Broken Love Read online

  Copyright© Author L. Harvey All Rights Reserved.

  This book nor any part of it should be uploaded, copied or distributed without the author’s written consent.

  Broken Love is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are products of the authors’ imagination and were created fictitiously. This story contains raw subjects and personal matters and the author apologizes in advance if any offence is taken. Any similarity to reality is coincidental and all scenes, characters and identities have been created for entertainment purposes only.

  Formatted by Brenda Wright – Formatting Done Wright

  “I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

  ― Edward Everett Hale

  May this story inspire to live out your own.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek – First Love

  Author’s Note

  Playlist

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I stand and stare at the dissembling portrayal of who I once was in the reflection of the hotel mirror. Staring into eyes that I no longer recognize, a vacant smile masking my crumbling soul. It was my best friend’s wedding, a day that should have been filled with nothing but the most sincere happiness. Happiness was no longer an emotion I was familiar with.

  Everything that was me, everything that made me, I lost everything when I lost him.

  So here I am smoothing down a luxurious dress I have no desire to be in. I practice my proud stride up and down the aisle. I attempt several pathetic smiles. I recite a speech of how true love is the most beautiful attachment mankind could find. It is all a lie.

  This is the story of how everything I prayed for broke me. Everything I longed for stole me. Everything I had come to believe, to keep me sane, ruined me.

  He was everything.

  Everything is gone.

  Shakespeare once said that 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds' and that was the kind of love I wanted. I craved it. A captivating bond between two souls that I had spent my life reading about. A significant attachment I would day dream about for hours on end when trying not to get lost in the depths of my own mind. They tried to say it was a coping mechanism.

  Peyton had her trash mouth, stubborn persona and hard exterior; believing getting close to someone would only end in pain like it did that day.

  Harley chose to mask her pain with the need to help others in order to never appear as broken or tainted.

  Then there was my third lifelong friend. Albie. She had the four walls of her cushioned cell, the repetitive chants of our childhood trauma and the soul shattering screams from the events of our past forever locked in the memory of the fright that made us all this way.

  I however chose to successfully portray myself as your average twenty two year old, yet internally I was fighting the many demons of what once was. Daily trying not to lose myself to my genetic weakness.

  I found my release through reading, mesmerized by a never ending list of beautifully tragic love stories that helped to shape my vision of love and to form an essence of hope in my hopeless mind. I was fascinated by somehow attaining the ability to mentally strip someone bare of their shields and falling in love as you witness their world unravel around you whilst they so freely let you in.

  They said love was just a simple four letter word, as if, it was always much more than that. To me it was never about having someone whisper sweet nothings into my ear and try to mentally embed their gentle kisses in my mind, I had enough experience of those mediocre attempts of affection.

  The love I believed in was not a series of emotive actions and generic phrases copied by millions before, pathetically attempting to explain the feelings you could not be bothered to find words for on your own. I needed someone to look right through my outgoing demeanor and falsely manufactured appearance and fall for the ugliness of what hid inside.

  My long blonde hair and perfectly painted mask was enough to attract them, I could manipulate them into perceiving me in any way I thought necessary to captivate them. But it was never real.

  A temptress. A slut. A conniving manipulator. An attention seeker. Leading careless men into their unknown downfall, it was always just a game, no different than the victim before yet just as mind numbingly boring as the previous encounter. Every failed attempt at finding someone truly worthy to let in was always that extra push nudging me back into the comfort of a book trying to humor myself with another illusion, confirming there was nothing for someone like me left in this time.

  They called me an empath but just as they said; it was not only my greatest gift but equally my most threatening flaw. A flaw I battled with daily yet managed to use it to my seedy advantage.

  Reading people came naturally to me, what made them tick, what they needed in order to let loose and how easily I would be able to draw them in knowing they were never going to be cut out for the wrath of what I had grown to be. So once again, like all the ones before, they would helplessly fall into the pit of the innocent partners I would chew up and spit out like a dog growing bored of its latest chew toy - it was no simpler or more complicated than that.

  Do not get me wrong for I am not some egomaniac bitch who enjoys braking people, I was just making best of a game that continued to brake me. I was never entirely to blame though, they gave as well as they got and my lord I was just about done with being treated so disgustingly when I found sanity in these mind ploys.

