by Pavan Kaur
Contents
Title
Warning
Disclaimer
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
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
More info
Broken
Glass
By
Pavan Kaur
Warning
Broken Glass is a Dark Romance novel. This book has extreme situations that may cause distress.
It has a severe Trigger warning; this book contains extreme sexual themes and violence.
Disclaimer
First Edition published in 2019
Text Copyright ©Pavan Kaur
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Editing by LH Editing Services
Proof-reader - Ronda Patrick
Cover Design by Dawn Doyle
Formatter Dawn Doyle
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without the prior written permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Hope
10 years old
"Someone please help me, ANYONE!" I shout. I have no idea how long I've been crying, but my throat is burning. I need water, food, I need something. I know I shouldn't shout, he will yell at me again, I don't want him to yell at me, he scares me. But I want someone to save me.
I jump and run to the corner as I hear the creaking on the handle behind me.
"You keep screaming like a little bitch, I'll have to come back in there and sort you out." He roars at me, and I fall to the floor, pulling my knees close to me, as I begin to rock back and forth.
I lost my family in a fire; I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover. My very first sleepover, I was the happiest eight-year-old in the world when Dad said I could go. My friend only lived three doors away from us, but I didn’t care, I was about to be a big girl.
My friend's mom woke me early the next morning, and when we came down the stairs, she held me close. I could feel that something was wrong. How could I tell? I'm not sure, I just knew. Then they told me what had happened. They told me that I would be safe and family was coming to get me. I cried, and I cried to the point my eyes were sore.
Then Uncle Jack got me; Dad's brother. I never saw him before that day, and I wish I never did.
He’s a mean man; a man that hurts me; a man that wants me out of his life. But I’m scared of what he’s got planned for me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here now. I’ve worked out it must be about two years, as I’ve heard the Happy Birthday song four times now; twice for Adam his son and twice for Claire his daughter, which makes me ten now.
I know the longer I stay, the worse he'll get and the more he shouts. I can sometimes hear the radio if he turns it up loud enough. One night I closed my eyes and heard the words, ‘Where there is no vision, there is hope,' and now I sit in my corner and mutter these words to myself, just waiting for my piece of hope.
I lean my head on the wall, wishing to hear something, anything. Some music or even the TV. I long to have some friends my own age. I remembered meeting Uncle Jack’s kids when I got here. They looked to be around my age. They seemed nice too.
"Hi, I'm Adam, and this is my little sister Claire. I hope that we can play later," the boy said to me. Uncle Jack had told me in the car that I couldn't look at his kids as my eyes were so red they might get worried. So, I looked at the floor.
Aunt Helen knelt in front of me. “Hope, we have to get going for the weekend, but as soon as I get back we can look at some things to put in your bedroom.” I nodded slightly.
I heard the door close behind me, and Uncle Jack said, "When they come back you won't be here." He gestured for me to follow him down the stairs and after wiping away my tears I did as instructed. "This is your room until I find someone to take you." He unlocked a black door and pushed me in. "You make a noise, and you'll be in trouble. If my children think that you're still here, you'll be in trouble, and I'm about to show you what will happen." The door slammed shut behind him as I watched him unfasten his belt.
I screamed, I fought him, I kicked him, but no one heard me. The more I cried the more he hit me with the belt and the harder he hit, the more my tears fell.
Just remembering that first day in here makes me cry. He used to come and hit me if I made too much noise, but as I got older, it got worse. Even if I stayed quiet, he still comes for more.
I start saying the only thing I know to help me forget. "There is hope, there is hope, there is hope, there is…"
Bang, bang, bang.
***
Present Day
Opening my eyes, I look at the dirty, cream-colored, cracked wall in front of me.
Bang, bang, bang.
Getting up I look over at the door as the banging continues. I grab my oversized sweater which is tearing to the point I’m going to have to find a new one soon; the rough fabric scrapes the skin on my arms. The door doesn’t even open a centimeter before I hear his hand slapping the door open and it’s removed from my grip.
"Rent!" the landlord shouts. He's a big guy. I stay out of his way and never make eye contact. I couldn't even tell you what he looks like as I've never actually looked at him. I've learned from an early age never to look at any man. The only reason I know he's big is because I can only see his chest when he stands close enough to me.
Taking my pay from last night off the side table, I hand it over to him. I make enough money to pay the rent and a little food, and that's all I need. I don't need the fancy things; fancy things mean you have control and I don’t want to control anyone, nor do I want money.
