Hurt So Good: A Break So Soft Novel

by Black, Stasia

  This is a place for bottom feeders and perverts.

  And monsters like me.

  This is where I used to hunt, after all.

  A lap dance can be bought for a nominal fee but for just a little more, a girl will go home with you. And for just a little more still, she’ll let you do whatever you want to her.

  Choke her. Slap her. Humiliate her. Gag her with your cock. Assfuck her. Be as rough as you fucking want.

  Whatever sick shit gets you off.

  Another girl shows up with two more glasses of whisky. She makes a big show of leaning over and showing her tits as she puts them on the table.

  “Get the fuck out of my fucking face.”

  I take the first glass and down it. The fire in my throat fucking burns. It makes my eyes water but I reach for the second glass anyway.

  Anything to numb today.

  Anything to be numb.

  Which is probably fucking stupid.

  Now I know what I should have all along. Why have I fought it for so many years? It was inevitable. There was never any hope that Darren or I would turn out any other way. Not with him as our father.

  And to think I thought I’d protected Darren.

  Ha.

  Just goes to show what a fucking fool I’ve been. Walking around thinking I’d made a difference, that any of us could fight against what he made us.

  I shake my head and lift the glass to my lips. I don’t down it. I decide to nurse this one. There’s no hurry. I’ll have the rest of my life to simmer in my own shit. Tonight is just the beginning of living with my eyes open.

  And the first night of the rest of my life living without her.

  My eyes close as pain sears through my stomach.

  Motherfucker, I thought this shit was supposed to help make me fucking numb. I down the second glass after all and it burns only slightly less than the first.

  But I still see her. On the floor after I knocked her down. Her eyes still pleading with me to stay.

  To fucking stay.

  Just like my mother.

  How many times did I see Mom on the ground, crying after Dad hit her? After he raped her?

  I’m fine, Dylan. Leave us alone. Don’t try to get involved in things you don’t understand.

  Suddenly all the alcohol in my stomach isn’t sitting well. I’m going to be fucking sick. The thought of me turning Miranda into my mother—

  Fuck. I shove my chair back and head for the rest rooms but I’m not sure I’ll make it there in time.

  It doesn’t help that now that I’m standing, I feel the effects of the alcohol far more than when I was sitting. It’s hard to walk in a straight line and the flashing lights from the stage are piercing as I stumble in the direction of the bathrooms.

  I’m almost there when I hear a commotion off to my left.

  “No. No touching. Stop!”

  At a table in a dark corner nearby, a dancer is struggling to get off a guy’s lap. He’s groping her tits with one hand and holding her down with the other while he dry humps her.

  Son of a—

  I stalk over to them.

  “She said to let her go, you piece of shit.”

  I grab the hand of the arm he has around her waist and wrench it backwards until he lets out an effeminate cry and lets her go.

  She springs out of his lap and hurries off.

  “Who the fuck are you, asshole?”

  It’s only now as I look around the table that I realize the fucker assaulting the girl isn’t alone. There’s a whole table of douchebags—frat boys who haven’t aged well—and they look pissed.

  I grin at them and crack my knuckles.

  “I’m the guy who calls out assholes and puts them in their place. Like your friend here. No means no, fuck face.”

  The biggest guy at the table shoves his chair back and gets in my face. “You wanna say that again, motherfucker?”

  I lean in, “I said your friend is a pathetic asshole who has to force women at a strip club to get his rocks off because he can’t get any anywhere else.”

  The thug shoves me so hard in the chest I stumble back a couple steps.

  Oh hell yeah, fucker, let’s fucking dance. My hand forms a fist and I come back swinging. I get one satisfying hit in, busting up the big bastard’s face.

  He comes back at me and sucker punches me in the gut.

  I take it and laugh at the pain.

  He thinks he can hurt me? After everything I went through today, he thinks a fucking punch can hurt me?

  I swing again with all my might and all my fucking rage and all my fury. Hearing the cartilage of his nose break is so satisfying that I immediately swing again.

  I guess that pisses off his buddies because more hits come at me from all sides. The whisky is finally doing its job, though. I’m fucking numb. I turn around and roar at the bastards and hit anyone and anything I can get my goddamned fists on.

  Chapter Twenty

  MIRANDA

  After Dylan stormed out earlier, I cried for about an hour. Then I cleaned up the burned spaghetti sauce. Then I kept cleaning. And cleaning. And cleaning.

  I’m scrubbing the baseboards when I get Daniel’s call.

  “Are you watching the news?”

  “The news?” I frown. “Who watches the news anymore?”

  I hear his huff of frustration over the line. “Turn on your TV. Channel 4. Right now.”

  I drop the cloth I’m using and go over to the living room and grab my remote, flipping the TV on to Channel 4.

  “Mark Morales, at Mercy hospital, has more on this breaking story,” says the perky news reporter, right before the screen flips to a reporter standing beside the hospital bed of a guy who looks like he got beat up really badly.

  That’s when I read the ticker running at the bottom of the screen.

