by Allie York
Tattered & Bruised
Allie York
Tattered and Bruised
Copyright © 2018 by Allie York
Editor: Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit
Formatter: Alexandria Bishop of AB Formatting
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
This book could only be for Rochelle and Shannon because you wrote the ending
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Cori
A chorus of cheers erupted around our table making the other guests dining at Archer’s turn to look. We were a rowdy bunch, but in our defense, none of us got out much. Even Harriet with no kids was a homebody and hardly ever went out drinking, but you only turn twenty-five once. Lydia was driving us all back home, so the rest of the girls were getting plastered with no complaints. Our designated driver found our debauchery al too amusing. Lydia rubbed her round belly, laughing, and encouraged her little sister to take more shots. Those two made me miss my little sister so much. Being the middle sister, like Jovie, had its perks, but her older sister was cool as hell; mine was a stuck-up bitch. Her younger sister was bartending for us; mine had run away. My sister, Meredith, hadn’t been heard from in ages.
“Okay, okay.” Jovie waved her hands dramatically as the waitress set down another round of shots. “Toasts! Cori is the baby around here, but has been through more shit than all of us combined. So, she’s a goddamn warrior!” Jovie’s foul mouth always got worse with alcohol. I nearly spit my drink at her yelling obscenities in the middle of a restaurant. “And it’s her birthday!” Another round of cheers. “So, happy twenty-fifth, Cori!”
We downed the shots and tears stung my eyes. It could have been the burn of Fireball, but it was probably my drunken state and my friend’s words. They had no idea what I had been through, not the whole truth.
Harriet was up next. “When I got here, I was lost and pitiful. But you bitches took me in. Made me family.” Harriet nodded at Rae who raised her glass in agreement. “Cori and I bonded in a way I never thought I would find outside of Rae. I love her so hard.” Harriet sniffled in her drunkenness, and I laughed. “So, Cori, thanks for being my best friend even if you called me a hippie bitch at first and made me win you over with at least a dozen cups of coffee. Happy birthday!” More shots.
“My turn.” Lydia lifted her water glass. “I have two little sisters, and now I have a shit ton of kids, but I adopted Cori too. What’s one more, right? Happy birthday, Cori. Now we need to find you a man.” Lydia gave me a teasing wink, sliding me another shot. I needed a lot of things, but a man was not one of them. A man was the reason for every bit of misery in my life.
The rest of the night went on the same way. Lots of toasts were repeated as we got more sloshed, and Lydia laughed her ass off at us, videoing our shenanigans occasionally. She was cute as could be with her little round baby bump. Her oldest son was nearly fourteen and her husband, Jacob, had brought another little boy into the relationship. It was a huge mess for a while, but they worked it out. Lydia adopted little Cohen as soon as she could. They hadn’t even finalized Cohen’s adoption when she found out they were having kid number three. They were so stinking cute.
Harriet and Briggs were just as adorable. They both swore they didn’t want kids, but every time they were around Rae’s or Jovie’s munchkins, they both got all starry eyed and touchy-feely. It would happen eventually, no matter how much they both denied it. Harriet’s strict rule against marriage was probably the reason Briggs hadn’t knocked her up yet. Jovie was talking about one more as well. Rae had stopped at one. Erica and her husband had adopted a teenager after years of not wanting kids. They were still disgustingly in love after twenty years together. I was the only single lady at the table. The more drunk my friends got, the more determined each of them were to find me the perfect mate. We were all parents, but I was still the outcast. They had amazing, doting men in their lives. I had my daughter, Axel, and a jailed ex-husband. My girls knew the gist of what had happened, but details were omitted to protect my sanity. They knew my scumbag ex got me beat within an inch of my life, but that was it. No one needed to know more any more details.
My younger sister had abandoned me, my older sister was too stuck-up to go out with me for my birthday, but I had my girls. Rae, Harriet, Jovie, Lydia, and Erica were all the support I needed. Despite how determined they were to find me a man, it wasn’t happening. I had tried, sort of, but I was too screwed up for a relationship. I was finally functioning in normal society without meltdowns and panic attacks. The last thing I needed was some guy wanting to touch me. It would only undo all my progress. The drunk ladies at the table had no idea the mess I was, as they kept on naming off men they knew were single while we drank ourselves into oblivion.
Lydia apparently got us all home because I woke up in my bed the next morning with a pounding headache. My mouth was dry as the Sahara. The sunlight slamming into my face was painful, even through my blankets and closed eyelids. Why had I agreed to go out with those no-good bitches? I was too jaded to go out drinking like a party girl. I had moved past party girl status my senior year of high school. Before my body could register any more pain, I bolted for the attached bathroom to puke up whatever I had been eating at Archer’s. My guess was whatever I ate was greasy as hell. I practically crawled into the shower, peeling off my clothes from the night before as I went. The warm water did nothing to wash away the stench of booze coming from my pores. I needed coffee. Lots of coffee and aspirin.
