Shattered by You

by Nashoda Rose

  A need I hated.

  A need forced upon me.

  A need that allowed me to escape and yet kept me trapped.

  I swayed back and forth like a rocking chair and the rhythmic sound of the floor creaking echoed in my bedroom. A tree branch scraped against the cracked windowpane as the violent wind outside yowled, testing the fragility of the glass.

  Take my hand. Tonight you will believe. Believe in me.

  The warmth of your touch. The taste of your lips.

  Keeps me coming back to you.

  So believe. Believe in me and take my hand.

  I’m here to love you forever.

  Forever you’re mine.

  I sang quietly, the complete opposite to what was happening inside me. It gave me the vacancy, the numbness, the void I searched for in order to stay sane.

  Emptiness had become my survival—my sanity.

  But darkness encroached, burying me deeper and deeper and I was suffocating under the blanket of desolation. I knew I might never find my way back to the surface. I’d be lost forever in this constant cycle of anxious desperation and revulsion.

  I’d managed to keep my slow decline hidden from my brother by spending less time with him, and staying in my room whenever I wasn’t at school. A room where he came to. My savior and my hell.

  He’d be here soon. He never let me get too strung out before he brought me more of my escape. And then . . .

  Then I gave him what he desired. Fighting no longer existed in my world. I was a puppet, molded and played with. Limbs twisted. Body used. Abused. Ripped and torn until I no longer knew what lived inside me.

  Yes, I did—nothing. But when he came to my room at night, when he held my arm, wrapped the thin band around it and flicked the syringe with his dirty fat finger . . . that was when it all stopped. I left my body behind and went somewhere else for a while. A place where no one could find me. Where I was safe. Where pain couldn’t reach me.

  I always watched when the needle slid into my vein. I waited breathless for his thumb to press the plunger. For my escape from what he’d do to me afterward. Disgust came later when I showered and attempted to wash away the feel of his hands. But it was more than that. I tried to wash away the hatred for myself.

  To my brother, Ream, I was his innocent angel as he shielded me from the harsh life we were immersed in. He didn’t know the shield had collapsed and been trampled months ago.

  I discovered what he’d been doing in order to protect me. But with the sacrifice of his own innocence came the haunting guilt that ate at me. He was my brother. My twin brother and he was all I had. I knew he’d do anything to shelter me from this tainted world, but I was older and saw the truth.

  I saw his gaunt pale skin when he emerged from the basement. I saw the way he gingerly walked up the stairs to his bedroom. But when he noticed me, he’d always smile. Always. As if nothing was wrong. As if he went into that basement to play video games all weekend.

  I’d stayed untouched for years because of him.

  It had been months since his visits to the basement stopped, our mother’s debt finally paid off to Lenny. But normal didn’t last long in our world. Lenny dying left us and his cruel daughter, Alexa, to Olaf. That was when my nightmare began.

  Heavy footsteps strode down the hall and there was a mixture of fear, nausea and anxiety. I didn’t know which was stronger. It had been three days. Three days locked in a maze of uncertainty when I would get my next hit.

  When did it change? When had I given up? When did I die inside?

  Motionless, I stared at the closed door, the footsteps stopped. I knew Gerard’s stride, the way his left foot dragged slightly when he walked as if he’d been injured at one time. How the floorboards groaned louder under his weight than anyone else’s in the run-down house.

  The doorknob turned and coldness encompassed me.

  I screamed for what he represented—disgust and liberation. They clashed, opposites fighting a war that neither won when it was over; instead, the war cycled over and over again.

  The door pushed open and I raised my head.

  I waited.

  I had to be patient. He liked slow.

  I sang in my head, the tune calming my mind.

  But my heart disagreed as it thumped wildly. Goose bumps raised, feeling as if ice shards pelted my skin. My eyes shot to his hand and I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the clear plastic syringe between his fingers. He twirled it back and forth watching me.

