Bent Not Broken (A Cedar Creek #1)

by Julia Goda

  “Shhh, Ivey, it’s okay. Let it out. I’m here,” she murmured in my ear. She held me for a long while until the sobs had stopped and I could finally breathe again. I gave her one last squeeze, then loosened my hold on her, and moved my face out of her neck. Larry had poured me another shot of Tequila. I took it, sat back, and started from the beginning.

  “My father was not a good man. He hit my mom and made me watch. It was almost like he wanted me to see what I could expect if I disobeyed. I felt so powerless and scared. My mother always pretended like nothing happened. She didn’t talk to me about it. She didn’t protect me from it. When he wasn’t hitting her, he was talking down to her, making her feel stupid and worthless. Made both of us feel like we were nothing.”

  I took another shot of Tequila with shaking hands.

  “Then he started hitting me. I don’t know what triggered it, what I had done to make him hit me. It hurt. It hurt so much. He would take turns between her and I. I think it was a relief to my mother. Now, she only got half the amount of beatings she had before. A lot of the time, she would use me as her shield, trying to get me in trouble, blaming things on me, so she wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences. I heard them fight almost every night. I would wake up and stare at the ceiling in the dark, trying to shut them out. That’s why I still can’t sleep through the night now. I’m conditioned not to. Always alert. Always waiting for something. It takes me forever to go to sleep.”

  I was getting lost in my memories now, my voice sounding far away as I remembered the feeling of absolute helplessness at hearing my father rape my mother.

  “After that she checked out. Probably the only way she knew how to deal with it. I was scared my father would do the same to me, that he would come to my room at night to take what he wanted. But he never did. Still, that fear kept me up most nights. When he hit her after that it seemed worse, because she didn’t react to it at all. No crying, no screaming, no nothing. She just took it quietly, which made him even angrier. That anger he would then direct at me.

  “As you can imagine my home life made me insecure and shy. I was scared all the time, tired all the time, felt worthless. By the time I started high school I was an introvert. I didn’t talk to anyone, kept to myself, didn’t talk in class, didn’t socialize at all. I was all alone. The only person that knew about what went on at home was my grandma, my mom’s mom. She cursed my mother for being so weak, for not getting me out of there, for not leaving my father. I don’t know how many times she tried to get through to her. She tried everything, but I knew it was no use. My mother was dead inside.”

  I looked at Macy. Silent tears were streaming down her cheeks while her lips trembled. Seeing her like that made my own throat close up, but I took a deep breath and powered through telling her about how my first time with my high school boyfriend was nothing but a sick joke my whole class was in on. How being humiliated like that had almost felt worse than getting beat up by my father. How that had taught me to have my walls up high and not let anything or anyone get close to me.

  “I focused on my studies and made it out of there. Got a scholarship and was accepted into the early English Program at Boston University. I left the day of my graduation. My grandma was over the moon for me. She was relieved that I was leaving, that I could go and live my life away from all the darkness. And so was I. See, I was shy and introverted and kept to myself, but inside I was still a dreamer. I always had been. I would sit in my room for hours staring out my window, making up stories in my head, dreaming about my future, of how I would escape and make a life for myself, find a good man to build a family with. It was stupid really.

  “I had been at college for a few months when I got the news from my grandma that my mother had committed suicide. I think with me gone and my father’s sole attention on her, she finally couldn’t take it anymore. She slid her wrists and thighs and bled out in the bathtub. My grandma almost seemed relieved. Sad, but relieved. “Now she can finally find some peace,” is what she said to me. And I agreed. I hoped she would find peace. I didn’t go to her funeral. It was the middle of the semester, and I didn’t see the point really. I tried not to be bitter about the fact that she had never protected me and worse, had used me as her shield to avoid a beating, but I was angry. I wished her peace, but that was all I could make myself do. I had said goodbye to her and that life when I had left for college. I had promised myself to move on from that life and never turn back, and that’s what I did.