Once I was put together enough to leave the house, I went to pick up the munchkin from my mother. Dance class was in the evening, and it was my off day, so I planned on spending the day with my baby. Damn, I hated dance class. Ax loved it, of course, and I loved watching her. Unfortunately, the other mothers in the class made my life miserable. I was younger than all of them, but more importantly, I was not a trophy wife. I was not the “sit quietly and look pretty to further my husband’s career” type. Even when I was married to a prestigious college professor, I was just me. Richard never complained about my attitude or clothes, but looking back, I realized he tried to make me tone it down. Little things like suggesting an outfit or not taking me to work functions didn’t mean much at the time, but in hindsight he wanted me to fit his mold. Hell, he should have married the eldest Sharpe daughter if he wanted someone to further is career. I was never wild or irresponsible, but I wore what I wanted, said what I thought. Richard cared a lot less about fitting me into his mold once he started using, but he truly didn’t care about anything at that point, so his wife cursing at a Christmas party didn’t matter much.
Axel came out of Mom and Dad’s screeching. Her high-pitched squeal made my skin hurt. Really helpful, munchkin. She talked nonstop and loud about staying up late to watch Ghostbusters. She also ratted out my mothe
r about feeding her a dinner of mostly cookies. Mom shrugged, claiming “grandparent’s rights” then kissed us both before letting us leave. Axel talked all the way home, giving me a play by play of her favorite movie and declaring her Halloween costume to be Dr. Venkman. The kid was definitely mine, no matter how much she looked like her father. The strawberry-blond hair could have come from my mom, but the deep blue eyes matched with her permanent tan came from Richard. Her sass and attitude were all mine. I was proud of her for it.
“Oscar in Ghostbusters doesn’t have a daddy, either.” Axel looked up from her coloring book on the front porch where we were sitting, soaking up some sun. “Dr. Venkman wants to be Oscar’s daddy, though.” She went back to coloring Batman pink with purple accents.
“Yeah, Munchkin, I guess he does. Wanna go get your dance clothes on?” Thankfully, she dropped the daddy subject to bolt into the house leaving a pile of crayons on the porch. I cleaned up, wondering if maybe she did need a male role in her life. Richard was obviously not an option considering he nearly got me killed. Once he did get out of jail, I didn’t want him near my baby. She did have my dad, but not full-time. Briggs and Harriet took her out sometimes so I could clean the house, and she loved playing with Briggs. Anytime I met them at the park, Briggs was pushing her on the swings, catching her on the slide. It made it painfully clear she needed something I couldn’t give her. Lots of girls grew up without a father and turned out fine. Ax was better than fine without Richard around, but something about the reminder of the missing piece was painful. Her parents should have been taking her to dance together, cooking family meals, and maybe even having more kids. Instead, I worked my ass off to make ends meet while trying to surround us with wonderful people to ease the blow of losing it all in one night.
Chapter Two
Griffin
Fuck me sideways.
“You want to dance ballet? Like tutus and stuff?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice but failed. Her head bobbed, brown eyes twinkling, curls flying. I snuck a glance at the social worker across the table then my mother leaning against the counter. “Of course, Princess. I said pick an activity. If dancing is what you want, we’ll dance.” Celia jumped from her perch on the table in front of me to nuzzle into my neck. My arms dwarfed her, causing her to vanish against my chest. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Anything else?” Celia clung to me, holding the stuffed horse while she traced the tattoo on my wrist.
Annie, the social worker, pursed her lips when she saw what my daughter was doing. Yeah, keep judging, lady.
“No, it seems like we are making a lot of progress. Is she making friends?” I shook my head discreetly. Not only did I not want to admit it, but I didn’t want Celia thinking anything was wrong. Her security was everything, and any hint of discord sent her over the edge.
“Maybe dance will help with her social skills. If not, maybe adding another day of preschool to the week will push it along. It’s important Celia make connections with other children her age.” I grit my teeth. Why could the woman not say I was doing a good job? Just once it would be nice to hear that all my patience and time was making a difference. Instead, we always ended on the negative. Forget about Celia finally talking to me, Mom, and Annie. Forget that we didn’t even have to coax her into an extracurricular or have massive meltdowns about simply going to school anymore. None of it mattered as long as there was still something she didn’t like. The thing Annie didn’t like was me.
Her holier than thou attitude got on my last fucking nerve, but all I had to do was suck it up for another two months. Two more months and I was rid of Annie. No more home visits; no more welfare checks. Celia would be all mine. Then no one else could look down on my occupation or ink. Well, they could, but it wouldn’t matter. Annie stood, tucking her notebook under her arm and extending her hand. I shook it, thanked her for coming, then let her out, all with Celia still attached to my hip. I wanted to slam the door but clicked it closed quietly.
Mom could see the anger boiling below the surface but made some comment about “little pitchers” before she waved me into the other room.
