Bent not Broken (128 page)

“Stop, Kate. I’m coming back for you every weekend.”

“No, listen to me. I think it would be best if we spent some time apart. I need to work on myself, and I want you to worry about other things besides me,” I say, feeling his hands grip the back of my sweatshirt a little tighter. I look up at his face to see his eyes are glossed over. This sucks.

“Kate—”

“No, just don’t. I’ll call you every day, but please, do this for yourself,” I plead. This is the hardest freaking thing I’ve ever had to do. I want Beau to come back every weekend and see me so that I never have to go a day without seeing him, but I’m not going to be selfish. My future was taken from me, and I can’t take his too.

“I’m coming back once a month,” he says, letting go of the back of my shirt. The front door of his house opens, causing us both to step back. His mom and dad are following him to Iowa City to bring his furniture so it must be time for him to leave.

He walks to the driver’s side door without taking another look in my direction. My heart falls into my stomach.

He climbs in and rolls down the window, using his index finger to motion me over to him. I hesitantly step forward, scared to death that he may say something I don’t want to hear. When I’m close enough that he can touch me, he cups my cheek in his hand. “I’ll play this game by your rules. But, Kate, remember that I can’t shut my feelings off just because you tell me to,” he says, putting his hand back on his steering wheel.

I stand back and watch him pull out of the driveway, waving as he disappears down the street with his parents following close behind. I want to crumble to the ground and bury my head in my hands, but I run into my empty house instead, not stopping until I’m face down on my bed. My body shakes as I let the tears flow for what seems like hours. For a moment, I regret telling him not to come home every weekend, but Beau can’t start moving forward with his life if he’s always looking back at me.

I stay in bed for the rest of the day, alternating between staring at the ceiling and crying. It’s the same thing I did after I left Drew Heston’s house that night. In fact, I stayed like that for days, telling my mom I had the flu. I’d always been a strong girl before, barely shedding a tear over anything, but things have really changed the last two years. I feel like I’m crying more often than not.

I often wonder what would have happened if I’d told someone what Drew did to me that night.

Drew finally stops moving, making a loud grunting sound that makes me sick to my stomach. I’m numb and broken. I feel the sweat from his forehead dripping on my back, and it disgusts me. He crawls off my body and throws my clothes at me before
walking out the door. I’m almost too scared to move, but I do it anyway. My whole body aches as I climb out of the bed and pull my underwear back up my legs.

When I see the blood smeared on the inside of my thighs, I start to cry so hard that my vision becomes blurred. It’s a reminder of what he took from me and what I can never get back. I pull my jeans on and button them before adjusting my shirt and bra. I don’t waste any time before throwing open his bedroom door and glancing down the hall. I don’t see or hear anyone around. I just have to find Morgan and get out of here before anyone else sees me.

I’m almost to the stairs when a hand wraps tightly around my arm, pulling me back until I’m pressed against a hard, strong chest. I’m afraid to turn around and see who stands behind me, so I pinch my eyes shut and wait.

“Don’t even think about telling anyone about tonight. You wanted it, and they wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

My body is shaking so much that I can’t talk. I just want to go home and try to forget tonight ever happened.

He tightens his grip on my arms, digging his fingers into my skin. “Did you hear me, Kate? No one will believe you,” he repeats. Tears are welling up in my eyes because deep down I know he’s right.

I nod, waiting for him to let me go. I hate the roughness in his voice. I hate the feel of his hands on me. I fucking hate Drew Heston.

He loosens his grip and pushes me forward causing me to stumble. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

I quickly run down the steps and out the front door into the rain, not looking back once. When I find Morgan, she’s too drunk to realize that anything is wrong. Her boyfriend drives us home as I slump down in the backseat, letting the tears fall. I feel used and dirty. Why did he choose me?

If Morgan hadn’t been drunk that night, she might have noticed how fragile I was. Would I have told her? If my mom had been home that night when I opened the door, would I have told her? If Beau had seen me that night, he would have known.