  “I loved college. It was everything I had hoped it would be and more. Nobody knew me. It was a fresh start. I took English as my major and started hanging out with people, made friends, opened up. Everyone was so enthusiastic and optimistic about the future and I loved it. For the first time in my life, I felt free. Free to do what I wanted, free to come home late, sleep in, have left over pizza for breakfast, go hang out with friends, go to bars and clubs and dance the night away, free to choose my path in life without being afraid someone would take it all away from me. I discovered the real me and I was happy. Truly happy. The life I had always dreamed of was so close I could almost touch it. It was the best feeling ever.”

  I stopped.

  The next part was going to be brutal. In more ways than one.

  I looked over to Larry. He had his elbows to his knees and his head was hanging low, facing the carpet in front of him. He was bracing himself for what was about to come. I turned my head to look at my best friend. She was still clutching my hand in both of hers, hanging on. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were sad. Her lips were tightly pressed together. Waiting and bracing.

  “Mace?” I whispered, too scared to go on, afraid it would be too much for her. And me.

  “It’s okay, honey, go on,” she nodded at me and gave me a small smile of reassurance that didn’t reach her eyes. I needed another drink. I looked at Larry and he poured me one. I downed it and looked at him again. Larry looked at his wife, then relented and filled my glass. The burn slid down my throat and warmed my stomach. I closed my eyes and finished my story.

  “Then I met Kyle,” my voice had turned dead. “He was handsome and charming. And possessive. But I didn’t mind that at all. I thought it just meant that he cared about me. He was majoring in business and was a year ahead of me. When he took me out on our first date, he made me feel so special. He took me to a fancy restaurant and I felt like a princess. I had never been to a place like that, and he thought it was cute I didn’t know what half the items on the menu were. Kyle came from money, so he had grown up having the best of the best. I was naïve. Naïve and romantic. I thought that him showering me with gifts, calling me cute names, and taking me to galleries and plays, introducing me to new things, meant that he cared about me, that he loved me. I fell head over heels for him. I had no experience at all when it came to relationships and this seemed right. He seemed like a real gentleman, like the knight in shining armor I had dreamed of all my life. That’s why I didn’t heed the warnings from my friends when Kyle took up all my time, and they thought he was being too possessive, too demanding. I thought they were jealous of what I had, so I spent less and less time with them.

  “I didn't know exactly when it happened or how he did it. It was so subtle that I didn’t feel the change at the time. But looking back now it seems obvious. He wanted to spend every free minute with me, know where I was at all times. He texted me constantly, checking up on me, made decisions for me, which courses I should take, where I should apply for a job, what to wear. Again, I thought this just meant that he cared about me and was worried about me, that it was his way of making sure I was all right, of taking care of me.

  “I was in my senior year and by then, we had moved in together. Kyle had graduated and started a job at a big oil and gas company. I had been partnered up with Simon, a guy from my creative writing class, for an assignment, and we had gone to a coffee shop after class to discuss our project. Kyle kept texting and calling me, demanding to know where I was and whom I was with. I texted h
im back, telling him where I was and that I was working on a project with one of my classmates. I didn’t answer his calls, because I didn’t want to be rude to Simon. I ended up turning my phone off, because I was getting annoyed and embarrassed by my phone ringing every two minutes. So Simon and I were working away, brainstorming about our project and got to talking. He was a funny guy and made me laugh. I was giggling to myself about one of his funny stories when I saw Kyle storming into the coffee shop, his eyes trained on me. I stopped giggling and felt a sense of dread come over me. He seemed mad as hell. When he reached us he grabbed my hand and pulled me up to him roughly. I was shocked. He had never been rough with me before. Simon tried to interfere and told Kyle to calm down and ease up, but Kyle just glared at him and told him that I was his and nobody told him how to treat what was his. He pulled me behind him and dragged me to his car. I was humiliated and a little scared. I had never seen him act that way. He knew that I was loyal to him and would never stray, so I didn’t understand why he was so mad at me. The drive back to our apartment was quiet and tense. I tried to talk to him a few times, but he just ignored me.