  He knew after three days I’d be screaming for it. His beady brown eyes gleamed and thin lips pursed upward in a grin. He knew I was struggling to stop myself from running to him and begging for my fix.

  He stepped into my room, closed the door then reached behind him and clicked the lock. A lock I’d once used to try to keep him out. I never tried again.

  I stood. My legs shook so badly that I had to use the wall to steady myself. Once I had my balance, I walked to the end of the bed and sat. My stomach twisted and cramped, while the blood flowing through my veins raged.

  He set the syringe on the dresser then lifted the back of his shirt, took out his gun and set it next to it. The gun was in full view, easy access to me. It was almost a dare for me to try for it. But I wouldn’t. To kill him would have too many possible repercussions for my brother.

  My weakness had become my strength, because keeping this from Ream meant he continued to be free of what happened in the basement. If I kept quiet, Gerard promised to help keep him away from there.

  I had no misconceptions of what Gerard was capable of, or Olaf. But for months, he’d kept his word and my brother was finally losing the dark glassy look in his eyes.

  Sweat trickled down my cheek and I wrung my hands together on my lap. The jingle of the metal buckle of his belt sounded so loudly that it was as if I was right next to him.

  The leather slid through the loops of his jeans and it clunked as he placed it next to his gun.

  He picked the syringe back up and the dryness in my mouth alleviated as I salivated like a starving dog seeing a scrap of meat. He held it up between his fingers, watching me, knowing I was that starving dog, ready to pounce.

  “Do you want this?”

  I nodded.

  His voice squeaked, like when a car brakes suddenly. I preferred when he was quiet and, thankfully, most of the time he was. I guessed it was because he wanted to make certain no one heard us. But the only person who would care was my brother and his room was down the hall. Alexa’s was beside mine and she hated me. She wanted this. She was the one who stole the drugs from her ‘Uncle’ Olaf for Gerard to give to me.

  Gerard wouldn’t waste what little money he had to buy me my fix, even if it was to help with my . . . cooperation.

  He strode toward the bed, his belly hanging over his jeans. I swallowed repeatedly as the bile rose, knowing what I’d soon taste, making me gag as he shoved it to the back of my throat while his belly jiggled in my face.

  The strong scent of his cologne mixed with his body odor suffocated the air and I took short breaths through my mouth to avoid the vile smell. I held out my arm as soon as the mattress sagged under his weight next to me and started singing in my head again.

  But he gave me the light to my darkness. The melody to my drumming roar. The heaven to my hell. The numbness to my pain. Ironic, considering he was the cause of the darkness, the roar, the hell and the pain.

  He fumbled around in his pocket for the rubber band and I wanted to shout at him to hurry up. I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. But I had no control over the physical effects—the shaking, the chills, sweats and the nausea.

  Ream recently noticed my withdrawal and weight loss. I played it off as the pressure of high school. But in the last few weeks, Ream had been waiting for me after classes, watching what I ate at meals. He knew something was off.

  Of course he would. It was just that Ream was fucked up too and had been through worse hell than any kid should ever experience. He was intellige
nt and overprotective. Soon he’d find out about the drugs and Gerard, and I was terrified at what he’d do. Of what would happen to him if he went after Gerard.

  We were here as a product of the very drugs I took. We’d been ten years old when we came here, bedraggled, undernourished, but we had one another. That was what kept us alive. Our bond. I’d do anything for him just as he would for me.

  I stiffened as Gerard’s sweaty hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled my arm toward him. He shoved my sleeve up then tied the rubber band above my elbow. I watched as the bruised vein swelled and pulsed beneath the thin surface of my skin.

  “Take off your panties.” My eyes shot to him and he grinned, his yellow-stained teeth flashing. Despite being in his late twenties or early thirties, his leathery skin looked ten years older.

  “Please . . .” I glanced at the syringe in his hand.

  He sighed and his cigarette, beer-laden breath fanned my face. “Panties first, Haven. I want to touch you at the same time.”