  Tech billionaire Dylan Lennox, Lennox Brothers Corp, in jail tonight after bar brawl at a strip club leaves two hospitalized.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Right?” Daniel agrees.

  We both watch in silence.

  “This is Mark Morales of KQYN. So let me just ask a few questions to set the stage. You and your buddies were at the Big Bottoms Gentleman’s Club?”

  The man in the hospital bed nods. “Just blowing off some steam on guy’s night, ya know how it is.”

  It’s a little hard to understand him because his jaw is swollen and his lip is split. His nose is obviously broken and there’s a large white bandage circling his head, not to mention the black eye and what looks like a broken arm.

  Holy shit, did Dylan really do all that?

  “But then this guy just comes and jumps us. He must have been on something with as crazy as he was. He just starts wailing on my friend so I jumped in to try to protect him and the guy turns on me.”

  “Did you recognize the man as Dylan Lennox, tech billionaire?”

  “Naw, man. It was dark in there. I just knew there was this guy like on meth or whatever, just savage. He was attacking us and I had to do whatever it took to keep my friend from getting killed.”

  My shoulders slump and I feel about ten inches tall.

  “Miranda? You there?”

  I startle at Daniel’s voice. I’d forgotten he was on the phone.

  God, I don’t even want to answer because answering might lead to questions which would only lead to more questions, which would—

  “Miran—”

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you okay? Is Dylan violent? Has he ever hurt you or threaten—”

  “No! God. He’s not like that, okay? We got in a fight today and he was upset when he left, but he’s not violent.”

  “Two guys in the hospital says different.”

  “He’s not violent towards me. Towards women. There’s a difference.”

  Daniel makes a noise like he’s not convinced and I swipe a hand down my face. I don’t have time to deal with Daniel right now.

  “Look, thanks for calling me. This wa
s really helpful and I really do appreciate it.”

  “But fuck off? Look, okay, I get it. I just worry about you. And if he ever hurts you, I’ll cut his balls off and roast them for dinner.”

  “Wow, thanks for that image.”

  “You’re welcome.” There’s a pause and then, “But seriously, babe. You okay?”

  I sigh, muting the TV as the reporter continues to talk to the oaf in the hospital bed. “I will be.”

  I don’t know if that’s true but it’s what Daniel needs to hear.

  Long after Daniel hangs up and the news segment is over, I’m still trying to think of what to do.

  Because something has to be done.

  This is my fault. Dylan already had such skewed misconceptions about himself because of how his father raised him and the things he liked in bed. Then with what I revealed to him about Darren, on top of learning about me and Bryce and that night…

  He has no support system right now. He’s all alone in the world and I know better than anyone how desperate and terrifying a feeling that is.

  Bryce made me feel helpless and worthless but over the last month with Dylan I’ve finally begun to believe it’s not true. Together we were strong.

  He’s still the other half of me. Even if I’ve hurt him too much for him to ever be able to be with me—oh God even the thought chokes me and makes me want to fall to my knees and curl up in a ball, but I fight the impulse—even if he can never be with me, I’m still the only one who can help him right now.

  He’s still my heart and I’m his. So I’ll help him in the only way I can think of. I’ll fight for him when he can’t fight for himself.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  DYLAN

  “You have a visitor,” the guard says.

  “I don’t want to see them.” I look back down to the book I’m reading. Crime and Punishment. Dostoyevsky seemed the only appropriate reading material.

  The only people who’d want to visit me are Miranda, Darren, or the company lawyer. I’m not interested in seeing any of them.

  There’s a reason I didn’t bother making a phone call to get bailed out. If there’s anywhere I belong even more than a seedy strip club, it’s gen pop at the Santa Clara County Jail.

  “She said you’d say that,” the beefy guard says. “She also said to tell you her name is Chloe Lennox.”

  My head shoots up and my book drops to the floor. “C-Chloe?”

  “So you gonna see her?”

  I nod and get to my feet.

  But no, it can’t be my sister. Not after all these years.

  How would she even know I was in jail? Me getting locked up can’t have made national headlines.

  I’ve convinced myself it won’t be her by the time I’m led into the visiting area. It has to be Miranda just using Chloe’s name because she guesses I won’t see her if she used her own name. I have half a mind to turn around in the last hallway the guard leads me down, I’m so sure I’m right.

  But what if…? It’s the tiniest doubt that keeps my feet moving forward. If there’s even the slimmest possibility it actually is my sister waiting for me out there, I owe it to her to show my face.

  My breaths get shorter as the guard swipes his keycard and then types in a number on a keypad to unlock a large metal door. There is a row of private booths partitioned off with glass separating inmates from visitors.

  I desperately search every face we pass as he leads me down the aisle. But it’s not until we get to the booth that’s the third from the end that I see her.

  “Chloe,” I breathe out, hardly believing my eyes.

  I tumble into the chair and then grab desperately for the phone. She already has hers up to her ear.

  “Chloe. How are you— Why—” I have a thousand questions. A thousand things I want to say but now that she’s here in front of me, I’m struck speechless.

  She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her.

  She has Mom’s heart-shaped face and her curly auburn hair looks lighter, like she’s been spending time in the sun.

