Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  I jumped into the front of his car and shifted my package before Hemi squeezed himself behind the wheel, my cock still semi-hard. I couldn’t automatically turn off after a woman worked me up. All it did was work me up even more, until I had to relieve it one way or another, preferably through sex. And I knew it was only going to get worse if I didn’t do something about it, blue-balls the least of my worries, my bipolar disorder like a bitch in heat. For a second, I considered jumping out of the car and heading right back inside the house, taking Mrs. Hatton without caring what Hemi thought, but I knew I couldn’t. Maybe I could ring Phelia. She’d literally run to my house for a hump, but I really didn’t want to do it with her. I wanted Mrs. Hatton.

  Hemi fired up the engine. “No wise cracks?”

  I didn’t reply, just looked out of the window at Mrs. Hatton’s house. The lounge light was still on, with silhouettes darkening the curtains. I couldn’t make out her figure, but I still imagined her standing there, in the same place where we’d kissed, touching her lips, thinking about me. I snorted out a laugh at how pathetic I was being thinking about a chick like that. But how could I not? It had been amazing. No, it had been fucking amazing.

  “What’s so funny?” Hemi asked, pulling away from the kerb.

  “Your face,” I said, still looking at the curtained window.

  A smack landed across the back of my head.

  I yelled out and brought my hands to my head. “What wuz that for?” I spat, glaring at him.

  “For smart-mouthing me.”

  “I smart-mouth you all the time, you know it means shit, so keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, shithead.”

  He raised his hand again, then lowered it. “Why do you always hafta insult me? I’m helping you out, yet get called names.”

  “Sheesh, talk about sensitive. Are you on your period?”

  Hemi clenched the steering wheel as he turned onto another road. “I don’t know why I bother with you. You’re just like your dad. A disrespectful bastard. Though, I hope you haven’t stopped takin’ your meds like him.”

  “I had to. They were making me sick.”

  “Go to your doc and get different ones.”

  “He wouldn’t help. The cunt thought I wuz bullshitting, so I went to another doctor, who told me I wuz misdiagnosed.”

  “What do ya mean by misdiagnosed?”

  “She doesn’t believe I’m bipolar.”

  Hemi’s eyebrows shot up. “Like hell you’re not. When did this happen?”

  “A week before school started.”

  “And you’ve had no episodes?” he asked. “Well, except for those coupla times your dad went into school.”

  “Those weren’t episodes, I got drunk the first time and Happy Meal pissed me off the second. Also, my new doc retested me and said I have post-traumatic stress, not bipolar disorder.”

  Hemi’s eyebrows shot up higher. “The dumb bitch! You have both. You’re just like your dad, and he’s one-hundred percent bipolar.”

  I shrugged, knowing he was right. “At least I’m not on those shit meds anymore. They made me feel like I had bubble-wrap around me, everything muted. Not to mention, right after taking ’em, I always felt like throwing up.”

  “See a different doctor, cos this one’s wrong. Do it before you flip out.”

  “I won’t flip out, weed stabilises me. That,” I said, looking at him, “does a way better job than any prescription drug.”

  He stopped at a red light. “Are you serious?”

  “Totally. Got any weed?”

  He stared at me for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “You’re tryna con me.” He started driving again.

  “No, it really does work.”

  “Yeah, pull the other one.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Still don’t believe you. Remember that episode you had a coupla years back? You went mental, totally trashed your room. No amount of weed could fix that.”

  “That wuzn’t an episode, I lost my temper cos my first real girlfriend dumped me. And weed really does calm me down.”

  “Sticking your head in the sand will only make things worse. You’ll be good one minute, then attacking someone the next. As I said, you’re just like your dad, and you know what he’s like off his meds. A ticking time-bomb. If you’re smart, go to a different doctor and get a new prescription that doesn’t make you sick.”

  “I’m not like my dad, his temper is a hundred times worse.”

  Hemi gave me a sidelong glance. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “See a new doctor.”

  I slumped lower into my seat. “’Kay,” I lied, having no intention.