  He’d never done this. Usually, he gave me the drug then did whatever he wanted to me while I escaped into another world. Refusing wasn’t an option; I was weak and pathetic, just like my mother.

  I stood and shimmied out of my ripped cotton panties and sat back on the bed next to him, holding out my arm.

  “Open your legs.”

  I did.

  There were no tears. They were lost long ago to the life I was dealt. No point in feeling sorry for myself when there was nothing left of me to pity.

  He flicked my vein with his finger, but he didn’t really need to. It was throbbing and visible yet bruised. He slid the needle in and I held my breath waiting for the sudden rush, but it didn’t come. Instead, the needle remained in my vein, the clear liquid sitting in the syringe while his dirty hand slid across my thigh to between my legs.

  I tensed. My stomach cramped. My heart thumped against my ribs. I held my breath, not daring to move as he cupped me and groaned.

  It happened at the same time. The pain of his rough fingers entering me and the rush of the drug raging through my veins.

  I sank back onto the bed and vanished.

  Where are you?

  School.

  Doing what? I want to picture you in my head.

  Gross. Are you jerking off?

  God, I was beginning to sound like him now.

  Answer the question, Ice.

  I’m getting lunch in the cafeteria.

  Something was off with him. I may not hear emotions in a text, but habits and words varied and Crisis normally would reply to my jerking off text with teasing, or humor. He didn’t. I also noticed he tried to call me this morning, but I was in the car with Dana and didn’t answer.

  I shoved my phone in my back pocket, grabbed an orange plastic tray off the stack and plopped it down on the four aluminum bars. I waited in line while some chick prattled about her bad date to the girl next to her.

  “Hey, move it.” The guy behind me yelled at the girl more interested in talking about her date then getting lunch.

  The chick flicked her streaked blonde hair over her slender shoulder and sneered at him before pushing her tray forward.

  It took another five minutes to reach the hot counter where I took a plate of the daily special sitting under the heat lamps and placed it on my tray. A large crowd of football guys barreled into the cafeteria jostling one another being loud and obnoxious.

  My cool detachment wavered as the sounds leaked through my cracks and my nerves flickered and sparked. It was worsening. My body had been conditioned to ignore the sounds, to block out what I had to. I did it so well, that when I heard the noises, any nerves sparking numbed. It was like a cool blanket fell over me and nothing could penetrate it.

  But with the freedom, came a small hole in the blanket and it was ripping. My life no longer depended on being unruffled and composed, and the triggers were fucking with me.

  I took several deep breaths, eyes focused on one spot and concentrated on bringing my heart rate down.

  “I’m so going to enjoy watching you eat that.”

  My heart leapt and tore off like a horse darting out the gates. I didn’t have to look to know who towered over me, chest inches from my back. I recognized his low sexy drawl with that hint of laughter on the cusp of it. Even his scent I remembered and, to my annoyance, it caused a fluttering in my stomach.

  My hands tightened on the edges of the tray. “Crisis?” There was nothing good about the roar of emotions spiralling. I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of . . . excitement. “What are you doing here?” I avoided looking at him because I was a little—okay, a lot—stunned. He was back and standing here¸ and looking at Crisis after all the texts, the teasing . . . I was afraid of what I’d see. And of what I’d not see. I just wasn’t going to look at him at all.

  “Got back. Thought I’d see for myself that you weren’t skipping class.”

  He knew damn well how important school was to me, since he gave me shit for not having any fun and doing homework all the time. But this was what I wanted. To do what I should’ve done years ago instead of being some object for men to play with. “You weren’t due back for a week.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw him shrug. “Yeah, shit changed.”

  And that made me falter because I caught a glimpse of his face and that sent a new wave of something through me. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  I was getting to know Crisis enough that if there was a plan to end the tour early, he would’ve mentioned it before. Something happened and I wondered if Luke had said anything about my extended run the other night. Maybe that was why he called me this morning.

