Too Broken To Love

Jess ~14 Years Old

The sun was warm as it hit my cheeks. The smell of the breeze was fresh and beautiful as it swirled strands of hair around my face. I shut my eyes to take a deep breath, feeling the warm summer air go all the way to my soul.

This here, right now, was peace. Calm. Life.

I'm such a lucky girl.

But I also know this is the calm before the storm.

Tonight, my parents are allowing me to go to my first party. I'm very mature and responsible for my age and almost a year older than most of my friends, but the real reason is the fact that the party is for my best friend's older sister. My parents know her parents, so they know it's going to be a calm, safe environment.

But I don't care, I feel so grown up!

My best friend Lana is coming here in an hour to get ready. She wanted to get ready here so we can make a grand entrance at the party. But I know when she gets here, she will be like a tornado.

She is probably planning on going all sexy Barbie makeover on me. When she starts, I find it hard to stop her. But I know my parents won't let me out of here in anything that isn't age appropriate.

My parents have never been very strict. All of my friends love coming over and hanging out because they are both so cool. They even let my guy friends hang out around the pool all the time with all of us girls. They say they trust my judgement, so they have nothing to worry about.

My mom has even started telling me more about boys and how boys and girls are very different. That girls want romance and boys just want sex, but it isn't always the boy's fault because their hormones are controlling their brains. I think that is hilarious. It is an exciting time for Mom and me, passing wisdom down from one generation to another.

My mom is an amazing woman, and I want to be just like her when I grow up. She and Dad couldn't have any more children after me, and my mom never had any siblings. Both of my mom's parents worked long hours, so she was left to look after herself a lot. She hated being alone and knew she never wanted that for her own child. I know she feels guilt over not being able to give me a brother or sister, but it doesn't bother me because I have her.

She is more than a mom to me; she is like a sister and best friend all rolled into one, and she is always telling me I am more than a daughter to her. She treats me like I'm an equal, and we share all of our secrets with each other. She crawls into bed with me every night before I go to sleep, and we talk about our day, telling each other everything.

She even told me about falling in love with my dad. That she didn't like him at first. She thought he was too overconfident, but her heart made it clear to her that he was the one. When she stopped fighting it, she realized her heart was right, and they haven't looked back.

She is always telling me I can achieve anything I want to in life and that all it takes is hard work. But she also tells me that it doesn't matter to her and Dad what I do in life as long as I'm happy. I could be a busker on the street, and if that's what makes me happy, then they'll support me. She tells me constantly I'm going to be a wonderful and important woman one day when I'm older. I will just be happy to turn out like her.

This is the journey I am about to take. Childhood to adulthood. It will take years, but what an exciting time ahead. A time to make mistakes and learn from them. The joys and the heartbreaks. I'm already interested in boys, so Mum's sure I'll have many heartbreaks ahead of me. But I'm lucky that I have such great parents that will be here to help pick up the pieces of my young, romantic heart.

I can hear the phone ringing in the house and assume it is just Lana calling to say she wants to come over earlier. But when she gets here, I know my peace will be over. She will be jumping around like a little pocket rocket. When she is excited about something, she can't sit still.

But I am enjoying this quiet time by the pool too much for it to end yet, so I just let the phone ring out. Then it starts ringing again. God, she is persistent. She will be here in an hour anyway, so I let it ring out again. By the time it rings a third time, I think I better get my arse up in case it is someone else.

As I'm running through the kitchen, my dad enters and reaches for the phone too, but it stops ringing. Have you been enjoying the sun too much to answer the phone, kiddo? I could hear it ringing from the front door.

Dad, it's just Lana wanting to come over earlier, so I wasn't in any hurry.

But how do you know it's her?

"I'm just so clever I know everything," I say as I grab a glass and pour some orange juice.

It rings again, and Dad answers it with a cheeky grin. Okay, Lana, are you stalking my daughter again? he says with a mock stern voice. Then his smile drops, and all the color drains from his face in an instant. He starts to tremble, and it looks like he is about to fall down. He is looking at the ground, nodding slowly. But when he lifts his head and his eyes meet mine, I can see the silent tears falling down his cheeks.

Oh kiddo, I'm so sorry, he chokes out as he drops the phone and reaches for me.

I know … I just know. I can sense it. I know she is gone.