But there was no one.

Chapter 4

I’m scheduled to work today, and the distraction couldn’t be more welcome. After watching Beau drive away yesterday, my heart can’t handle another heart-breaking, soul-shattering day like that. Besides, I care about Beau too much, and I never want to see that pained look in his eyes again and know that I was the one who caused it.

I pull on my dark blue jeans and my red Bonnie’s Diner t-shirt then look at myself in the mirror. Just as I predicted, my eyes are puffy and red from almost twenty-four hours of marathon crying. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and rub some concealer under my eyes before applying foundation to the rest of my face. The last thing I want is all of my customers asking what’s wrong with me. It’s easier to act that it’s just another day.

When I’m satisfied with how I look, I grab my keys and head out the door. Without even realizing what I’m doing, I stand with my eyes fixated on Beau’s house. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Does he miss Carrington yet? Does he like his new roommate?

I can’t let myself dwell on it, though. It’s time to get in the car and face my new normal. It just sucks that my normal keeps getting more and more unpleasant. I once thought I had everything, but ever since that night I’ve been unhappy and alone. Beau has been my only exception for the past two years and now he’s gone.

I’m lost.

I really have no idea where my life goes from here. I want to say it can’t get any worse, but I’ve thought that before and there always seems to be a deeper hole to sink into. Some days I don’t even know if I can go on.

What’s the point?

When I pull into the parking lot behind the diner, I put the car in park and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. Just thinking about making it through the day alone makes it difficult to breathe. It’s like someone is constantly sitting on my chest.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to get some air in my lungs to ease the panic, but I’m struggling to gain control. Sometimes it helps to close my eyes and imagine I’m sitting on the beach looking out onto the lake, but I’m so overwhelmed I can’t even bring myself to go there today. Not having control of my emotions is like being in a speeding car without brakes, or like a vice gripping my ribs and squeezing. I feel lost and desperate, and I have no idea when this is all going to stop.

Maybe it never will.

When I’m finally able to feel my hands again, I turn off the ignition and make my way inside. I clock in and wrap my black apron around my waist. It’s just before seven and the morning crowd will be filing in soon. Our town only has two restaurants and Bonnie’s is the only one open for breakfast. It’s usually full of farmers who come in to compare harvest notes or other locals looking to avoid their own kitchens. The work is easy, and a little mundane, but that’s all I can handle right now. There are three waitresses each morning, and we each take eight tables. I prefer the tables towards the front window because people tend to chat less when they’re staring out at the passersby.

I spot my usual group of retired farmers at the table closest to the door. They love to come in right at seven in the morning and stick around until well after nine. I don’t mind them because they can go on and on about the current price of corn and don’t ask for much as long as I keep their coffee cups full. There are four of them, and they always order the same thing for breakfast every morning. I can honestly say there are some days I don’t speak one word to them for the entire two hours they’re here.

“Hey, you, I didn’t even see you come in,” my mom says, wrapping her arms around my waist. I lean my head on her shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. She’s been wearing the same kind since I can remember and it always soothes me. It brings me back to a time when everything was okay and all I had to think about was which pink dress to wear that day.

“I was running a little late, so I went straight to my tables,” I say, lifting my head to peek out to the dining room to make sure my customers are taken care of. “It’s nice and quiet today.”

“You could probably go home if you wanted to. We can handle this.” She lets go of my waist and begins brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

I ponder the idea of going home, but I know if I do I won’t be able to keep myself from feeling. I’d just lock myself in my room and cry until my eyes were swollen. At least when I’m here, I can keep my mind on something else.

“No, I’ll stay. I need the money,” I say. That’s not exactly true. I’ve been working here for almost three years and I’ve barely spent a penny.

My mom smiles at me before grabbing the full coffee pot and heading back to the dining room to serve customers. Sometimes I think she’s worried that the only reason I didn’t attend college was because I couldn’t afford it. I hate that she feels that way, but it’s easier to let her think that than it is to explain the truth.

