Destructive Read online

  Prologue

  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

  To my readers.

  Oh…and red wine! For making me a better writer.

  I’m going to keep this short and sweet, because if I started going into detail on every single person who’s helped me along the way, this section would be as long as the book!

  To my sprinting/writing buddies: you guys can’t possibly know just how much you helped me get this book finished. With your help, I managed to push myself harder than I ever have before.

  To the bloggers, authors, and readers I’ve gotten to know along the way: thank you so much for your support and excitement.

  And last but not least: to my family. I’d never be able to do any of this without you. I love you all with every single bit of my heart.

  Email: [email protected]

  www.authorjessicaprince.com

  www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaPrince

  Twitter: @JessPrince2013

  www.goodreads.com/JessicaLeePrince

  Her Other Books Include

  Picking up the Pieces

  Rising from the Ashes

  Nightmares from Within

  “Do this for Mommy, baby,” she pleads.

  Desperation is the only thing I’m able to see in her bloodshot eyes. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she reaches up and runs her fingers through her greasy, matted hair. She’s gone too long without a fix, and it’s starting to show.

  “Be a good girl, and go get pretty. You know how much they love it when you look pretty for them.”

  She smiles down at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. It never reaches her eyes. The desperation becomes palpable the longer I sit, unmoving on my bed. I know what she’s demanding of me. It’s the same thing she’s been demanding ever since I became old enough to grab a man’s attention.

  I clench my fists together, squeezing so tightly that my nails cut into the palms of my hands and draw blood. I can’t let her see me break. I can’t let any of them see me that way. They feed off of weakness. I learned that long ago. I won’t allow them to see me weak.

  I take a shaky breath and look into the eyes that once looked so much like mine. There is no light in those green eyes as she stares back at me. It’s just a lifeless void. I’ve seen the pictures she keeps hidden in a box deep in the back of her closet. I know what she used to look like, how beautiful she used to be. I know that I look exactly like she did before she became the shell of a person she is now. Her eyes shine in those pictures, proving she was so full of life once. But that was before she let this world swallow her whole, before she let her addiction outweigh everything that was once important to her. Where she used to be beautiful, she’s now nothing but a gaunt, soulless shadow of her former self.

  I was born to a woman who wasn’t capable of caring for herself, so I learned early on that she would never be capable of caring about me. I used to watch the children I went to school with, and I’d wish I could have the happy, carefree lives they had. But as the years went by, that hope I clung to turned to pain before finally morphing into the hatred I held deep inside. Eventually, that hatred gave way to the numbness that has taken over my entire being.

  I lost my innocence long before I even knew it existed. I never got to feel what my classmates felt. I’ve never had safety or security. I’ve never had someone looking out for what was best for me. The life I lead is the one I was born into, forced into.

  Feeling numb is the only thing that has kept me alive all these years. If I were able to feel anything, the misery that is my life would have drowned me long ago. I embrace that numbness now, especially in times like these.

  Standing from my ratty, stain covered mattress, I make my way past the woman who dragged me into this awful world, and I close myself in the bathroom. I know what I have to do. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. My body carries me through the motions without ever engaging my mind.

  This is second nature to me. This is survival.

  And survival is all I have left.

  Turning the nozzle, I make the water as hot as my body can stand it before stepping into the rusted tub and under the showerhead. The water pressure in this sorry excuse of a house is practically nonexistent, so cleaning my body takes twice as long as it should.

  As I scrub my skin raw, I stand under the scalding spray, welcoming the pain it creates as it hits my skin. It won’t be much longer now. I know I need to get out of the shower and finish getting ready, but I can’t just yet. My eyes are shut tightly as I try to empty my mind of every bad image running through it, but before I’m able to clear it all, there’s a frantic pounding on the bathroom door.

  “Marlena, please hurry. They’ll be here soon.”

  I can hear the panic in her voice, and it just makes me hate her even more. The woman who created me—the one who was supposed to protect me from all the bad things in life, from the monsters—is the one person on the face of the earth that I hate with every fiber of my being. She didn’t protect me from the monsters. She invited them right to our doorstep.

  “I’m coming,” I call out as I turn off the water and step out of the tub. I manage to get the towel secured around my body just before the bathroom door flies open.

  “Here, drink this,” she says, sitting a glass down on the dingy yellow countertop. “It’ll help you feel better.”

  This is just another of the sick and twisted rituals that I have with my mother. I pick up the glass and down the amber liquid in one gulp. I allow myself to bask in the burn the alcohol creates as it makes its way down my throat and settles into my stomach. One more glass, and the numbness I crave will begin coursing through me.

  After I blow my hair dry, I begin to apply my makeup, and Mother brings in a much-welcomed refill. I swallow it without even blinking. The alcohol is the only thing that will get me through the coming night.

  “You look so beautiful, baby,” she whispers, wringing her shaky hands in front of her.

  These are the only times she shows any outward emotion toward me, and I know it’s only because I’m assisting her in getting what she needs—her next fix, her next high.