The orange juice drops from my hand, and glass shatters on the kitchen tiles. I can't even hear what else my dad is saying to me. It is like an out-of-body experience. I am here, but I'm not. It is like I am suddenly a spectator watching my own life play out in front of me.

I knew a storm was coming. I just didn't know that this is what it would bring.

Dad and I stumble to the ground. He rocks me back and forth, but I can't feel it. I can see the tears dropping from his chin, but I can't feel them when they hit my cheek. I can see his lips moving, but I can't hear the words that are coming out.

I feel my chest rise and fall with each breath I take, but I have an overwhelming feeling I am choking. I feel like I am being strangled from the inside out. It feels like an evil presence is squeezing my heart with super-human strength before ripping it out of my chest.

I know for certain that life as I know it has come to an end. My mom is the one that has died, but I feel like the life has been taken out of me too. My heart is somehow still beating hard in my chest, but it sounds hollow. Like it is beating against its will.

She was my best friend. She was my world. She was my mom.

And now, without her, I feel like I am nothing, I am nobody.

I am broken.

Chapter One

Jess ~ Six Years Later

Sometimes I like the sunshine, and I will it to rise as soon as possible.

During the dark, cloudy nightmares that ravage my body in the middle of the night, I become desperate for the sun to rise and take away the sweaty fear that grips me so hard in the dark, hoping that with the light of a new day, the darkness will begin to fade.

But other days, I hate the sunshine. It can become a stark reminder that I have to go through the motions of another day to once again reach the darkness of the night and what awaits me when I eventually close my eyes.

I wasn't there when my mom's life was taken, but my imagination has created its own version of events and takes joy in haunting me with it almost nightly. Sometimes, it's just a picture of her grief-stricken face as she realizes what's about to happen. Other times, it's the sounds of her screams as the truck plows into her car.

Some sunrises are worse than others. Like today.

Arrrg. I hate today.

Actually, I hate every day.

Things seem to be getting worse for me. Last night was not a good night. My head feels like it's still swimming in dark clouds. Sometimes it's hard to even put a coherent thought together, let alone a sentence. Luckily I don't speak to many people. I hate talking to myself, so why would I want to inflict that on anybody else?

God knows how I'm getting my school assignments done. My brain just seems to always be working on autopilot. I enjoy college; it's the only distraction I really have. It's the only thing that keeps me functioning. It's the only reason I get out of bed.

What is it everybody says? Time heals all wounds, or with time, it will get better. Well, I say, Fuck time. The people who came up with those quotes don't know what they're talking about. It's been years, and I still can't seem to find a way to cope with my mother's absence in my life. I feel like I'm eternally stuck at the age of fourteen, unable to move forward. My mother meant the world to me. Neither one of us made a decision without talking to the other first. Dad would often joke that he was the third person in his marriage, and we were so alike that sometimes he called us the terrible twins.

But I must admit, some days are better than others, but after all this time, I was hoping life would feel a little more normal. Or I would at least feel a little more normal in myself.

But no! There is no such thing as normal for me now. I was always a good girl and nice to everyone, always making sure I helped people when they needed it. I was never selfish or spoiled. So why did God punish me by taking away my mom? What did I do that was so wrong that my life had to be torn apart?

I needed to move far away from all my old memories, so I chose to move to New York. It was supposed to ease the pain, make me forget the day my family became no more, but that is yet to happen.

Sometimes, I feel closer to the pain than when it actually happened. In those bad moments, I close my eyes, and it feels like it's actually happening again.

I can smell the warm summer day and taste the orange juice I was drinking. I can hear the glass shattering as it hits the ground. My dad is trembling, and I can see his tears dropping from his face.

Reliving it constantly makes me want to SCREAM!

So I do just that!

I turn my music up in my apartment and just scream as loud as I can. Letting everything out, letting everything go, letting everything drown away. Sometimes I scream so loud and for so long my throat becomes painful, and I lose my voice for the rest of the day.

None of my neighbors hear or complain about the loud music, or they just choose to ignore it. None of them even know my name. They probably just think of me as that loner who lives in Apartment 105.

I like it that way. It's easier.

I've made a point of not letting anyone get to know me. I don't need anybody to get to know me, or care about me, or love me. To open myself up to love is to open myself to pain, and I've experienced enough pain to last a lifetime. I will not feel pain again!

I'm happy being alone. There’s no one to worry about, and no one worries about me. I can come and go when I please and do whatever I want, when I want. I wouldn't change a thing. My only focus is to finish college. If I can just achieve that, then maybe I can move forward.

