Broken (The Addictive Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  BROKEN

  Copyright © 2016 by Ashley Love

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of 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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  1

  I knock excitedly on his door. I know it's kinda early in the morning, and I shouldn't be coming back to the house, this house of all places, so soon after I've been released. God, I've only been out for one day and I know this is a mistake but I just want to see him already.

  I knock again. I wait and wait and he doesn't answer the door. His truck is in the driveway. Maybe one of the boys came to pick him up. But it's a little early for him to be out on a run already. I've been trying to call all morning and he hasn't answered his phone and normally I would just leave him the fuck alone but something inside that I can't shake is telling me that I need to come see him.

  I try to call his phone one more time. Nothing.

  I knock once more, my heel tapping against the concrete walkway impatiently. I know after the fight just a few days ago he probably doesn't want to see me, but I need to talk to him to make sure he's okay because I don't think he is. I know him well enough to know that something's wrong. I have to see him.

  If he would just answer the fucking door.

  After a few minutes I turn the knob, expecting it to be locked, and my eyes widen a little in surprise when I feel that it isn't. Lex always locks the door. I start to get a little nervous.

  I push the door open slowly. No lights are on in the house and there is an eerie silence despite the fact that the TV is playing in the living room. Walking Dead reruns.

  "Lex," I call out softly, cautiously, as I push the door closed and lock it. I step slowly through the house, surveying the room carefully, thoroughly, half-expecting to see him passed out asleep on the couch or something. But he's nowhere in sight.

  "Lex!" I call a little louder, peering down the hall toward his bedroom. The door is standing wide open. Paranoia takes over me and I find myself stepping faster down the hall, more desperate in my search for him. An unnerving feeling consumes me. "Lex, are you in here?" Maybe he's in the shower.

  But I don't hear the shower running as I step into the bedroom. The door to his adjoining bathroom is open just barely, soft light escaping through the crack in the door. I push it open and the sight before me immediately sends me to my knees with my hands over my mouth as I choke out a sob in terror. I'm paralyzed, literally pulled down to the floor like a fucking iron flake to a magnet.

  No, no, this can't be happening.

  He's not moving.

  Sitting on the floor, long legs sprawled haphazardly before him, his head is back against the bathtub, eyes closed. His face is drenched in blood from the nose down, spreading deep red across his lips and down his chin and neck, soaking into the neckband of his gray T-shirt. The small square mirror he uses to snort lines is broken into three pieces on the floor, his razor and straw sitting close by. He must of dropped it.

  Two blood-stained syringes rest empty at his feet, his arm boasting a track fit for an Olympic runner and there's blood on his fingers and vomit in the bathtub. It's a fucking scene straight out of CSI. You only see shit like this on movies and TV.

  Overdose.

  The word snaps me back into the present suddenly, my dread-stricken mind previously trapped in some other realm of the universe. Am I dreaming? Is this some fucked up nightmare?

  "Lex!!" I scream out his name through my sobs, crawling across the floor toward his limp form. I fist his shirt in my hands while I climb onto his lap, shaking him violently as I feel the fear rising in me. A sanity-consuming fear. Fear like I've never felt before.

  I grab his face. I shake him. I pull his eyelids open with my fingers. I scream and cry and cry and...fuck...he has to wake up. He has to wake up.

  I put my hands over his chest and his heart is racing. I can't even count the beats. His chest barely rises and falls, his breathing slowed almost to a stop.

  But he's...alive.

  Heartbeat.

  He's alive.

  Frantically I grab for his shoulders, leaning his body up toward me and his head rolls around, swinging down heavy on his loose neck. I hold his face, tilting it up and goddammit, I need to pull myself together and stop crying. I always thought I'd know what to do in an emergency situation, but this sure as hell isn't an emergency. This is a fucking crisis.

  "Lex...look at me! Wake up! God, please wake up! Lex!" I shout over and over desperately, shaking him, patting the side of his face with my fingers. I pray. I fucking pray and I bargain with God and the devil and whoever will listen.

  He blinks slowly, his eyes rolling back and closing again before finally opening and seeming to focus on my face. Bloodshot veins tear unapologetically through the whites of his eyes, the black of his dilated pupils almost consuming the entire expanse of the blue colored rings.

  "Oh my God," I sigh, breathing out my pent up trepidation, stroking his hair with a trembling hand.

  His eyes dart around in a panic and his face flushes red and I feel the heat instantly under my hands as it rises in his cheeks. With a sudden gasp his breathing hitches and he's panting, eyes widening in fear as his body spasms underneath me, convulsing.

  "Shh...shh, it's okay. It's okay," I soothe him softy, stroking his face, trying to calm him as his face twists in pain from the contractions of muscle cramps in his body.

  A light sheen of sweat appears quickly on his forehead as his body temperature rises and his tremors continue. "Am I dead?" he croaks out as his head falls back against the tub, and I don't know how it's humanly possible to laugh and sob at the same time, but I do.