  The loving tone of her voice causes my teeth to clench until my jaw begins to ache. When I don’t respond, she turns and makes her way back into the living room, leaving me to finish preparing for tonight in peace.

  Staring at my reflection in the mirror before me, I see what everyone else sees—a beautiful girl with soft olive skin, gorgeous curves, and flowing long black hair that contrast the green of her eyes. There are girls who envy my appearance, who choose to hate me just because they wish to look like me.

  If only they knew the truth…

  If they knew the true horror that is my life, they would never wish to look like me. They wouldn’t hate me. If they knew the truth about me, they would be thankful for everything they have in their lives.

  Because in my world, there is nothing but pain, nothing but darkness.

  In my world, there is no such thing as happiness.
If I allow myself to feel, there is no way to survive.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I can feel his rough, callous hands on my skin as he slowly slips his hand under the hem of my shirt and up my side. The shudder flowing through me isn’t from pleasure, but he can’t know that.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Your skin is so soft, so perfect,” he whispers in my ear.

  I know this is his attempt at seduction, but all I can do is swallow down the bile that has risen in my throat from the feel of his skin on mine.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I can’t let him see how much he disgusts me. I know what will happen if my mask slips, how he’ll punish me if he is able to sense my true hatred for him.

  “I love when you touch me,” I say, nearly choking. My voice breaks on the last word, but I can tell by the smile slowly spreading across his lips that he’s misread my revulsion as being overcome with lust for him.

  That’s the only thing that will keep me alive tonight. His hand continues its slow, torturous slide up my body until he finally reaches my breast. He squeezes so tightly that a whimper of pain passes through my lips.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  He buries his face in the crook of my neck, moaning pleasurably at the sound I just made. I can feel him growing hard against my hip as he pinches my nipple so harshly that tears prick my eyes. He must have had an intense day. I can always tell if his day has been good or bad by judging how he comes to me at night. He’s not being soft or gentle, so that must mean something went wrong.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Marley, wake your lazy ass up! I know you’re in there!”

  I’m jolted awake and out of the nightmare by the incessant pounding on my front door.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “I’m gonna kick this fucking door down if you don’t open up!”

  I desperately try to pull myself from the past that snuck in as I slept. I suck in a deep fortifying breath, trying to get my emotions and body under control. It always takes me a few minutes to come to sorts after a nightmare. My hands tremble as I wipe away the tears on my cheeks and the sweat that has beaded on my forehead.

  “You have until the count of three, or I swear to Christ—”

  “Jesus! Will you just relax?” I yell as I throw the covers off my body and stand on shaky legs. “I’m coming. Just give me a minute.”

  After I make my way to the front door, I begin unlocking all four locks, and I shake my head in an attempt to expel the horrible memories that plagued my sleep. The last thing I need is the third degree I’ll receive from Carmen if she sees just how out of sorts I am. I never let my outward appearance reflect how I’m feeling on the inside. I slip my mask into place, take a deep breath, and pull open the door to the whirlwind who is my best friend.

  “About fucking time.” Carmen barrels right past me and into the living room before dropping down on the couch and throwing her arm over her eyes with a pathetic sigh. “I’ve been standing out there for-fucking-ever.”

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” I mumble. I make my way toward the kitchen, shoving her feet off my couch as I pass.

  I look at the clock on the stove as I begin making two cups of coffee. It’s seven thirty in the morning.

  Brilliant.

  Tolerating Carmen on a good day is hard enough. But this early in the morning and without any caffeine in my system? Well, that’s damn near impossible.

  “So, what brings you by at the butt crack of dawn?” I shout as I pour a hefty amount of French vanilla creamer into both cups, making them just how we both like it—creamer with just a hint of coffee.

  “Haven’t been home yet,” she mumbles.

  I head back into the living room and take a seat in the chair across from the couch. I place her coffee on the table in front of her, letting my eyes scan over her, and for the first time, I notice how she’s dressed. There’s definitely no doubt that she just spent the night partying. The tiny scrap of silver she’s wearing can hardly be considered a dress. Falling just below her ass, if she moved just slightly, I’m sure I would get a peek of her parts that I have no interest in seeing.

  Carmen lets out a groan as she sits up and reaches for her cup. “You’re too good to me, babe. If I ever go lesbian, I swear, I’ll be do right by you.”

  I roll my eyes and let out a snort before taking a long sip of my own coffee. Perfect. Now, maybe I’ll be able to think a little clearer.

  “What?” she asks at my sarcastic sound. “You don’t think I’d treat you right?”

  “No.” I smile over at her. “I don’t think you’d ever become a lesbian. You like dick too much.”

  After taking a sip, Carmen sets her cup down and collapses back on the couch, her blonde hair fanning out in all directions. “I do,” she laments. “I really, really do.”

  I let out a quiet laugh and shake my head, drawing her gaze back to me. I already know what’s about to happen by the narrowing of her eyes as she scans my face, studying me intently.

  “What happened?” she asks. “Why are you so pale?”