  Hemi finally quit bugging me and switched on the stereo, pumping out a Snoop Dog song, the base probably waking up all the good li’l boys and girls of East Auckland.

  Less than thirty minutes later, we arrived at his place. I jumped out and crossed the road, heading for my house.

  “No thank you?” he yelled at me from his driveway.

  I gave him a huge grin. “Thank you, Uncle Hemi-rrhoids!”

  He shook his head at me, but also smiled. I turned back and unlocked my gate, wondering where my dogs were. Normally, they were waiting for me out front if my dad wasn’t home. Maybe he’d called Hemi’s sister or Jasper to lock them up before it got dark, since our neighbours loved to bitch and whine about them barking.

  I locked the gate behind me and headed for the front door, smiling again at the memory of Mrs. Hatton kissing and feeling me up. I could still feel her hand on my cock, so smooth, yet gripping me hard. My dick twitched just thinking about it. Jesus, I even got goose bumps at the memory, the chick like no one I’d ever been with.

  Still smiling, I opened the front door, looking forward to school tomorrow. It just sucked that I couldn’t do anything with her there. No one could find out about this, not even Jasper, because I definitely wanted more, and I wouldn’t be getting it if she got locked up because I was underage.

  I stepped inside my house, wondering whether I should call her to move my next tutor session forward. I grinned, planning on giving her some tuition. Before I could finish the thought, something hard came down on my head. I collapsed, blacking out before hitting the floor.

  ***

  A kick to my stomach brought me back into the world of the living. I yelled out as another kick connected with my ribs.

  “I fuckin’ told you to stay away from her!”

  I didn’t recognise the voice shouting at me, my barely conscious mind unable to take anything in, other than the pain spearing me. I groaned and rolled onto my front. It wasn’t a good idea to face away from my attacker, but I couldn’t handle another kick to my ribs, my body instinctively trying to protect them.

  Instead, the next kick hit my hip bone, causing me to yell out again. It felt like the prick was wearing steel-capped boots.

  “Fuckin’ look at me, you bastard!” my attacker hollered. “Look at me!”

  I turned over and blinked, my eyesight blurring, probably from the blow to the back of my head. When things finally came into focus, I froze. Happy Meal was looming over me, his face a twisted picture of violence. His expression was vicious while his eyes were bloodshot, giving the impression he’d been crying, or maybe he was high. Either way, I was fucked.

  He bobbed down next to me and placed a gun to my head. “I should kill you right here and now.” He moved the gun to my cheek. “I should shoot your fuckin’ pretty li’l face off, ruining the only good thing you’ve got goin’. At least, it’ll stop Phelia from cheating on me with you.”

  “I’m not interested in—”

  The gun hit the side of my head before I could finish the sentence. I blacked out for a moment, then came to with a punch to the side of my face.

  “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me!” Happy Meal screamed. “I saw you kissing her on the fuckin’ stage! You had your filthy tongue down her throat.”

  “She had her tongue down min
e—”

  Another punch, this one to my jaw, causing me to bite the inside of my cheek. Blood sprayed from my mouth, colouring the green carpet and a shoe by the front door.

  “You always hafta have a wisecrack,” Happy Meal spat. “Always hafta have a clever fuckin’ comeback.” He placed the gun against my lips, forcing it into my mouth. “What’s so fuckin’ great ’bout you? What do you have that I can’t give her? Cos it ain’t fuckin’ love. I love her. But do you know what she told me after I spilled my guts out for her?”

  I didn’t reply, unable to answer even if I wanted to, the gun not only stopping me from talking, but scaring the bejesus out of me, because Happy Meal looked like he wanted to pull that trigger. He really looked like it.

  “She said she wuz in love with you. You! I bought her expensive jewellery, I took her to cool places, I did anything she wanted. But is it me she loves? No! It’s your fuckin’ whore-arse she wants. Why? Is it your face? Or are you really that great in bed?” He removed the gun from my mouth and placed the muzzle against my cock. “If I shoot this off she won’t want you anymore. You might live, you might not, but she won’t ever ride this again.”