  "No...no, you're not dead."

  "I knew I was gonna die...I was dying...I was supposed to die...I don't wanna die." He's rambling in a delusion through his heavy breaths. "I don't wanna die!" he shrieks, sobs suddenly wracking his body, tears sliding down the sides of his face and disappearing into his hairline as he leans back against the tub.

  "Lex, you're not gonna die. You're gonna be okay. Shh...calm down, baby." I take his face in my hands again, pulling his head up straight so he can look at me, tears in both of our eyes.

  "How did you get here? How did you know? How did you know to come save me?" he whispers, wetness still slipping freely down his face.

  "I didn't know," I sob harder. But maybe something inside of me did know. Maybe I was sent here. "I need to call someone...an ambulance? You need to go to the hospital."

  "No! No, please. I'm okay...just stay," he pants, and part of me knows I can't really call an ambulance. Not without the cops showing up, who would have a fucking field day in his house and Le
x would never see the outside of prison gates for who knows how long.

  "How long have you been like this?" I sniffle, trying to push my tears back down, but I choke a little.

  "Since last night I think...I just blacked out, I don't remember," he croaks, and the words push out another hiccupped sob from my throat.

  "God, Lex." I touch my forehead to his and try to regain my composure as his tears slow to a stop, his breathing descending to a normal pace, but he grabs for me as I start to stand up.

  "Don't leave me!" he gasps, his eyes widening, and he starts to breathe hard again but I shush him right away.

  "I'm right here." I stand slowly and take two steps toward the sink, never taking my eyes off of him.

  Once his body relaxes again I turn and grab a cloth, twisting the knob on the faucet to let the water run until it's warm before dipping the rag in to wet it thoroughly. I squeeze out most of the excess water with one hand while I turn off the faucet with the other. He sighs as I settle back onto his lap and press the wet cloth to his face, watching it mop up the blood that has started to dry underneath his nose and down his chin.

  "Shit, your nose bled so fucking bad," I mutter softly as I wipe gently at his face, not even wanting to imagine how much blow he had to have snorted right here in this bathroom, doing line after line until his nose poured red down his face. That's not the Lex I knew, and I don't know what happened to make him binge like this, but I know it had to be bad.

  I slowly bathe the skin of his face and neck until it's clean, concentrating on the task at hand, but I can feel his eyes watching me intently the entire time. I keep my focus down on my hands attending to the mess he made of himself until I feel his own hand press softly against my cheek, cupping it in his palm. I raise my eyes to his and I can't really describe the look that's there, but it's beautiful, it's honest, and even through this thick drug-induced haze that he's trapped himself in, I think it's the closest he's ever come to really looking at me with love in his eyes.

  "How do you always find me when I need you the most? Why do you always save me?" he asks softly. His pupils have constricted a little and the blue of his eyes shines up at me, still glassy from his tears as he blinks slowly.

  I smile as I reach up to cover his hand with mine, pulling it down from my face and holding it against my stomach, lacing his fingers with my own.

  "Cause I'm your girl." I nod slowly, blinking back my tears and swallowing the lump in my throat. I release his hand, standing up slowly, tossing the blood-stained washcloth in the sink before leaning back over him, resting my hands on his shoulders. "Can you get up?"

  He pants a little, squirming, thinking of getting up rather than actually doing it. "I don't know. It fucking hurts all over." He sighs, knitting his brows in discomfort as he continues to shift his weight around but makes no more progress toward standing.

  I reach down and hook my arms under his shoulders. He grabs at my upper arms, wincing as he shifts and tries to pull his legs underneath him.

  "C'mon, there you go," I coax him, pulling up on him until he's standing on shaky legs, panting as he takes step after wobbly step out of the bathroom and toward the bed, my hands on his waist guiding him. He sits finally, letting his head tip back with a sigh of exhaustion. "Arms up. Let me get this gross thing off of you." I tug at the hem of his blood-stained T-shirt and he grimaces a bit in discomfort as he raises his arms, allowing me to peel the thin fabric over his head, damp from sweat and tears and blood. I toss it back into the open door of the bathroom.

  He lays down painfully, hissing as his sore body twists, groaning out a "Fuck..." before finally resting his head on the pillow with a sigh of relief.

  I reach out from the bedside and touch his arm with a shaky hand, stroking it gently from his shoulder to his elbow. "What happened, Lex? Why'd you do this?"

  "I just...fuck, I wanted everything to go away." He winces again in pain and moves a hand to rub his temple.

  I touch his forehead and feel the heat under my fingertips. "Don't move, I'll be back."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Kitchen. Hold on," I answer simply as I quickly exit the bedroom before reappearing again with two Tylenol and a glass of water. "Here...this should bring that fever down, and help with the pain."

  He pushes himself up with one hand to take the pills and water before laying back down and cutting his eyes over to me. "Shit, I still cant believe you're here...you're clean now, huh?" He almost seems to scowl a bit at the thought and I can't help but feel a little hurt by his reaction.