Snatching the cash from my hands, he walks away from me. I slowly close the door and walk over to the window, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. To anyone else, it would be too cold, but to me cold is normal. Cold is the only thing that I know.
I sit on the floor, looking out of the window. I never watch the people, why would I? I don’t know them, what advantage would I get by watching them? None.
I watch the bright star lights; the multi-colored stop signs, street lights, and cars that cast a warm glow on the road. The lights were all I had for company when I was a child. They would shine through the tiny windows of my basement prison and I would be mesmerized by them. They brought hope to me in that very dark place. Hope that there was something beyond the four walls surrounding me. And that one day the light would fight
through the thick cloud of darkness around my soul. But the darkness always seems to win.
And because of that, I came to New York, the city of lights; well that's what I'd heard. I never even knew what New York City was. I lived in a bubble full of darkness, and that darkness was my home until I was finally able to leave.
It wasn’t easy getting here by hitchhiking. Sometimes I would walk then sleep on a park bench then walk some more. But the day I finally got here, I regretted it.
There were too many people, too many eyes looking at me. And wherever I looked there would be men, so I would look the other way only to see more men. I had nowhere to look but down at my old beat up trainers; one of which had a big hole on the top of it, but I didn’t care, the only thing I cared about at the time was getting out of New York.
I had no money, nowhere to go. I walked around Central Park just because there were fewer people around. I found a small tunnel and spent my nights there, until a woman approached me, said that I looked lost and she could help. She told me about this place where I could make a little money if I cleaned a room. She gave me the address, and I left. The moment I stood outside I knew what it was before I even walked in.
A pimp’s house.
I stood outside of there for a long time. It was the last place I wanted to be, but I needed the money so I walked in thinking that I could do this. The moment I stepped through the door I knew something was going to happen; I knew that something was wrong, but I also knew that there was nothing I could do now. The pimp stood in front of me and from the way he looked at me, the way his eyes moved over my body, I knew I was in deep trouble.
I could feel his fingers around my neck as he pushed me onto the bed and held me down. I had learned long before then that there is no point fighting. I had lost the power to fight a long time ago and that night was no different for me.
When he was finished with me, he threw some money at me and said that he’d like me to come back later. He told me that if I were to come back into the house he would just rape me again, so I took the money and left. I spent a few weeks on the street before I had enough money to find somewhere to live. There were times I thought it would never happen, but walking around the park at night, I often found money. One night I found close to a hundred dollars. Sometimes kind people would give me money when they walked past me. Every penny helped me, and from there I started looking for a job.
My illness got worse living on the street, but I had no choice. I had to live with it until I got more money and if I died, I was okay with that too. I didn't have anything to lose.
Death didn’t scare me.
Death might even have saved me.
***
I know the cracks on the floor better than I know the buildings on the way to work. I know where each crack is before I even see it. It takes me forty-five minutes to walk, and one day in that time I made ten bucks picking up quarters off the floor that people dropped, that was a good day for me as I got myself a cheap jacket from the thrift store.
The weather’s getting cold now, it’s only a matter of time until the first snow falls. It’s the worst time of the year for me as I have to walk to work in the snow and it sucks.
I arrive at work and hang up my coat as Joe, the manager shouts, “The fucking tables aren’t going to clean themselves, Hope.”
“Sorry,” I reply quietly and put on my apron. Picking up my tub I walk out to the front of the restaurant and start cleaning up the tables. I work the morning shift and the evening; it’s the only way I can afford to stay where I am. All I do is pick up the empty plates and glasses ready for the other staff to set it up for the next customer. It might not be the best job in the world, but for me it’s perfect. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I don’t have to look at anyone. I clean, take the dirty stuff to the kitchen and repeat.
This is a nice restaurant. It’s a traditional American style diner that serves different burgers and fries, oh and pancakes in the morning. I have no idea what the food tastes like as I could never afford anything in this place. The other thing I can’t ever understand is how this place is so busy. Yes, it’s in all the papers, five stars across the city, but Joe, if he’s not happy with you, he’ll shout at you in front of any customer in here. He doesn’t care, but surely that must be bad for business? I try my best to stay on his good side; I mean there’s no way I would even want to get on half of his bad side. I looked at his face once, when he gave me this job. He has a hard expression, maybe he never smiles, but I’ve never looked at him again. I know the rules.
