?”

  “I mean that I’ve seen what’s on Twitter and posted on the Internet. I’d hate to see you take relationship advice from strangers with attention spans the length of a gnat’s.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I doubt anyone who’s posted their opinion on our relationship is actually qualified to make a judgment or give advice, at least not without a psychology degree and interviewing us. And you know I don’t put any stock in the pseudosciences of psychology or sociology anyway.” Especially the latter. Vague, sweeping pronouncements and sketchy “science” does not a discipline make.

  There was silence.

  “Hello? Jackson? Are you still there?” Had we been disconnected?

  There was a low chuckle. “Yeah, I’m here. I just forget sometimes.”

  “Forget what?” Now I was totally lost.

  “That you’re not like everyone else.”

  Hmm. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Just to be clear.

  “It’s a good thing, China,” he said. “Trust me. It’s a very good thing.”

  I wasn’t sure what exactly had just happened. He’d been fine, then upset, now was fine again. And people said women were the emotional ones.

  “Follow my Twitter feed,” I said. “They’re supposed to release a trailer for the next Star Wars movie tonight. I’m going to sneak-watch it when Bonnie isn’t looking.” The doorbell rang before Jackson could answer. “That’s Bonnie. She’s picking me up. Gotta go.”

  “Be careful. Text me when you get home. Have fun.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. Yeah because me and parties went together like spinach and applesauce. “Text you later.”

  “Be careful what you tweet,” he warned just before I ended the call.

  I still didn’t understand how my tweets would be an issue, but was glad that Jackson was again in a good mood. I just hoped it lasted.

  4

  Bonnie gave a wolf whistle when I stepped into the living room. “Wow, girl! Mia did her thing, didn’t she? You look fantastic.”

  That made me smile. It was a novel thing for me, to look pretty and girly. My wardrobe consisted of dozens of pairs of jeans, three times as many T-shirts of varying fandoms, plus the little button-down shirts I wore over them to keep me warm because I was perpetually cold.

  “Thank you,” I said, doing a little pirouette. “Mia could make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” I said, quoting my granny. Bonnie just looked at me with a confused expression on her face. “It’s an idiom,” I explained. “It means that . . . oh, never mind.” It wasn’t important. And usually I was the one left confused by idioms.

  “Let’s go then,” she said.

  “I’m leaving,” I hollered upstairs to Mia. She poked her head around the corner. “Be good. Don’t let Michelle play with my stuff.” By which I meant my office, loaded to the max with everything from a life-size Iron Man Mark 42 replica to a Harry Potter alcove, a TARDIS, and a thousand other collectibles that most people probably viewed as “toys.”

  “I know better,” Mia said. “Don’t worry and have fun.”

  It was pointless telling me not to worry. I’d found that ever since my niece had moved in and I’d become her temporary guardian, worrying for her well-being and safety was a constant thing. No wonder parents looked tired all the time.

  “You’re the second person to tell me to have fun,” I said. “The fact that I’m going to a socially acceptable form of entertainment and have to be told to be amused means that parties are not fun for all involved.” I’d only been to a few parties and had yet to have “fun.” But it would be a revelation if others also didn’t enjoy the gatherings.

  “Honey, half the people are probably not having fun. They’re just faking it.”

  Huh.

  Bonnie and I had barely stepped outside when we were blinded by a flash of light. I blinked, trying to get the black spots from my vision, and recognized the cameraman.

  “Ralph! What are you doing at my house?” Sure enough, it was the same guy that had found me today at Retread.

  “Girls’ night out, eh?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Who’s your friend?” He snapped more photos, getting right up in Bonnie’s face.

  “Ugh.” She pushed him away in disgust and got in the car.

  I had to bypass Ralph, too, as I went to the passenger side. “You’re trespassing, you know,” I informed him. “This is private property.”

  “By the time the cops get here, I’ll be gone,” he said with a shrug. He was snapping continuously now as I got in the car. I was mindful of my short skirt and kept my knees together.

  “You should find another occupation,” I said. “You’re highly dependent on my comings and goings for your income. It must be a stressful job.”

  “You’re feeling sorry for him?” Bonnie hissed, starting the car.

  “I’m just pointing out a fact,” I said. She shook her head, sighing as we backed out of the driveway and took off.

  She took me to downtown Raleigh and parked the car, then we walked a block and a half to our destination. I was a little concerned as we descended a staircase to under the street level.

  “This is a safe place, right?” I asked.

  “Of course! It’s a great, really fun bar. You’re going to love it.”

  I didn’t know about “great” or “really fun,” but it certainly was crowded. I followed Bonnie toward the back where there was a big group of people standing and sitting in an area with a couple of couches and several eclectic and uncomfortable-looking armchairs. My nerves went taut as Bonnie greeted several people.

  “. . . and this is my best friend, China,” she said, tugging me forward.

  I pulled my lips back from my teeth in my best imitation smile and thrust my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

  The man she was introducing to me seemed a little surprised, but smiled and shook my hand. “Mike. Nice to meet you, too, China.”

  “Mike’s the man of the hour,” Bonnie explained. “He’s even landed a job at a four-star Michelin restaurant in DC.”

  “That’s really impressive,” I said. “There are only two jobs per one thousand applicants for cooks and chef positions in the District of Columbia. Though the hourly wage is one of the highest in the nation. Congratulations.”

  “Um, yeah,” he said with a quick glance to Bonnie. “Right place at the right time, I guess.”

  Someone else latched on to Mike and tugged him away, then Bonnie was introducing me to more people in a whirlwind of faces and names. They all smiled and said polite things, as did I, and I finally found a moment to slip away from Bonnie’s clutches.

  Standing alone at the bar, I took a deep breath. Social situations like this were very di
fficult for me and stressful. I often needed a few minutes alone to get my bearings back whereas Bonnie seemed to become even more energetic with each added person.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I said. “Something sweet, tangy, and strong?”

  He smiled. “Got it.”

  I watched him make a drink the way I’d never seen it done before. He used gin, fresh lemon juice, muddled a sprig of rosemary with sugar, added a couple of other ingredients I couldn’t name, then shook it all with ice and strained the resulting liquid into a little, old-fashioned champagne cocktail glass. He added a lemon twist and sprig of rosemary before setting the drink in front of me with a flourish.

  “Cheers,” he said, then waited.

  I took a cautious sip. My eyes widened and I took another. “Wow. This is really good. What is it?”

  “It doesn’t have a name,” he said. “I custom-made it just for you.” He winked, then wandered off to take another order, leaving me to my unnamed but delicious cocktail.

  “Excuse me.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw a man trying to edge in to the bar to place an order.

  “Oh, sorry.” I picked up my drink and moved aside.

  “Hey, wait,” he said. I stopped. “Are you . . . is your name China?”

  I gave the guy a once-over, nearly 100 percent certain I’d never met him before in my life. “Who are you?” I asked.

  He smiled, and it was a nice smile. He looked older than me by about five years or more, with dirty-blonde hair and warm brown eyes. Taller than me, he wasn’t tall by most standards, I’d say five ten. “You probably don’t remember me, but we went to the same high school together. Briefly.”

  High school? That had been Marian High School. I’d attended there for two semesters before graduating. But I certainly hadn’t had any friends there, especially boys.

  “Um, I was really young . . .” I began, but he interrupted.

  “Oh yeah, I know. You were the girl genius that no one knew what to do with.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took another sip of my drink. I tried not to remember those early years in my life that had been so painful and awkward, especially after my mom had died.