Broken like me : A Dark College Romance, page 15
Lin and Hest both come and sit on either side of me, Lin wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him as leans in and kisses my cheek. I turn and look at Hest, he smiles and leans in, connecting his lips to mine for a quick, but gentle kiss taking my breath away as he pulls back.
I turn and look at Dav. He’s watching me closely and watching every single thing that is going on. His eyes make my heart race and I can feel myself getting wetter as I cross my legs trying to keep from making a bigger mess on my sheets. They have said that they have claimed me, and I am starting to open up to them. I know it won’t take much more before I let them claim me completely because I can already feel the claim, I am putting on them.
Each of them pleasured me the way they wanted, they are all so different in some ways, yet the same in others, which makes me dizzy and confused.
“What now boys?” I ask in an amused voice as I lift up my coffee and take a sip.
I use humor when I am uncomfortable which is like 99.9% of the time, and I have no doubt that I will be uncomfortable a lot here. They saved me last night, saved me from a guy that would have done God knows what to me, but they heard me and they came. I am so grateful that they did and I believe their words when they tell me that they will protect me. I don’t understand why they want me so badly. I'm not worth it, I’m broken, and can’t do anything right. I just can’t figure out what they see. I lower my coffee and look down at my lap, my heart sinks a little with my thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Lin asks, pulling me out of my head.
I slowly look back up and lock eyes with Dav and ask, “What happened to that guy?”
“He’s in the ground baby girl, where he belongs,” Dav confirms, taking a sip from his coffee.
“He won’t hurt you or anyone again,” Lin confesses.
“He knew better, he never should have touched you,” Hest says darkly.
I slowly nod my head as all of their words sink in. They act as if what happened last night was normal, maybe it is. I honestly don’t know what normal is anymore, they have changed that for me in the short amount of time I’ve been here.
“We go to class,” Dav states, once again pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I ask in a confused voice.
“You asked ‘what now?’… We go to class,” he says again, a small smile forming across his full lips.
I tilt my head to the side as I look him over. Man, he is fucking gorgeous, they all are. “Then?” I ask, looking back into his eyes.
“Then everyone learns that you are ours and we are yours,” they all confirm at the same time.
I nod and take another sip from my coffee, honestly, I don’t know what to say to that, and I don’t know what any of this means, but I’m assuming I’ll find out here real soon.
40
They say... they want to help, but they don't.
They only see what they want to see, and only believe what they want to believe.
4 YEARS AGO
41
Nicki
Isit back on the couch and stare out the window. One hour, one hour of sitting here then I can leave, go home and get the beating I deserve for having to come here in the first place, and then I can move on to my normal nightmare of a life. I can feel the therapist staring at me and I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s looking at all my scars. They still hurt from time to time but most of it has healed over the last year, a lot of therapy and hospital visits but it looks like I am out of the woods, at least with the burns, now I just have to live with people staring at me, asking questions, or completely ignoring me because they think I am bad.
There are a lot of people that have labeled me as bad. I am the girl your parents warn you to stay away from because they think I will influence you to do drugs or do random sexual acts with boys. They don’t know I haven’t had sex but that doesn’t matter. They don’t know I use to the dope to escape my abusive parents, but that doesn’t matter either.
The only thing that matters is that I look like a bad girl, and because they believe it to be true, it must be true. Right?
Good girls don’t get beatings, or do drugs, or do random sexual acts with boys or go to fucking therapy. Nothing about my life screams good girl but screams the very opposite actually.
“We can sit here in silence for an hour, or you can answer my question,” the therapist states in an annoyed voice.
The same voice I hear from all of my therapists, I go through therapists like most people change their fucking underwear. I inhale deeply and exhale as I turn my head and look over at the therapist. This one looks to be in her late 40’s, give or take, and she’s married as evidenced by the ring on her finger. She makes good money by the looks of the new purse on her desk and the new red-soled shoes that she makes sure the clients can see as she sits in her chair with her pad of paper and pen.
I’ve always wondered what the fuck they write on those damn pads, but they are never willing to tell me or show me when I ask, so I have stopped asking.
“Which question would you like me to answer?” I ask calmly.
It’s the same questions over and over again and she’s going to keep asking me them until I give her the answer that she wants, but that won’t happen, it never does. They don’t believe or agree with my version of the truth after they’ve read my file or have talked to my parents.
“Well tell me why you are using drugs?” She asks, looking over me.
Fucking seriously, have you not read my file at all women, for fucks sake.
“Well, I think mainly it’s because my mother and father constantly beat me, and oh yeah, my father tried to kill me by setting my tree house on fire while I was in it,” I say as calmly as I can.
