Damaged But Not Broken (New Adult Rockers) (2 page)

I dress in a sundress that Blake
loves, and go into the kitchen to pour us two Cokes. It isn’t long before I
hear Blake’s knock at the door.

“Hi!” I cry, throwing myself into
his arms.

It’s only been a few hours but I
missed him like crazy.

Blake follows me into the kitchen
and we sit on two stools as we drink our Cokes. I’m feeling shy all of a
sudden; Blake and I have only made love a few times – it’s hard to find time
alone. Plus, we waited until I had visited Planned Parenthood and got birth
control pills. Just to be safe.

As we quietly sip our Cokes, I
think of the last few summers that I had spent in Nashville. Every year when I
returned, Daddy had done more work to the house, making it nicer and more
lavish. And there were always new presents to make up for the divorce.

And then there was Blake. Getting
taller and more handsome each summer, but still looking boyish in his own
special way. Sometimes I get all freaked out and start worrying about what will
happen when we go to college, but then I have to tell myself to stop acting
like a nut job.

Blake drains his Coke and looks at
me, his eyes hooded in that kind of way that lets me know he's in the mood.

“Let’s go back to your room,” he
husks.

I nod silently, and take his hand
as we walk back to my room.

I quietly shut the door and turn
off the lights.

It's dusk outside which gives off
just enough light that we can see, but not so much that I’m self-conscious.
Very gently, Blake pulls me towards him, and slowly, slowly he pulls down each
of the straps on my sundress.