  “As soon as we got to the apartment he let loose. He shouted at me, called me a slut and a whore who was going behind his back, meeting and fucking other guys. He threw things and scared the shit out of me. I had no idea what he was talking about and told him so. Told him that I would never go behind his back, that all I wanted was him, that he had misunderstood the situation. But he called me a liar and backhanded me. Hard. So hard that my head flew against the wall I was standing in front of and one of his rings cut my cheek. I was shocked. And devastated. I had escaped the hell of my childhood, only to end up in the same place four years later. My whole world was crumbling around me. But I had promised myself when I left my parents’ house that I would never endure anything like that again. That I would not be like my mother and accept being abused by the person that claimed to love me. When I looked back at him I had made up my mind. I was leaving. I lost it on him, called him an asshole and an abusive and possessive jerk and told him I was leaving him. But he wouldn’t let me. He backhanded me again then got really close and said in a low voice filled with rage “Baby, you are not leaving me. You will never leave me. I won’t let you. You are mine. MINE.” I will never forget that voice. To this day it wakes me up when I dream about that day.”

  I took a deep breath before I continued and gave them the rest. “Then he grabbed my hair and threw me to the floor. I tried to get up and get away from him, but I had no chance. He shouted at me, “Where are you gonna go, huh? You have nobody. No family. No friends. You are all alone. And all mine.” I was scared out of my mind. He kicked me in the stomach. I tried to protect myself, curled up into a ball and tried to protect my head with my arms. But he wouldn’t let up. He kicked and kicked and kicked until I heard bones break and felt blood running between my legs. I cried out in pain and coughed up blood, but that didn’t deter him either. He kept at me until one of his kicks hit me in the head and I passed out.”

  My hands were shaking when I reached for another shot. As was my voice when I finished my story. I heard Macy sob quietly beside me but couldn’t concentrate on that or I wouldn’t be able to continue.

  “When I woke up, he was gone. My whole body hurt. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. I was scared to death that I would die on that floor. When I looked down at myself and saw all that blood between my legs, I started sobbing. I had been late that month and was going to take a pregnancy test soon. Seeing all that blood, I knew I had been pregnant and had miscarried. I tried to make my way to my purse that I could see lying on the floor by the front door to call an ambulance. It took forever, but I made it. I made the call and then passed out again. The next time I woke up I was in the ambulance on my way to the hospital. The EMTs worked on me and asked me questions, but I didn’t react. My world had been shattered, and I realized that there was no happy ending for me out there.”

  Macy’s sobs had grown louder and I couldn’t hold back my own tears any longer. When she saw me break she threw her arms around me and we cried in each other’s arms. I was so lost in my memories that I didn’t feel the tense energy in the room until I looked over Macy’s shoulder and saw Larry.

  My body froze. His body was hard as a rock, and the rage was rolling off of him in waves. I knew he wasn’t mad at me, but having just been swallowed up by my past, it was hard for me to distinguish. He saw my reaction and tried to relax his body, which in turn made me relax.

  “Fucking motherfucker,” he whispered darkly. His jaw was clenched and his whole body was strung tightly. We stared at each other for a few minutes as I watched him get control.

  “Please tell me that fucker is behind bars,” he growled.

  “Yes. Well, he was. He got eight years for battery and assault and involuntary manslaughter,” I said in a shaky voice.

  “So he is out now?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been nine years, so probably.”

  “Fuck me. I hope I never cross paths with that fucker ‘cause I don’t want my kids to only know their daddy through visits at the penitentiary,” Larry was still growling.

  “Ivey.” I heard whispered through tears from the woman still in my arms. Her body was shaking. She was trying to fight the sobs, but was losing the battle. I wrapped her up in my arms again and held on as tightly as I could and so did she.