  And she looks somehow… I don’t know. Grown up. Like she’s a woman and not a girl.

  But still so familiar it hurts. She still has a dusting of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She’s still the sister I teased all growing up. The sister I love more than anything in the world.

  She smiles and lifts her hand to the glass, and tears glisten in her eyes.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she says softly.

  I lift my hand to meet hers and I blink hard, fighting back my own tears.

  “I can’t stand not being able to hug you,” she says.

  “I’ll pay bail. I’ll get out, okay?” I can’t get the words out fast enough. “Tell them I’ll pay bail. Right now. Go tell them right now.”

  She nods and stands up, swiping at her eyes.

  The whole process takes a couple of hours and I’m kicking myself for not asking Chloe at least a few more questions while I had her there. Jesus, I didn’t even ask her how she is. How she’s been all these years. If she’s okay.

  She looked all right. Healthy, I mean. But maybe she was just putting on a front for my sake? Jesus, the first time she sees me in six years and I’m in fucking jail.

  I only barely stop myself from snapping in impatience at the release officer who seems to be moving at a snail’s pace in processing my paperwork to get my belongings back to me. But finally, I’m back in my own clothes and being led to the waiting area for friends and family.

  When the officer opens the door and lets me through, I see her again.

  And not just Chloe.

  Miranda is sitting with her, holding her hand as she waits.

  Of course.

  Of course it was Miranda. That stubborn woman. What did she do? Get on a plane right after I left her house to track Chloe down in Austin and let her know what a fuck up her big brother had become? I’ve only been in lock-up for a little over a day.

  But I don’t even care, I’m so grateful to see my little sister.

  I jog over to them and Chloe bounces to her feet. She throws her arms around my neck. I bury my face in her hair and hold her, lifting her up off the ground and swinging her back and forth.

  “You’re here,” I breathe into her curly hair.

  “I’m here,” she says back, laughing and crying at the same time.

  I hold her for a long time and when I finally let her down, she takes my hand. Her smile is pained now. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.” Her gaze flickers over to Miranda.

  “There’s a park not far from here. Why don’t I drive you there so the two of you can talk. In private.”

  Chloe gives an appreciative nod, reaching out and squeezing Miranda’s hand.

  There seems to be an understanding between the two of them. And seeing the woman I love and the sister I’ve always adored connecting like this? I can’t say it doesn’t affect me.

  Jesus, I thought I’d accepted my fate to live out the rest of my life as a miserable, lonely fuck. But now here they are, the two lights of my life, and I don’t know— I don’t know anything anymore.

  We walk out to the parking lot in silence, Chloe’s hand in mine. She squeezes every so often and looks up at me with a sunny smile.

  The last two days have exhausted me and I feel scraped out on the inside. Empty of all the storming emotions that had me raging at the bar and screaming in my cell the first night.

  That’s not true, though.

  I have one emotion left and it’s so overwhelming I can’t stop the tears that spring to my eyes.

  Gratitude.

  Gratitude to be here with my sister. Gratitude to Miranda for making this happen. Gratitude I didn’t do something even stupider at the bar so I was able to get out of jail with nothing more than some money and paperwork. Gratitude to be fucking alive.

  Chloe sits with me in the back seat while Miranda chauffeurs us the five minutes to a park. It’s a small green spa
ce with trees and a green lawn where some kids are playing soccer. There’s a little path through the trees that Chloe points out.

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Miranda says, pulling an e-reader out of her purse.

  I shoot her a grateful look and she just nods at me, her expression full of compassion and understanding. How can she? After how I treated her?

  I turn away. Chloe takes my hand again as soon as we’re out of the car.

  “How have you been?”

  I feel stupid as soon as I ask the question. It’s so banal. Something a stranger might ask and it feels all wrong.

  But Chloe just smiles up at me and squeezes my hand again. “Good. I’ve been good.” But then a cloud covers her features. “It was hard at first, I won’t lie. After everything that… happened. The first year especially.”

  I cringe. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

  She looks up at me. “It’s okay. Miranda explained.”

  “She did?”

  “You thought I blamed you?”

  My breath catches and we walk several paces. “How could you not? I didn’t see— Didn’t realize what was happening even though I was—”

  But she shakes her head. “Don’t you get it? He was the master manipulator. No one ever saw him for what he was.”

  “But I did.” I stop walking and look down at her. “We all saw what he did to Mom. I don’t know why I never thought he’d do it to you, too. I just—”

  But Chloe’s shaking her head violently. “I know what you thought but you were wrong. It wasn’t Dad.”

  My blood freezes in my veins at her words. “What… what do you mean?”

  Her features are tight with pain and her face is pale. “It was Darren, not Dad. For years, it was Darren who would come into my room at night and… and hurt me.”

  Oh Jesus no.

  All my equilibrium from the car is gone in an instant.

  I stagger back into a tree and Chloe moves with me. Our hands separated when I moved so suddenly but she takes mine again.

  “But I followed him,” I whisper. “That day I came in. I went through your bathroom and found Dad—”