“What do you think about a trip to the park? Then we can go see Hattie?” Celia bounced on my hip, wiggling out of my grip to go get her shoes. She always left near the front door. I wanted more than anything to know what her mother had expected of her, how she knew to go get her shoes, and if her mom would think I was doing a good job. Trina must have done something right before whatever happened, but I knew nothing. I wanted to think that Celia’s mother had only messed up toward the end, but I knew better. Celia told me she'd never had a real bed before and cried happy tears when I took her to see her new room.
It was a white frame with a glittering pink canopy. Ponies covered the blankets. It was her second day with me. She didn’t sleep in it, at least not alone, until nearly a month later. She was in Mom’s bed, my bed, or one of us laid down with her. We tried to sneak out after she was asleep, but the night terrors made all sleep impossible. It was a rough month, but we stuck it out.
Before I knew it, Celia was at the door, ready to go, horse in hand. The horse was the only thing she came with other than an ill-fitting shirt and a pair of underwear. I let her pick out all her own clothes the first day. She didn’t speak but pointed and smiled when she was pleased. Who knew a guy like me would have so much damn pink in his house? The parenting learning curve was steep as hell, but I thought I was faring well. Considering what Celia had been through, she was a fucking warrior. My little warrior princess.
She held my hand all the way to the park, which was only three blocks, then handed me her horse to run straight for the slide. It was her favorite. Before Celia came to me, I had no idea there was even a park in the area, much less one so nice. The area was filled with college hipsters and older couples. The in-between crowd was sparse, but the house was nice, it was accessible to work, the library, and the preschool. We could walk anywhere we needed to when the weather was nice.
We played a while before heading to work, walking down the cracked sidewalk along Broadway. My first appointment was in an hour, so we had plenty of time, but I wanted to get set up and have Celia ready with a project until Mom came to get her. Her pink plush chair with a matching lap desk were right next to my station. She was supplied with paper and pencils to make her own art while I did mine. Hattie was outside when we got there with some blonde chick pressed up against the wall. I hurried Celia past before she caught her idol dry humping another female. I was not in a position to judge considering my lifestyle before Celia came around. Plus, Hattie was the most badass chick I had ever met. Tattooed, edgy, with a filthy mouth, but none of that meant my little girl needed to watch the PDA Hattie was engaged in.
“Is Hattie coming in to see me?” Celia’s tiny voice got lost in a place like Needles, but I heard her.
“Yeah, Princess. She’ll be right in to see you. Want a treat from The Brew?” I knew treats would make her happy.
“Please?” Her eyes always got bigger at the mention of treats. A love of sweets was one trait she got from me. Our sweet tooth ran deep. Nothing about her appearance hinted that I could be her father, but I couldn’t have cared less. My skin free of ink was as pale as it gets, a tribute to my English heritage, where hers was more like caramel. Her eyes were a warm brown to my ice blue. She did have my height and the same jawline, but people never saw past the skin tone difference to see any other similarities, though. Hell, even if the DNA test had come back negative, I would have fought for her. I had no desire to settle down much less have kids, but I loved my little girl with my whole heart as soon as I laid eyes on her. Nothing would take her from me.
My first piece of the day was a butterfly tramp stamp. Sometimes my job sucked. The girl was pretty enough with a short blond ponytail and tons of curves, but she seemed a little more interested in Hattie than she was me. It was funny as hell to watch Hattie strut by at least a hundred times for no reason, making trips to the back when there wa
s nothing back there she needed. My client’s head would tilt to follow Hattie’s swaying ass every time. I could only shake my head.
Mom picked up Celia, I did a few more generic tattoos, then stood outside the piercing room listening to a man cry like a bitch over getting his nipples pierced. Even Hattie made fun of that guy. She was usually all sweet when someone couldn’t handle the pain, but the poor guy got no mercy. When he walked out in his leather biker cut, I understood why Hattie was giving him shit. No guy who looked as badass as him should cry over nipple piercings.
At home, I surfed the web, looking for a dance studio to sign my princess up at. Lucky for me, I found one a couple of miles up the road with great reviews and a class for her age. I filled out the form, paid with my card, and wrote her first dance lesson down on the kitchen calendar. I had no intention of forgetting it, and knew Celia wouldn’t, either, but it looked better during home visits to have cute family shit up.
For what felt like the millionth night in a row, I sat up trying to remember Celia’s mother. The snapshot was in the drawer in Celia’s room, I had stared at it for hours after Celia showed up, but I couldn’t place the woman. The thought made my stomach sour. She may have been a druggie, but she wasn’t a whore. A pro wouldn’t have known who her baby belonged to. Trina knew. Hell, she filled in the birth certificate and signed my name where the father went. I was always so damn careful, but somehow, I had messed up. I missed the first five years of my daughter’s life. Had I known, I could have saved my little girl from the trauma her mother caused, but I had no idea.