Walking over to the first table, again I know the tiles to the restaurant better than I know the décor. I can tell you that it’s very bright in here, the glow of the blue and red lights fill the whole room and the sixties vibe music echoes in my ears.
I kneel to pick up some of the paper napkins on the floor and brush my black hair out of my face. My hair comes down to my waist now, and I always hear people around me saying that my hair is beautiful and shiny. Then there are times I hear customers talking about how I look funny and this restaurant isn't a place someone like me should be working. At first, I thought it was just people being rude, but then one of the other staff members said it’s because I keep to myself, my head down and so my attitude seems rude, even though I had never spoken to them.
I overheard one customer speaking to Joe about me and he simply told them that I do my job, make no trouble, and I don't say anything to anyone. He told them there was nothing wrong with me. It was the first time someone had stuck up for me, someone fought for me, and that day I was happy to work any hours he wanted me to.
One of the staff, Dan, walks past me. “Hope, when you’re finished, table six is done,” he says as he goes behind the bar. I give him a nod and walk over to table six. I place the tub on the table as I begin to clean up.
I feel eyes on me and bring my arm up as the hairs stand to attention. I pause and stand up straight. My heart starts pumping faster in my chest as the cold chill works its way through my body. I want to look around. I want to see if I can see him, but I’m scared. If I lock eyes with him again, I know my life is over.
As quick as they stood up the hairs go down again, and I stop feeling the eyes on me. Taking in a deep breath, I continue with my table, as I mutter to myself, "There is hope, where there is no vision there is hope.” The only words I need to know that I’m safe and I can stay safe.
***
It’s one in the morning when my shift finishes, and then I’m back here at eight for the breakfast shift. I grab my coat and make my way home. I look straight ahead of me knowing at this time of night no one will be around. It took me a few months to finally be able to walk home like this, scared that I would do something wrong, but tonight I look up at the night sky as a chill creeps into the air. It’s not the bite of the blustery winter yet, but nippy enough to let me know that the season is about to change. The trees don’t have the beautiful colors anymore; they surround me, naked with only a few leaves left on them, the sidewalks are grey. Wrapping my coat tighter around me I watch as a leaf tumbles from the branch, spinning and rocking as it falls to the ground.
Pulling my hood up on my coat, I look down and quickly walk past a group of men standing outside the nearby bar. I hear one of them trying to talk to me, but I ignore him and continue to walk. Men are the evil in this world; men with money are the evilest, they think they can treat a person horribly like they mean nothing.
Eventually, I walk into my apartment building. I live on the top floor which you would think would be the most expensive, but it's the cheapest in the building. Why? You have to take the stairs for a start all five hundred of them; then there is the fact that this place is a dump, that the windows are broken, and in the winter it's freezing. Although, like I said before, the cold is what I'm used to, so for me this place is fine.
Throwing my coat on the floor, I lie down to sleep, as I have to be up early to make my way back to work. "There is hope, where there is no vision
there is hope," I repeat to myself as I slowly fall asleep.
Chapter 2
Leo
Running around the playground with my toy plane, I look back to the house to see if my mommy is finished or not. Mommy always told me that I should never step foot in the house when she is working. If I do, then I will have to learn my lesson the hard way. The hard way hurts; I still have the mark on my collarbone from last time.
“Hello, are you out here alone?” Turning, I see a man standing behind me. As I look up at him, his beard looks like it needs a shave. He doesn’t look like the men I normally see around here.
My eyes move to the house then back to him. “My teacher said never talk to strangers,” I tell him, getting back to my toy plane.
“Your teacher is very smart, my name is Jack. Is your mommy here?”
“She said to never go in the house when she’s working.”
"Well, I'd like to talk to her now. I've been watching you for a few days." The man takes my hand, and I try to fight him, but he's too strong, as he drags me to the house.
I begin shouting at him to let me go, but he kicks the door open, making my mommy yell at me. "I told you never to come in the fucking house when I'm working." She slaps my face, and the man pushes her to the floor.
“Now, now, that’s no way to treat your child.” He turns to the man that’s lying on the bed. “Get your shit and get out.”
The man still has a grip on my arm; I watch the other man leaving, and my mommy walks up to the man who is holding me. "I'm sorry if my son did something to you, but I can make it right." I watch my mommy put her hand in his pants.
The man gets angry and pushes her away. "You're really not my type. But I do have something you want, and I'm willing to make you an excellent offer."