  He reached over me and snagged my apple. Juices sprayed in a fine mist as he took a big bite and my eyes flicked away. “Next venue was in Seattle.” I knew this as Ream had given me their schedule. “The publicist thought it better I make a getaway before it was announced that the Seattle show was cancelled.”

  “It’s cancelled?”

  He put the apple back on my tray on top of a napkin. “Yeah.”

  “You had to make a getaway?”

  “Figure of speech. But yeah.”

  “Your publicist wanted you to leave?”

  His brows rose and there was a slight twitch on the right side of his mouth. “For a chick who usually says fuck all, you’ve a lot of questions.”

  “And getting no real answers.” It didn’t sound very good, whatever it was. “If your publicist thought you had to sneak away, she wouldn’t be happy to hear you’re at a university where probably half the population knows of Tear Asunder. Plus, you’re a chick magnet even without your rock star status.” And my anonymity was imperative. No one knew I was Ream’s sister. My brother even managed, so far, to keep it out of the media that he had a sister.

  “Ah, thanks, Ice. I like it when you call me hot.”

  I didn’t call him hot. “I didn’t call you hot . . . where the hell did you get that . . .” I stopped because his blue eyes twinkled with mischief and he was grinning broadly.

  “Relax, I’m in disguise.” Some disguise, a baseball hat. “No one will notice me. Where’s Luke?”

  “He doesn’t follow me around all day.” He still stayed at the farm at night and came running with me every morning. “I promised him I wouldn’t run into a burning building or jump off a roof.”

  “Funny,” he said, not sounding amused.

  “I was never trying to kill myself. If I wanted to do that, it would’ve been twelve years ago.” I reached for bottled water then shuffled down the line and he slid in beside me.

  “Don’t say shit like that.”

  I remained quiet, realizing that I’d said more to him than I had anyone.

  He nudged me with his shoulder. “Babe, when are you going to look at me?”

  I had been, just indirectly, and that had been hard to do because Crisis was like a piece of chocolate waiting to be devoured. I didn’t do devouring. “I know
what you look like.”

  “I’ve been gone for months. Spent countless hours texting you and not even a hug. I’m crushed.”

  “Is that even possible?” I was still trying to get my emotions back into their little compartments before I met his eyes. Anyway, Crisis had an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean. And yeah, his God’s-gift-to-chicks attitude was warranted—infinitesimally.

  “Ice?”

  Fine. I tilted my head up and looked him in the eyes, my shield ready. But it wasn’t ready as my heart beat harder and faster. Then there were the little fairies dancing around in my stomach.

  He was everything you’d imagine a rock star: hot, tatted skin—which bordered on an addiction to pain—muscled, and charismatic. He worked out obsessively; fucked obsessively. Played music obsessively and scrolled the internet for news about himself—obsessively.

  And the entertainment gurus had a love affair with him.

  Despite trying to keep my distance in the beginning, over the countless texts, he had weeded his way into my life and now . . . well, now he was in one of my little compartments with the label—care. I cared about why he was back early. And why the tour was cancelled. But caring had never led anywhere good for me. Sympathy. Kindness. Compassion. None of it belonged in my world. But I wasn’t in that world now and those things were leaking back in.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I raised my brows; lips pressed together and tilted my head slightly as I scrutinized him. “Publicist sneaks you away. Last venue cancelled. What happened?”

  “I wouldn’t say sneak, Haven. I don’t sneak. I own what I do.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not something you need to worry about. Just some pain-in-the-ass shit.”

  I’d run longer than usual that morning and was late so I hadn’t checked the latest entertainment news. He sounded pissed and Crisis rarely did. His words were strained and his body tense. “I’d rather hear it from you than the media.”

  “Just some chick causing issues and I blew up at her. Didn’t touch her, I’d never do that. But I lost it.” He reached over and grabbed a bottle of water for himself. Without waiting until we arrived at the cash register, he cracked it open and chugged half of it back then set it down. “You know what I was like.”