  I wanted to cover my groin, but was too scared to even twitch. I also wanted to tell him she’d never ridden my cock, but didn’t think he’d believe me.

  “When you saw me and Phelia kissing it wuz acting,” I said instead. “Nuthin’ more.”

  “Not for her!”

  “That’s not my fault. I’ve already told her I’m not interested, but she won’t listen. Like you, she keeps comin’ after me.”

  “You think that’s ’sposed to make me feel better? That she prefers you over me even after you reject her?”

  “What do you expect from me?” I asked, thinking nothing I said would satisfy him. “I didn’t even give her consent to blow me. I went into that bedroom alone, to sleep, not to fuck. Next thing I know I wake up with my dick down her throat.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, realising I’d blurted out too much, but instead of hitting me, Happy Meal retracted the gun.

  “Why don’t you want her? She’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s not my type, plus I’m interested in an older chick,” I answered, wondering whether I’d finally gotten through to the thick bastard. “I like women, not girls. I like lower hanging tits, not things so tight I can’t get stuck into ’em. I like chicks who know how to suck cock, not ones who bat their eyelashes at me, asking me if I like it like that. I also love chicks who don’t cut off my dick’s air supply with pussies so tight I feel like I’m squeezing it through a pinhole. And even though I didn’t fuck her twat, Phelia can’t suck cock to save herself.”

  His eyes widened. Next thing, his fist came down into my groin, making me yell out. Tears sprung to my eyes. I wanted to curl up, but he leaned his knee and shin across my thighs. Instead, I clenched my teeth, willing my dick and balls to stop processing pain.

  He sneered at me. “I don’t think you’ll want anyone to suck your small dick after that.”

  “It ain’t small,” I gritted out. “That’s why the chicks like me. It ain’t just my face they’re after.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Well, you definitely got balls, that’s for sure. Or maybe you’re just a dumb cunt who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

  “Both.”

  He tapped my cheek with the side of the gun, a grin pulling at his lips. “Who’s this older chick you like so much?”

  “I ain’t bloody telling you.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “No, I just wanna fuck her,” I said, wondering whether that was a partial lie. I definitely didn’t love Mrs. Hatton, no way, I hardly knew her, but I did like her. And although I was aching to do her, I also liked spending time with her, the woman interesting.

  “Who do you love?”

  “Family, obviously.”

  “What about Jasper?” He sneered. “Bet he butt fucks you.”

  “No! We’re not fags. He’s like a bro.”

  “But you do love him?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Would you cry if I shot him?”

  I froze.

  He smiled. “What would you do to save him? Would you help me win Phelia back?”

  “Yes. I’ll help you, I will. I’ll make her want you more than me. I’ll be a right cunt to her, make her hate me. She’ll be crying on your shoulder and begging for your forgiveness.”

  “How will you do it?”

  “I’ll humiliate her, tell her she can’t suck dick, I’ll even tell her she makes me soft, whatever you want.”

  “Do it in front of other people. Totally humiliate her. Make her cry like she made—” he cut himself off, probably going to say like she’d made him cry. “If you do that, I won’t shoot Jasper. Or your dogs.”

  My face dropped, what he’d done the other day returning. “Where are my dogs?” I asked, worried he’d hurt them.

  “The dumb mutts are out back.” He snorted. “They’re not dead, just ate some sedated meat I threw them.”

  “If they—”

  “Are fine, but they won’t be if you don’t follow through on your promise.” He smiled. “Actually, maybe I’ll shoot them instead of Jasper. I wouldn’t go to jail for that. No one will care but you—”

  “And my dad.”

  “Yeah, you like to use him for leverage, but my dad’s just as tough as that psycho bastard you’re related to. In fact, he’s more powerful, cos he has men who’ll gut your father on his orders. So, once you get outta hospital, you’ll do as I fuckin’ say.”

  Another hit came down on my head. A second later, I wished it had knocked me out as Happy Meal started kicking the living shit out of me.