I sigh and lean in towards him.

~~~

I nestle closer to Blake, inhaling
his woodsy scent mingled with sweat. I smile against his neck and then I
realize that I’m lying next to him in my bed and it’s dark.

“Crap!” I whisper, sitting up. I
check the clock by my bed and see that it’s almost ten-thirty.

“Blake!” I say loudly, shaking him.
“You have to go. I’m not sure when my dad will be back.”

“Huh?” he asks groggily.

“Wake up! You have to go!”

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and
confused. I jump out of bed, pulling the blanket with me and flip the light
switch on. This seems to wake him up, and he quickly jumps out of bed and
starts pulling his jeans back on. While his back is turned, I quickly yank my
sundress over my head.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he
apologizes.

“Me either. Sorry to have to kick
you out. My dad would freak if he found you here.”

“S’okay.”

We hurry down the hallway and I’m
relieved to see my dad’s car is still gone and Billy and Riff’s pieces of junk
still parked out front.

I walk Blake outside to where he
stowed his bike. I give him a long kiss, pulling him towards me, because I
can’t get enough of him.

“I love you Paige.” He says.

“I love you, too.”

I watch Blake get on his bike and
pedal away, his hair ruffling in the wind.

For some reason, I feel a pang of
sadness and longing that I don’t quite understand.

I go back inside the house,
flicking on lights as I go, and start to clean up the kitchen. I rinse out our
two Coke cans and toss them in the trash and then rinse out and dry the two
glasses. I don’t think my dad would ask any questions, but I don’t take the
risk. Once I dry the glasses, I stow them away in the cupboard.

I’m too keyed up to go back to bed
and I’m feeling awake from my late nap. I go into the den and flip on the
gigantic TV my dad bought at some point during the year. Another purchase he proudly
showed off to me, trying to convince me that summers in Nashville were great.

Summers in Nashville
were
great. But not because of my dad's toys.

I watch a couple reruns of the Real
World and just as an episode is ending, I hear my dad’s car squeal into the
driveway. I sigh, I know he’s drunk. Sometimes I take care of him by helping
take his shoes off and making sure he finds his bed. I don’t really want to see
Billy or Riff though, so I turn off the TV and start turning off lights.

Then the door slams open.

“Paige!” my dad slurs, and I hear
Billy and Riff laughing behind him.

Crap.

“Hi Daddy. I’m just going to bed,”
I say pointedly.

“Hey Paige,” Billy leers. “You got
bigger.”

“Look at my little girl,” my dad
crows drunkenly, “she’s all grown up.”

I don’t like the way Billy and Riff
are staring at me.

“I’m going to bed,” I repeat,
walking towards the hallway.

“We’re going to have a pool party,”
my dad chuckles, “Come swim!”

“Daddy, I don’t think that’s a good
idea. I think you should go to bed.”

My dad gives me a lazy grin, his
eyes half shut. I wonder how the heck he drove home. He pulls open the sliding
door to the back yard and just before I’m about to go after him, he collapses
into a lawn chair. I wait a few seconds, and then it becomes clear that he’s
passed out.

Great.

Billy and Riff look around the
kitchen and then look at me.

“You are all grow’d up and so dang
pretty,” Billy says, his voice gruff.

“Good night,” I say curtly and turn
away.

“Paige, wait,” Riff slurs. “Come
have a drink with us.”

“I’m fifteen. No thank you.”

“Hey, hey, hey. That’s no way to
act. We’re you’re guests and you should entertain us.” Billy is getting belligerent
now.

My heart is pounding, and I turn
quickly and start down the hall towards my bedroom. I want to get into my room
and lock the door.

“Not so fast!”

I shriek as I feel Billy’s rough
hand on my wrist.

“Let go!” I scream.

“Feisty,” he murmurs. He’s close
enough that I can smell the stench of beer seeping from his pores. I gag.

Billy starts dragging me towards
the living room and I kick him in the shins, but he’s too strong. He nods to
Riff who quietly pulls the sliding glass door shut.

“Now be a good little girl and stay
quiet,” Billy says.

“Fuck you!” I spit, which only
angers Billy as he tosses me onto the couch.

“Daddy!” I scream, “Daddy!”

But the slider is closed and he’s
passed out cold.

“Stop!” I shriek, kicking and
fighting as Billy climbs on top of me and holds my arms down over my head.

“Christ, Riff. Hold her down for
fuck’s sake.”

“No!” I scream again, my heart
pounding as I try to fight the two men but they’re too big for me.

Terror seizes me; real, cold terror
that I’ve never known before. This will not end well. I am completely and
utterly helpless.

I don’t give up; I still fight and
kick the best I can, I continue screaming but my voice goes hoarse quickly.

The next half hour is a blur of
words, sounds and pain.

The sound of Billy’s fly unzipping,
the metal teeth dragging.

Riff’s deep chuckle.

Billy’s gasp of pleasure as he
invades me.

My choked cries of pain and utter
despair.

Billy’s thick voice moaning, “Oh
fuck, she’s already wet.”

My wrists aching from Riff’s
vice-like grip.

Then shuffling and more holding
down as Riff repeats the process and Billy restrains me.

They leave me there on the couch,
my sundress torn and bruises blooming across my skin.

My dignity, self-respect, and naive
innocence gone.

I’m not sure how long I lay on the
couch, but when I finally sit up I notice that my dad is still passed out on
the chair outside.

Overwhelming hate and rage well up
inside me.

He was there the whole time. He was
supposed to protect me. I never want to lay eyes on him again.

I begin sobbing uncontrollably and
run blindly into my room, the area between my legs throbbing with pain. I find