I'm good at hiding my real self from the rest of the world. Looking at me from the outside, no one would really know the daily struggle I contend with to just stay together. I go to school and keep to myself, except maybe the occasional small talk during class projects or a discussion with a teacher, but I always maintain my fake stance of chin up and shoulders back, a slight smile on my face.

Then I go to work and plaster on that fake smile again while concentrating on my tall posture when I walk around, showing off my fake confidence; I only talk to be polite to my customers. I even change my smile to a false, flirty one if I think it will help to increase my tips for the night.

And outside of school and work, I just study a lot. Alone.

That's it. That's my life. No one but me in it.

But in the dark of the night, when I'm shuddering in the grips of another nightmare with sweat on my brow, taking fast, shallow breaths, I sometimes have a brief feeling that it would be nice to have someone to help soothe my pain. To have someone to hold me, to comfort me, and … NO! I don't dwell on those fleeting feelings. I'm better off alone.

Besides, who would desire me? Who could possibly want to share a life with me? I'm shattered beyond repair.

Tragedy has defined my life.

I'm not whole.

I'm not complete.

I will always be broken.

Chapter Two

Jess

No, no, no, that can't be right. That can't be all that's left! I yell as I look down to the coins I hold in my hand after paying all but one of my bills. I still have to pay my monthly college tuition fee and rent by the start of next week. Even if I received great tips from work all week, it still might not cover my two largest expenses without giving up my weekly grocery trip. Free fruit at the college gym all week it is, then. Even then, I know I will be cutting it close.

I am used to living on a tight budget. That's what I've been doing for the past year since I moved away from home after my high school graduation, much to the distress of my dad.

Ah, my poor dad.

I could see the pain in his eyes as I looked in the rear-view mirror of my friend's car as she drove me to the airport away from him, the pain we had lived through together, the happy family memories we once had in our family home, the day we received that phone call telling us about Mom, and a family that could never be whole again. I knew he would eventually be fine again. He had his new wife and two new stepsons to occupy his mind.

Me, I had nothing but loss, anger, and pain to occupy all of my time.

Looking back, I'm amazed I even graduated from high school. The depression I had been experiencing since Mom died was like a heavy blanket draped over my shoulders, pulling me down every time I tried to get up. Some days, I didn't know if I could get out of bed. Some days, I just didn't try.

Eventually, I began to put all of my effort into working three odd jobs while trying to keep up with my school work, all with the hope of one day being able to afford to move away to a college, as far away from home as possible to escape the constant daily reminders that my happy family would never be whole again.

That's how I ended up here in busy New York.

I got my college acceptance, and I was gone. I'm a very private person, so living in a dorm room with strangers was just not going to work for me. That's why I worked so hard back at home those past few years. I never went out or spent much of my money. I knew living in an apartment on my own during my college years was going to cost me the earth, but I wasn't afraid of hard work and just hoped that when I got here, I would find a job or two that worked with my class schedule to help keep a roof over my head.

I found a nice, clean, tiny one-room apartment within walking distance of campus. Well, a very long walk to campus, but that didn't bother me. It was much cheaper than owning a car. All the apartments were tiny, and mostly college students or single people live here. I was just hoping I could find a job nearby, so walking home alone, most probably at night, wouldn't be too much of a safety issue.

Luck was on my side for once.

The day after I moved in, I was walking around the closest restaurant district during lunch rush, handing my resume into any cafe and eatery I could find, when I came to a large and very elegant a la carte restaurant and decided to walk in. I asked to speak to the manager, and it just so happened that they needed someone immediately, as one of their main waitresses had suddenly quit that morning to move to L.A. with her boyfriend.

The manager, Franco, was happy with my previous experience, hired me on the spot, and agreed that if I could prove my worth during my first shift he would give me as many spare shifts as he could. Wow! And boy, did I prove myself. That night was one of the busiest nights they’d had, and I kept up very well even though everything was new to me. After that night, he gave me five shifts, and I've been grateful ever since to be working at Bellissimo Bacio, or Bell, as the regulars call it.

I spent the rest of day three of my New York life buying a mattress and searching everywhere for a second-hand couch. I couldn't fit much in my tiny box of an apartment, but I didn't need much anyway. All I needed was somewhere safe and warm to lay my head at night and somewhere comfy to sit while I ate. Most of my time would be spent in class, studying in the library, in the free school gym, or at work. I wouldn't be entertaining anyone here, so it would be only me seeing the inside of where I would be calling home for the next few years.