It’s the same answer I gave her last week and the same one I gave her the week before last. She still thinks I am lying, but I’m not. She thinks I am not being honest with myself, but I am. I use because of the life I have been forced to live, the meth allows me to escape. It’s that simple, it’s that black and white, and there are no hidden reasons.
“That is not what the report said,” the therapist snaps at me.
I can always tell if the therapist is on my side or my parents, this one is on theirs. I am assuming it’s because my father is fucking her. That seems to be his solution to everything, fuck the women, pay off the men, to make sure he keeps power. I wonder if her husband knows about her extra activities on the side, probably not.
I find it fucking funny that she’s sitting here judging me, writing things down in her stupid ass pad as she’s the one that is fucking my father on the side. She doesn’t practice what she’s trying to teach me, so why would I fucking listen to her?
I can tell she hasn’t been through the shit I have been through so why would I listen to her?
She’s doing this because my father probably asked her, she is probably a therapist because it makes her feel better about herself, while she’s just making things fucking worse for her clients that come in here. Whenever I leave her, I don’t fucking feel better, I feel nothing.
She asks the same questions over and over again, and she thinks that she can wear me down and one day I will give into her and tell her what she wants to hear, but the truth is I can out last her, I have with all of the rest and I will with her as well. She will not get what my father is paying her for.
They want to make me feel crazy, they all want me to change my story and feed into their fucking lies but I won’t do it. I will fucking sit here and give her the same answers over and over again until she becomes the one that fucking breaks. They all break at the end. They all throw their hands in the air and walk away.
I am use to it, but I do have to say this one has lasted longer than I thought she would, so my father must be fucking her good.
“I know what the report says they refused to write what I told them; they didn’t believe me,” My stomach tightens, no one ever believes me. They believe the lies my parents tell them and they refuse to see the truth, even when it hits them right in the fucking face.
“And you believe what you are saying?” The therapist asks, looking straight into my eyes.
She’s so fucking blind, it’s sick, or maybe she just refuses to see the truth, because the lie looks better. I nod, doing my best not to roll my eyes. I hate the way therapists talk, they are so good at turning your words around and confusing the fuck out of you, and this therapist is no different.
It doesn’t matter how confused I get with her fucking words, her questions. I know the truth. I know what happened. The world might not see my parents and my father for what they are, but I see them. I see everything they hide from the world.
They have gotten so fucking good at hiding their darkness, no one sees it. The judge, the cops, the fucking therapist, all of them just think I am crazy and high because I want attention. They are fucking wrong. No one wants the kind of attention my parents give me.
“Why do you use meth?” she asks me.
She’s not going to like my answer, she never does.
“Because I like feeling nothing,” I state, looking at her.
“Maybe you are running away from the truth,” she states in a low voice.
She’s not going to fucking convince me that I am lying, because I’m not so she’s fucking my father for no reason. My father has a lot of friends, very wealthy and important friends, and because of that, everyone tries to convince me that I am fucking crazy, but I’m not.
I can’t help but laugh, “I’m fine with the truth, it’s everyone else in my life that loves the lies.”
“Nicki, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth,” she snaps back at me. What’s funny is I know for a fucking fact that she is going to break before I do, they always do.
“I am telling the truth you just don’t like my answers,” I say softly.
I watch the therapist shake her head; she takes a deep breath as she starts to write whatever the fuck she’s writing in her notepad.
“Your parents are not going to be pleased with this progress, you are going backwards Nicki,” she warns me. Yeah, no shit I am going backward, that is the only direction I am allowed to go is backward.
“They are never pleased with me, so they shouldn’t be surprised by whatever you decide to tell them.” Whatever happens is going to happen.
“They are trying to help you,” she states, looking up from her pad. What’s so sad is she actually believes that.
“Oh really?” I ask in an amused voice.
“They love you; you are safe here and with them,” she says trying to convince me, but I know it’s all a lie. I am not safe here or with them, I am not safe anywhere.
“Really? Am I safe when I go home, and my father beats the fuck out of me?” I ask, watching her closely. Does none of this affect her at all?
She just shakes her head and takes a deep breath.
I stand up from the couch.
“We are not done here,” the therapist snaps at me.
This is going nowhere, and I am not going to spend my one hour of freedom sitting here while she tries to convince me of things that aren’t true. I am not changing my answers, she will not change her questions so all we are going to do is keep going over and over in a circle. That’s going to lead nowhere.
“Yes, we are!” I snap back at her.
I turn and walk to the door, I can hear her frantically writing more things down as I open the door and walk out, slamming the door behind me. I’ll get a beating for what I’ve just done, but it’s worth the beating. I am not going to let her make me feel fucking crazy. I am not the crazy one, I am not fucking crazy.