a sweater to throw over my torn dress, grab my purse and stuff my cell phone
and two fifty-dollar bills from my cash box inside.

Staggering, I rush out to the
garage and get on my bike. It’s only a ten-minute bike ride to the train
station and somehow I make it even though I’m crying the whole way, barely able
to see past my tears.

I have to sit in the station until
nearly five am to get a bus to Bristol. It's the longest five hours of my
entire life.

As I leave the Nashville city
limits, I vow that I’m never coming back to this fucked up place.

TWO

Paige

Present Day

I’ve lost track of time again, and
my momma’s pounding on my door reminds me that I need to wear a watch.

“Coming!” I yell.

I place my guitar gently back in
its case and snap it shut. I hurry to my door, and unlock the three locks,
chain and deadbolt. The landlord just loved me when I had him put all these
locks on my door, but he didn’t complain after I explained the cause of my
paranoia - and handed him a Benjamin for his trouble.

My momma stands in the hallway,
beautiful as ever, smiling at me as she patiently waits for me to undo the
chain.

“Hi sweetie,” she says, kissing me on
the cheek and sweeping in to my apartment. I close the door behind her and
fasten all the locks again. When I turn back around my momma is already in the
kitchen, placing containers in my fridge.

“Mom,” I groan, “You don’t have to
keep bringing me food. I’m twenty-eight you know. I can cook well enough.”

My mom raises an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe not a soufflé ,"
I admit, "but I can cook. I can survive.”

My momma leans into the fridge and pulls
out a white Chinese food carton, and a foil takeout container.

“You can’t just live on take out,
honey. You need real food. And I didn’t make all of this. Grandma made some
too.” She says, with a concerned look.

Grandma, my momma’s momma, is
seventy-seven and just as sharp and witty as ever. I can just picture her bustling
around her kitchen, cooking for her poor single granddaughter who still hasn’t
learned to navigate a stove properly.

“I bet Grandma loved that,” I
mutter.

“Oh, she did,” my mom says
cheerfully. “She even threw in some recipe cards.”

I roll my eyes. Of course she did.

“Paige, did you forget I was coming
over?” My momma’s observant eyes rove over my messy hair, t-shirt and sweats.

“No. I just lost track of time."
I admit. "I was playing music.”

My mom sighs; the kind of sigh like
she doesn’t know what to do with me.

My entire family is baffled by my current
lifestyle. I went to college for business, but once I got a job in my field, I
realized it wasn’t for me. So I went back to my true love - music, and I’ve
been trying to find a way to make a career out of it for the past five years.

I pieced together a few odd jobs –
waiting tables two nights a week, singing two nights a week in a bar, teaching
guitar lessons to children and working three mornings in a coffee shop. It
wasn’t the best-case scenario but I was able to pay my bills.

Barely.

“Honey, I just wish you could get a
break. I know you’re talented, but you’re wasting away here in Bristol.”

I give my mom a pointed look and I
can’t hide the hardness in my voice. “I’m not going anywhere else to pursue
music.”

“I love having you nearby, but
what’s left for you in Bristol? You play the local places. Why not go to New
York then?”

“No one wants country music in New
York!” I say, throwing my hands up in the air.

“That’s right. People want country
music in Nashville. A mere three hours from here.”

“Don’t go there, Mom,” I warn.

If anyone knows that I’ll never
return to Nashville again, it's my momma. I don't know why she insists on
stirring the pot.

“Honey,” my mom says in that kind
of voice that makes me want to cry. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but
it was thirteen years ago. You need to put the past behind you. If this is your
true dream, then you need to follow it and face your fears in Nashville.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, feeling my
eyes well up with tears.

“Just think about it,” she says,
patting my back.

I know she’s not saying the rest. I
know my father would help me if I asked. All I have to do is say the word and
he would put me in touch with the biggest people in the business. He would fall
all over himself trying to help me now.

I would probably be a sensation
overnight...That's how desperate he is to have me back in his life.

But my momma knows better, she
still harbors hatred towards him too. She's only kept in touch with my father
infrequently at best.

My momma and I spend the rest of
her visit cleaning out my closet; she was always good at those kinds of things.
After she leaves, I can't help but think about what she said about my music
career. The truth is, she's usually right.

I haven’t been back to Nashville
since
that
summer when I was fifteen. I stopped speaking to all my old
friends, and they eventually gave up on me. I try to block out any memory of
that town the best I can.

Well, actually, I went back once the
year after
it
happened because I had to testify in court against my
attackers. But I don’t consider that a real visit back, I literally stayed in a
hotel in the suburbs and only left the room to appear in court.  

That was also the last time I spoke
to my father, if you consider it speaking. It was more business-like and in the
presence of a lawyer as I had to rehash every awful, terrible detail of what
those two monsters did to me.

I can’t ever forgive my father and
he knows that, whether I’ve spoken the words  out loud or not. I heard his
drinking had gotten worse afterwards, but a small part of me feels smugly
satisfied – that’s what he deserves after he left me on my own that night.