Home.

No, my place will never be a home. It will not be personal or comforting. It will only ever be a place to sleep and rest. That's it. Nothing more.

I don't know if I'll ever have a place to call home again.

Chapter Three

Jess

"God, I hope I get lots of good tips tonight. I need lots of good tips tonight," I mutter to myself as I get dressed for my Friday night shift, the busiest night at Bell. My last pay didn't cover all of my bills, and I still need to pay rent and my tuition fees at the end of next week. Great tips are the only way I'll have enough to cover both.

I don't wear revealing clothes at all, but tonight I decided to pull out one of my fancy, never-worn black tops; it’s tight and has a very low V-neck that shows way more cleavage than I would normally show. It also has black lace around all the edges. It's very sexy, which is not me. Honestly, I don't know why it's even in my wardrobe, but this top might just help pay my bills. I've always been against using my body to get attention, but I'm finally desperate enough that I feel I don't have much choice.

My old friends use to tell me how pretty I was and that I had curves they would kill for. I have always enjoyed working out, but I also enjoy my food. If they could see me now, they wouldn't see many of those curves left. I know I'm way too slim at the moment, but this year has been hard financially. I wouldn't accept my dad's help when he offered to pay for college, so I have gone without and as a result have lost most of the curves I was once so proud of.

My friends would tell me I should use my beauty to my advantage, but I was never that type of girl. I prefer to get through life with people liking me for who I am on the inside and not what they see on the outside. But tonight, I'll use everything I have to ensure I get the tips I need.

I've been feeling really unwell all day, but I'll have to push through and then crash at the end of the night because calling Franco and telling him I'm sick is not an option. I cannot afford to give up a shift and lose my tips. Instead, I will plaster on my best fake smile and get the job done.

We always have a lot of celebrities or people high up in the business world come into Bellissimo Bacio. Tonight, there is one of New York's most wealthy, young, and eligible businessmen, Mr. Wade Hunter. When he's here, it's all about business. He pays no attention to the wait staff and can come across as rude. He is completely focused on his associates and the business they are discussing. But he expects perfection in everything, including his meal service. No one really wants the pressure of waiting on his table regardless of the tip, so Franco puts everyone's name in a bowl and pulls one out each time Mr. Hunter is in.

I've never had to wait on him in the whole twelve months I've worked here, so he's never had a chance to be rude or ignore me. I guess everyone else's opinion may have slowly rubbed off on me, but I still can't help but remember the sweet man I met the first time I saw him.

It was my first shift here. I was so nervous being in a new place, especially one that was so nice and elegant. I knew Franco and our customers expected a high level of service, so I was determined to do my best. As I walked to my first table full of older businessmen, I noticed a dark-haired man in a lovely charcoal business suit at the next table with his head down, looking at his Blackberry. I couldn't see all of his face as his mid-length hair was falling forward, obstructing my view, but I could tell he had striking features. And he only looked a few years older than me.

I reached the table and introduced myself in my sweetest voice while batting my eyelashes, hoping to ensure great tips. Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Jessica, and I will be your waitress tonight. I feel I should inform you lovely gentlemen that this is my first shift at this fine establishment, so I ask you to please be nice and patient with me while I learn the ropes.

They would either find me funny or think I was nuts, but I thought it was worth a try. They all laughed with huge smiles, and one of them said I was lucky to be serving the nicest men there that night, and they would all be as sweet as pie to me. Wow, a little fake flirting can really get you anywhere.

Later, as I was placing the last of their dinner plates down, I tilted my tray slightly and lost a knife on the floor. I put the tray down as I apologized, turned, and bent down quickly to retrieve it. As I placed my hand on the ground where I thought it had landed, a large black shoe was there instead. When I raised my eyes to the owner of the shoe, I was met with the most amazing bright blue, crystal eyes I had ever seen.

The eyes belonged to a beautiful specimen of a man. He had very dark brown, glossy hair that just begged to have fingers run through it. It went down to his strong, masculine jawline. His lips were full and a deep shade of pink that made you want to suck and bite them all night long. His cheeks were high and chiselled to perfection, leading you all the way to those striking eyes that were looking at me like they could see all the way into my soul and the secrets I hid there. I had no experience with men, but my body was telling me that I wanted to have experience