  ***

  I woke up to bright hospital lights. I lifted my arm to cover my eyes, grunting as someone grabbed it.

  “Thank Christ!” my father said, his voice cracking. “I wuz terrified you weren’t gonna wake up.”

  He rose from a chair, looking both upset and happy, the latter probably because I was still in the land of the living, although I felt like death warmed up. He bent over and pulled me into a gentle hug, treating me as though I was fragile, probably afraid he would hurt me, and I did feel pain, but not because of him. My body ached all over, the beating Happy Meal had given me making me feel like I’d been hit by a tanker.

  He let go of me a moment later. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his face hardening. I didn’t even have to imagine what he would do if I told him it was Happy Meal.

  He’d kill him.

  “A burglar,” I lied, not wanting him doing time for murder—or put in danger, because Happy Meal’s father would definitely send men after him. “He attacked me when I entered the house. Are the dogs all right?”

  “Those useless mutts can’t guard shit,” he grunted, sounding like he didn’t realise they’d been sedated.

  Jasper pushed through the room’s double doors, pulling my attention away from my father. He clumped across the lino flooring, stopping next to my bed. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a black T, with a leather jacket partially hiding his fat gut.

  “Good to see you awake,” he said, looking like I was in hospital for a papercut, not a severe beating. “What happened?”

  “A burglar,” my father answered for me. “Dante walked in at the wrong time.”

  Jasper frowned. “Where were the dogs?”

  “Sedated,” I replied.

  My father’s head snapped to me, his expression surprised. “They were?”

  “Yeah. The burglar told me he drugged them with sedated meat right before he kicked the shit outta me.” I grinned, even though it hurt the right side of my face. “Though, I busted one of his teeth,” I lied, not wanting it to look like I’d just laid there, taking Happy Meal’s crap. “And I could’ve beaten the bastard if he hadn’t been armed. At least I stopped him from stealing our stuff.”

  “So, you can identify him?”

&nbs
p; I shook my head, but stopped as quickly as I’d started, the movement hurting like a motherfucker. “He wuz wearing a balaclava. Other than bein’ a massive cunt, I couldn’t ID him if my life depended upon it.”

  My father grunted, looking upset, probably because he had no target for his bloodlust.

  I indicated to my bed. “Can you raise the back of the bed? I wanna sit up.”

  He nodded, adjusting it as I pushed into a sitting position.

  “Did he break anything?” I asked, my torso killing me. There were lots of bandages underneath my hospital gown, as well as around my head.

  “You have a fractured rib,” my father replied. “But it wuz the bang to your head that concerned the doctor the most.”

  “What ’bout my face?”

  Jasper snorted. “You get the crap beat outta ya and all you’re concerned ’bout is your pretty boy face?”

  “It’s not pretty, it’s hot as fuck.”

  My father barked out a laugh. “Not so much now. You’re all bruised and swollen, but it’ll be fine. The doc said you’ll heal completely.”

  “Damn, I wanted a cool scar.”

  A mean smile pulled at Jasper’s lips. “It’ll ruin your modelling career if that happened.”

  I shot him a glare. “I’m not modelling, so shut it.”

  My father shook his head. “I’m glad you didn’t go to that interview. I don’t want no boy of mine prancing about like a girl. If you become famous, it’ll be as an All Black, not a bloody model.”

  “In your dreams, cos soccer’s my game.”

  My father grunted. “I knew I shouldn’t have let your mother get you into that girls’ sport.” His face saddened, no doubt his thoughts going to my mum.

  “It’s not a girls’ sport, it’s the most popular game in the world, and can you get me some pain relief?” I asked, wanting to distract him, my father not having gotten over my mother’s death.

  “Sure. I’ll go grab the doc, plus he needs to check you over. You’ve been out for four hours.”

  “Four hours?”

  “Yeah, you scared the shit outta me, boy. I even rang your baba and dida—”

  I perked up. “Are they here?”

  “Not yet. They’re on their way with the twins.”