42
Patrick Rollins
What the fuck is the point of fucking the therapist to make her help with me with my daughter if it isn’t going to work? She’s supposed to convince my daughter that what she believes about me is not true. And from what I can fucking tell she’s failing.
So, I am giving her my dick for no fucking reason. What is the point of fucking having power if you can’t use it the way you want and get what you want?
My daughter knows the truth, but luckily no one is fucking believing her. They just think she is a liar and a problem. And soon they will think she is at risk of harming herself or others. If I can’t fucking break her with the beatings and the therapist, I have to go at it from a different point of view.
People need to believe she’s crazy; they see what I want them to see. They will continue to only see what I want them to see. If they start to believe her it can fucking destroy everything. I went a little far with the fire, but if you were in my head, you would understand why I had to try to kill her. I had to try and end it before it went too far. But she fucking survived. And now I have to pay a lot of people to look the other fucking way.
I thought it would end that night, I thought the darkness was going to take my daughter and end this fucking struggle within me, but it didn’t go the way I wanted it to. Nothing seems to be going right. The more I try and control this situation, the more unhinged and wrong it becomes.
I can feel myself losing control, piece by piece, day by day.
Whatever the fuck the therapist is doing isn’t fucking working, which means no more fucking for her until she can do her damn job right. How hard can it be? This chick promised me that she can or could do what I was asking, but so far she seems to not have the ability to do what I want.
No one seems to live up to what I am asking them to do. It pisses me the fuck off that people can’t fucking deliver what they fucking promise me.
How fucking hard is it to convince a fucking little girl that she is crazy? It shouldn’t be that fucking hard. I have been able to make Nicki see most things my way and I can see that every year that foes by she believes my words more and more.
I scream and beat them into her more and more and eventually she will not know the fuck she’s feeling or thinking without me. The goal is to make her see that she is nothing without me. That what I do to her needs to be done, because she’s not living up to what she needs to be.
I need her to give into me and submit all the way, and every day that goes by I can see it in her eyes I am starting to wear her down, but it isn’t happening fast enough. She had no problem trying to tell people what happened with the tree house, she was screaming for them to listen to her, but they all turned away from her and listened to me.
Money has its benefits, paying people off is easy, everyone has a fucking price, you just have to be willing to pay it to get what you want, and I will pay whatever amount I need to, fuck whoever I need to, to make sure that this works the way I have it inside my head.
Everything I do is what my daughter need.
This is what is best for my daughter, even if she can’t see it right now.
One day she will understand all of it, and that will be a sweet fucking day, once she put all the pieces together.
Everything I do is for her, to protect her, she will see everything my way once I am able to break and mold her into what I need her to be.
This is all about me, I love her, I love her in the worst possible way, and soon I won’t be able to fucking hold back.
And now she’s fighting me the entire fucking time, she has been fighting me refusing to fucking just give into me. She drives me fucking nuts. But soon she won’t have the fucking strength to fight me. Once she is of age everything is going to fucking change, and once they change there is no going back for me or for her.
She will fucking finally see things my way. I will make her see why I had to do all of this to her. It’s for her own good. All of this is because I fucking love her.
She will understand everything once she is of age. I only need to wait a little fucking longer, then everything will change in the best fucking possible way.
43
Davien
Isit on the same couch across from the same therapist I have had since coming to Silent U, and the same thing happens. He sits there with his fucking pen and pad, and he has water and pills on the table and tries to convince me why taking them is the best thing for me, but he doesn’t know shit.
The medication would not make things better, in fact I know that they would make things worse. Make my thoughts worse, making my emotions more unhinged. The only thing they will do really is try and make me numb. I don’t need to feel numb; I need to fucking feel everything.
But this therapist doesn’t understand that none of them here understands that. They want to mask the problems; I would rather face them head-on. It has been working so far, there is no need to change what I have been doing even though all these fuckers think I need to.
“The medication will help you Davien,” the man says with confidence.
He might believe his own lies, but I don’t. I’ve tried taking the medication and I’ve tried to give them time to work, but they don’t. They make me feel like a fucking zombie and completely out of control of my actions and thoughts. I hate that feeling, the feeling of being out of control, so I don’t take them, and I use my own version of medication instead. My way has been working and his way has not, again he doesn’t know shit.
I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe you,” I tell him.
He has read my file, he knows how I feel about the medication and talking about my past, but that doesn’t fucking stop him from trying. I get it, it’s his job, but in this instance, he doesn’t know what’s best for me.
No one knows what is better for anyone else. They act like they are better, that they know what the fuck is going on inside me, but they don’t, and they never will.
“You need to learn to trust,” the man states calmly.