  "Yeah, I got out yesterday. I wanted you to come over and see me, but I couldn't get a hold of you...so I came here. And I found you like this..." My face falls, my voice weakening as the scene replays in my head like a bad dream, haunting me, and I can't shake it. He was...he could've been...

  "Shit happens, Leala.” He silences the thoughts in my head, turning his head to look at me, and I snap my eyes to his in minor astonishment.

  "Shit happens?" I had expected maybe an apology or an explanation, but not that. I almost gawk at him, completely taken back by his inconsideration. I could've left him there...he could've... "Tell me what happened, Lex," I speak again before my mind wanders too far.

  His focus shifts to the ceiling as his head lolls back and his answer is curt and dry. "You were here, you know what happened."

  Again, not the response I expected, but I have to remind myself of who I'm dealing with here. Sometimes I get caught up and I forget about the asshole-ish tendencies he possesses. Well, I don't forget, but I spend too much energy trying to will them away.

  "You know that's not what I mean, Lex. Tell me what happened to make you do this." I'm getting frustrated with him. I try and be understanding and open, practically begging him to be vulnerable for me, to just open up, because its damn near impossible for him unless we're having a screaming match, but he shuts me down like this. He does it too often, and I find myself debating more frequently than not why I stick around and put up with it.

  "Damon...he showed up here. I took him home and my parents got all over my ass, and you know how shit is with them, and it just...it just sucks, okay?" He shakes his head, still not looking at me, adding the last part angrily.

  "What sucks?" I ask, wanting to clarify. He still seems a bit disoriented and rambling.

  "My fucking life!" he roars, snapping his gaze to me with stone cold eyes and I jump a little. "Goddammit, what's with you and the questions and shit? You never used to be like this."

  "I just...I don't know how to act around you right now when you're being like this." I shake my head at him in disbelief. One second we're in the bathroom and he's crying and begging me not to leave and looking at me like...

  Well, I don't know what that look in his eyes was exactly, but it's a far cry from the rage I'm being met with right now.

  "What the fuck does that mean? It's me, I'm the same fucking person." He pokes his chest with an index finger repeatedly for emphasis, furrowing his brow at me.

  My response is simple, and I see the fleeting glimpse of hurt in his eyes when I say it. "Well, I'm not."

  He waits a beat before responding. "Yeah, I fucking noticed."

  And I snap.

  "And you're not either, you asshole! The old Lex never would have done this, pulled this shit you pulled today. What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

  From the look on his face I know my words sting. Surely he's not so out of touch with himself that he doesn't know he's out of control. He normally goes to any lengths to seem like he has everything together, that he can handle himself, that he doesn't need help from anyone. But lately he's just seemed like he's giving up. He doesn't even care anymore.

  "Don't fucking stand here and tell me who I am! There's no old and new, Leala. We are who we fucking are," he retorts, and I know that this is why him getting clean is going to be the battle of the century. He doesn't want to change. He doesn't think he can change.

&n
bsp; Or maybe he's just afraid to.

  "So I guess me being away for three months was all for nothing? I'm just the same sad little girl I was when I went in there?" Despite how hard I try to steel myself to his arguments, I can't hide the hurt in my voice, and I hear him breathe a frustrated sigh when I cast my eyes away from him. He can be a real asshole most of the time, but he doesn't like to see me hurting, especially from something he says or does.

  "I didn't mean it like that. Goddammit, Leala." He sits up with a grunt, his face twisting in pain as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge. He reaches for my hand, tugging me gently until I trudge a few short steps to stand between his knees and he reaches up to hold my shoulders in his large hands, running them smoothly down my arms. He looks up at me with soft eyes and a voice to match. "Will you stay with me?"

  I groan, every fiber in my body willing me to cry out and tell him yes a million times because that's what I always want to do when he has a glimmer of vulnerability like this, which is rare, if ever. I want to be with him when he's like this, I can see myself with him when he's like this, but I know it's not smart. I know it doesn't last. It won't last until he gets in touch with himself, until he gets help.

  "Lex, I can't be in this house." I run a hand over my face, my posture stiffening uncomfortably because getting back into the using environment is almost a guaranteed one way ticket to relapse, and I worked too hard to give in this easily. I can't live here, I can't stay here anymore.

  "Just fucking stay, Leala. You practically lived here before. I almost fucking die and you can't stay here for a few fucking hours?!" The anger in his voice is returning, but I know he's not trying to hurt me, he's trying to make me feel guilty, make me feel sorry for him so I'll stay.

  I roll my eyes. "Oh yeah, use that shit against me now."

  "Well shit, I saw you maybe three times in the past three months."

  Again, just another line to get what he wants.

  "And whose fault was that?" I ask, voice unwavering, giving him a challenging look, and fire ignites behind his eyes.

  "That's so fucked up. I didn't think you would be like this." He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at me, eyeing me like I'm some stranger, someone he doesn't know. Maybe he doesn't know me anymore.