Page 24 of Broken Pieces
“At least I get them off first. And it works like a charm. Did you know that the government created a weather weapon that might have been used to create that hurricane that hit the coast last year? Probably for population control.”
Brett pushes me away. “Get outta here you crazy person!”
“I told you it works every time,” I chuckle as I walk toward my cottage. I hear Brett laughing as I walk away.
Once I walk into my cottage, I immediately head for the shower. I might like being outside all day, I love the heat, but no one likes a shirt sticking to their back all day. After a quick cold shower, I head into the small kitchen to make a sandwich.
I’m happy to be at my brother’s place. And it’s even better that there was an old cottage on the property that I could use as my own place so I could have privacy. It’s modest with two bedrooms, a small living room, and kitchen. But it has everything I really need to survive. And I’m not under the watchful eyes of my father.
I move the beer around in the refrigerator and find a half-full gallon of milk and some cheese sticks. I probably should have gone to the store and bought real groceries at some point, but I am just too busy and too tired at the end of the day to do that. I look in the cabinet and remember I finished the last of my cereal in the morning.
The good thing about living at Brett’s house is that I know Summer always has her kitchen stocked for a party. I take my towel off and run it through my hair. I grab a pair of shorts out of the hamper and head off toward the main house. I jump over the railing of the balcony and go in the side door avoiding the patio in case any guests are outside.
I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator and find a bunch of pre-made sandwiches on a shelf. I grab two and sit at the kitchen island. Raelynn must be done baking for the day because she is not in here. I swear she spends more time in this kitchen that I do on the farm. There is a variety of baked goods on the island and I am tempted to take them and bring them back to my place. That counts as having groceries, right?
I shove the last bite of sandwich into my mouth and glance outside toward the pool. Raelynn is sitting on a lounge chair in a blue bikini reading a book. I grab a muffin from the table and head outside.
As I get closer to the pool, I can’t help but stare at Rae. Her lean body has filled out a bit more since the first time I saw her. Her skin glistens in the sun, the curve of her body, the pertness of her breasts just barely covered by the small top, I adjust my pants as I approach her.
I sit in the chair next to her and peek to read the cover of her book as she is still oblivious to my presence. “I never took you for a horror fan.”
The book goes flying out of her hands as she jumps out of her lounger. “What the hell, Brooks? How long have you been sitting there?”
“Just a few minutes,” I say as I go to bite into the blueberry muffin.
She rips it out of my hand, “How many times do I have to tell you not to eat the pastries?”
“Maybe you should start making extras for me, Blue.” I grab it out of her hand and take a huge bite.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because every time I see you making blueberry pie or muffins or whatever you make, you always have blueberries smeared somewhere on that hot body of yours.”
She looks down and must remember she is only wearing a bikini because she grabs a towel faster than a hare and covers herself up but not before I see the scars on the tops of her thighs.
She must notice I saw the scars because she starts to stutter, “I—It’s—I, they are from—”
I cut her off. “I have scars too.” I point to the jagged scars running down the side of my torso.
“I’m more than positive everyone in Tennessee has seen those scars since you can’t seem to keep a shirt on.”
“Maybe so. Most people in this town know when I got it too, but that doesn’t mean they know the effect it as on me. Sometimes the scars we keep are reminders to ourselves of what we could have had and what we lost.”
The look on her face turns from anger to sadness as she sits back on the lounger. “Well, sometimes I wish I didn’t have to remember.”
“Did he do that to you?” I might not know what happened in her last relationship, but it had to be bad considering she is living here in hiding.
She shakes her head and looks off into the distance. Her eyes glassing over, a ghost reflecting in her irises. “Sometimes it was the only way I could deal with him, the abuse, everything.”
I know she revealed far more than she wanted to me. I can tell her memories are flooding through her mind by the way she rubs her hands back and forth over her knees. I put my hand on top of hers to stop the movement. She glances at me for a few seconds before grabbing her book and standing, breaking whatever connection we momentarily gained.
My mind fishes for something to say to soothe her, but it comes up blank.
“I have to go.” She barely finishes the sentence before she is running into the house.