  Damn it.

  I love Carmen to death, but her innate ability to read me like a book after only two years of friendship is something I find extremely hard to deal with. Keeping secrets is a skill I’ve perfected practically since birth, but it doesn’t change the fact that I hate lying to her. Unfortunately, it’s necessary.

  “Maybe it’s because I was woken up too fucking early by a crazy person beating down my door. You scared the shit out of me, Car.”

  Her expression changes to one of remorse, and I know I’ve managed to derail her concern.

  “I’m sorry, babe.”

  I release a deep sigh and lean over to place my cup on the coffee table. I feel like a terrible person for taking the heat off of myself by making her feel bad. “It’s fine. But what the hell are you doing here so early on a Saturday?”

  She raises her arms above her head, stretching her lithe thin body, as she lets out a groan. I barely manage to avert my eyes in enough time to miss seeing all of Carmen’s glory.

  “Partied a little too hard last night. Your place was close, so I figured I’d just crash with you.”

  “Ah, well, I’m glad I could be of service,” I deadpan.

  Carmen lets out an indelicate snort and looks over at me with a grin. “I knew I could count on you to be home and take me in. It’s not like you have much of a life, loser.”

  Grabbing the throw pillow from behind my back, I hurl it at her, smacking her in the face. “Some of us have to study. We can’t all live the glamorous life you lead.”

  “Glamorous, my ass,” Carmen responds as she stands from the couch. “Someone hurled all over my shoes last night. How’s that for glamour?”

  I look down at her feet—the same feet she just had propped on my couch. “That’s disgusting! If you got puke on my couch, I’m gonna beat the living hell out of you!”

  With a flick of her wrist, she dismisses my complaint and makes her way down the hall toward my bedroom. “Whatever. I’m crashing in your bed for a bit. Want to do lunch when I wake up?”

  “Can’t,” I call after her. “I picked up extra shifts at Fletcher’s. I’m working the lunch and late shifts.”

  “All right, I’ll lock up on my way out. I’m on tonight, so I’ll see you at work. Love you, babe.”

  “Love you, too. Sleep well. And take off your damn shoes before you climb in my bed!”

  ***

  Fletchers is a smallish pub in Lake View near Wrigley Field with a relatively diverse crowd, garnering attention from both locals and tourists. Unless there’s a game, the weekday lunch crowd tends to be a little slow at times. Even though I mostly depend on tips to pay my way through college and to keep a roof over my head, I still prefer to work the lunch shift. It’s not too busy, which allows me to get some studying done in between patrons. Unfortunately, the trade-off for being able to get in extra study time means I have to take at least three e
xtra shifts a week to pay rent and utilities.

  “Afternoon, gorgeous.”

  I lift my eyes from my biology textbook to see Matt walking through the door.

  “Hey, Matty. How’s it going?” I ask as he makes his way around the bar.

  I give him a bright smile as he leans in and places a kiss on my forehead.

  “It would be going a lot better if you’d quit calling me Matty.” He grabs a black apron from under the bar and begins to tie it around his waist.

  “Ah, but where would the fun be in that?” I stand tall and give his cheek a pinch before scooting around him and heading toward the break room to drop off my books.

  There’s no way I’ll get any studying done if I’m working with Matt.

  “Oh yeah. You’re not emasculating me at all, honey!” Matt yells as I make my way down the hall.

  Other than Carmen, Matt is one of the few friends I have. Letting people in is nearly impossible for me, and allowing myself to trust someone is even harder. For as long as I could remember, men have frightened me and rightfully so, considering my upbringing. I worked at Fletchers for over a year before I was able to speak more than two sentences to Matt. He’s probably the only man I feel truly comfortable around.

  “Don’t put that on me, sweetheart,” I call over my shoulder. “If your balls are missing, I’m putting my money on Caleb having them.”

  I hear Matt let out a guttural deep laugh just before I turn the corner into the break room. I toss my books inside my locker and grab my apron.

  “Oh, baby doll, you don’t even want to know what Caleb is capable of doing with my balls,” Matt says as I come back around the bar.

  Throwing my head back, I let out a loud laugh. Matt has never had any problems letting the world know just how fabulous his boyfriend is in the bedroom. He takes TMI to a whole new level. But the unfortunate truth is that if it wasn’t for the fact that Matt is gay and has been in a serious relationship with his partner for years, I really don’t know if I would have been able to open myself up to him the way I have.

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  I’m wiping tears from the corners of my eyes as I try to get my laughter under control when the door opens, bringing in the chilly fall wind and the noise from the street outside. I turn to see three men speaking in hushed voices as they make their way through the bar. Watching them closely as they pass by, I study the two who seem to be causing me the most discomfort. All three are dark-haired with olive complexions, but the menacing expressions on the two shorter men’s faces bother me. Something about their demeanor instantly sets me on guard. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and goose bumps break out across my skin. My back tenses as I watch them make their way to a secluded booth in the back. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to look away from these men even though warning signals are flashing left and right in my mind.