  “I’m okay now. I’m safe now. He doesn’t know where I live,” I tried to reassure her. Macy leaned back out of my arms and locked her eyes on mine.

  “You are not okay. You think there is no happy ending for you. You close yourself off and keep people at a distance. You hook up with men for sex, but shy away from relationships out of fear. That, Ivey, does not say you’re okay!”

  She was getting mad now. Mad for me and for how my past was screwing with my present.

  God, I loved her.

  “Macy, I promise you I’m okay. I’ve been thinking about it this past week. I can’t go there with a man again. I just can’t. That part of me is gone. But I can still be happy. I have you and your family. And I got a talking to from Betty earlier this week—,”

  “Betty?”

  “Yes, Betty. She laid me out when I went in for my morning coffee. And she is right. Well, mostly. It took me a few days to think about it, but she is right. I need to stop closing myself off and need to start trusting myself to be me. She says I have light in me, and no matter how hard I try to hide it, it’s shining through, trying to get out. She knew that something awful had happened to me, that I think I’m broken, but she says I’m stronger than I think. That made me realize that I have to fight for my happiness. Even if I can never trust my judgment in men again, can never trust enough to give a relationship a try, I owe it to myself to be myself and find happiness in that.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad she gave that to you, because it’s true. You do have light in you. A lot of it. It comes out whenever you’re not guarding yourself; when you talk to your customers; when you joke with them; when you’re with my kids. There is a lot of light and love in you, honey, and I’m glad you have decided to let it come out.”

  “I hear a but coming,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Yes, and you know what I am going to say. You deserve to be loved. By a man. You deserve to find someone who takes care of you and respects you and loves you for being you. I know you’re not going to agree with me, but that’s what I think, and you won’t make me think otherwise.”

  “Macy, I can’t. I can’t go there. You know what set me off when Grant told me he wanted more with me? He called me baby. He didn’t mean anything by it, but that’s what made me freak out and lose it. Just him calling me that. It’s what he used to call me and to this day it makes bile rise up in my throat and sends me straight back to that day.” My voice sounded desperate. I needed her to understand and support me in this.

  “Please, Mace, please understand,” I pleaded.

  Macy was looki
ng at me, assessing. I could see she was fighting with herself and I loved her for it. I loved that she thought that I deserved love and she was right. I did. But I also knew I would never find it, because I couldn’t give a man all of me and that wasn’t fair.

  The seconds ticked by as I waited for her response.

  “Okay, Ivey. I understand,”

  Relief washed over and through me so hard that my shoulder relaxed and I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “Thank you. Then now I need your help.”

  Then I started telling her about my attraction to Cal and how I thought he was flirting with me. About how I turned into an idiot whenever he was around. That he had heard everything Betty had said, because he was standing right behind me when she did, and how he had looked at me after that. How he made me sit with him today at the diner and asked me to go bowling with them. I needed her to help me sort out my head and avoid him.

  At hearing all this, Macy’s eyes started to sparkle and Larry was chuckling a deep low chuckle. I raised my eyebrows at him in question.

  “Good luck with that one,” he stated.

  “What? Why?”

  “Let me explain something to you. Cal is all man. What I mean by that is, he sees what he wants and he goes after it until it’s his. His as in his. Now, don’t freak out on me and get scared. I don’t mean this in a bad way. There is a good kind of possessive and a bad kind of possessive. Your fuckwad ex was the bad kind. I’m the good kind. When I first met Mace when we were fifteen, I knew she was what I wanted, so I went after her until she was mine. If Cal wants you, he will have you and he will keep you. He is not a choirboy and has had his share of pussy over the years. But he is a good man and a good father, who was waiting for the right one to come along to share his and his son’s life with. By the sounds of it, he thinks that’s you, so I’m telling you to brace.”

  Oh my God. Was he serious?

  “That’s ridiculous, Larry. If I don’t want to date him, he can’t make me.”