Around ten, Ms. Carter comes in for a cinnamon roll and a cup of decaf coffee. She’s a widow in her mid-eighties. I don’t think she has any family around because she always comes in alone. She’s the chattiest of my customers, but I don’t mind because she’s the sweetest lady on earth and doesn’t pry too much into my life.

“You look tired today, Katie girl,” she says as I fill her coffee for the second time.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I reply, then quickly change the subject. “You have any plans today?”

“Just bridge club right after this. You should join us on one of your days off,” she smiles, taking a sip from her freshly filled coffee cup.

We have this same conversation almost every day. Her memory is fading, but kindness still shines through. Some days, she almost makes me smile. Almost.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Carter, but they don’t give me many days off.”

“Well, I should get going soon. I don’t want to be late, Bev Collins will take my chair and I can’t have that,” she says, laying a five dollar bill on the table.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I wave as she walks toward the door.

“Of course, dear, unless I have other plans.” She exits, taking her time getting down the cement step and onto the sidewalk. I’ve always wanted to spend more time with her and hear her story, but I’m afraid she’ll ask about mine.

I wipe down tables and make sure each one has everything it needs before the lunch crowd comes in. I’m usually able to get through breakfast just fine, but I dread lunch. It brings a different mix into the diner and it’s unpredictable.

Almost every day during the summer, kids from my high school came in and found it necessary to sit in my section just to see how miserable they could make my day. I became a joke to them just because I didn’t fit in.

I swear to God . . .

For as long as I live I will never do to others as they have done to me.

I see Morgan walk in with a group of her friends. They sit in my section, eyeing me like they know exactly what they’re doing. Morgan has been treating me differently since the incident with Drew, but I can’t blame her completely. I’ve changed so much, and she has no idea why because I didn’t tell her.

I walk toward them hesitantly, ready to take their orders and get away as fast as I can. “What can I get you guys today?” I ask, keeping my attention on the small notebook I hold in my hand.

“I’ll take a cob salad with the dressing on the side,” Abby replies. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a smile spread across her lips.

“You?” I ask, pointing my pen towards Dana.

“What’s the soup today?”

“Chicken noodle.”

“Okay, I’ll take a bowl of that and a side salad,” Dana answers, crossing her arms over her chest.

Morgan’s the last one to order. I briefly glance down at her, but the second I see her eyes staring up at me from over the menu, I focus mine back on the notebook. “And what can I get you?”

She rolls her eyes slowly, making sure the whole table sees it. “Duh, I’ll take the same thing I always get.”

“I don’t know what you always get,” I say, looking up to see Abby and Dana with smirks on their faces. I can feel my bottom lip tremble.

Two years ago, I became Kate Alexander, the loser girl who will never leave Carrington; the girl who will always work in the diner with her mother. I hate how they treat me like something less than them just because I’ve changed. I guess not being ‘just like them’ is a crime.

She starts to play with her nails, keeping her eyes off me like I’m nothing. “I want a garden salad with Italian dressing on the side.”

“I’ll be right back with your order,” I mumble as I turn my back to them.

I’m not more than two steps away when a voice behind me stops me. “Kate.” I spin on my heels to face her. “You better leave the tomatoes off my salad this time,” Morgan smiles, quickly beginning a conversation with the other girls at the table.

As I walk into the kitchen, I hear them whispering and giggling. When I hear them say my name amongst their whispers, tears prick my eyes. How can my best friend turn on me simply because I’ve changed? When I needed her the most, she wasn’t there.

I quietly deliver their food to the table and ask if they need anything else, but they just continue to talk like I don’t even exist. When Morgan decides to join in, it feels like someone stuck a knife in my heart and twisted it. I don’t like to consider myself resentful, but I always wonder what would’ve happened if she hadn’t left me that night.