  Intentionally hurting someone was not something that came lightly to me, I never wanted a fate like hers. I would never take it too far. Just far enough to make them loosen our tangle and run for the hills. They would simply begin to resent me when I would either cut them loose with no explanation why or get too comfortable and reveal my passionately psychotic traits. I needed to find power in showing them I was not going to be a weak girl seeking approval, trying to ignore the contradiction of how desperately seeking love could be conveyed as that.

  I was just another broken girl trying to find some sort of belonging in what was left of my tainted soul.

  I was just another hopeless romantic doomed by the wounds of my haunting past.

  My only source of hope led in the idea that two broken lovers could mend themselves whilst trying to mend each other and no matter how disturbed they appeared to be they were always salvable. I needed to believe that.

  As time went on I would stray further and further from my young naive self and slowly my passion for love became altered and withered away along with any dream of belonging to someone.

  "Dear girl if only you paid as much attention to getting better and confronting your past as you did to these silly books."

  What if I did not want to get better? I just wanted to be me. A normal, accepte
d and well-polished version of me.

  "Remember, love is a destination not a journey and you cannot board that ride in a state like yours. Your knight in shining armor is not a prince on a horse but confronting your past. You cannot love anybody until you learn to love yourself."

  Age does not make you wiser, I believe that experience does. I hated the way our councilors would look down on us as though we were pathetically clinging to the idea that love would make everything better. I knew how corrupt and sinful it could be, I had witnessed it firsthand. But I had also witnessed how it saved people.

  They were all wrong. Love was a chaotic journey dissembling all in its path luring victims into the powerful over bearing emotion, convincing them they could not survive without it. I was far past princes, unicorns and happily ever after’s but I still wanted to be loved. I still wanted to exist in the make belief for I knew it was the key. By feeling something real in turn I would become real.

  Was it that much of a crime to want somebody to foolishly woo you even with the knowledge of the real you? Someone who was equally tortured yet strong enough to carry us both to the other side. Indeed the grass may not always be greener but it was not the color that attracted me, it was the stability of solid ground.

  Stupidly thirsty for the anticipation of mentally consuming and being consumed. Enjoying the idea of an excruciating whip of anxiety when faced with events that could jeopardize your entanglement with someone, for that was when you knew you were head over heels in the deep end and I longed for it - completely raw and completely captivating.

  Maybe it was because I still believed in the hidden magic of this world despite my conflicting past.

  Or maybe it was because I needed to understand why he did what he did.

  Why they all do what they do.

  Wanted.

  Was.

  Longed for.

  They were all past tense because the closer I got to what I wanted the more I was beginning to understand the cliché 'to be careful what you wish for'.

  This is the story of Roman, of me and everything in between. This is why I stand here just a mundane reflection of my wasted hard work and why I am dreading the celebration of love that is about to take place.

  This is how I so willingly let Roman Court ruin me.

  “Fuck, that’s it, take it, go on take it.” My force on the back of this chicks head was pushing boundaries but she should not have flaunted her apparent cock sucking skills if she could not follow it through.

  Another willing girl lusting after me was just what I needed to sooth the unchangeable anger inside me. Fuck. This one was not working. I cringed at the realization that not even losing myself in an orgasm could dull me from the pain.

  I could not remember her name but hey that was nothing new, if they were going to throw themselves at me the kindest thing I could do was let them have me. I did not need to ask for a name or endure small talk to win them over so why should I bother?

  At least being this way I was not luring them into a false sense of security thinking things could possibly escalate. Plus as far as I was concerned the less they knew about me the better.

  Gaining the reputation of the seediest playboy was a thing of that past. I was no longer about dating various amounts of hot easy girls at the same time, hell - I had no desire to date at all. The longer it went on the less I would even need to exchange anything with them. They knew the agreement and if they were still willing to participate then the fault of the aftermath was their own.

  A relationship or any form of unnecessary attachment was not on the cards.

  Tonight’s sacrifice had been measly attempting to take the entire length of my cock for the last fourteen minutes to be exact, she was that terrible my mind was able to focus on a task other than what was happening – this was a new record.

  This situation had begun to occur too often. Something inside me was holding back. Whether it was my internal battles or just my lack of interest was a topic I could not divulge in.

  I was nowhere near even close to filling her mouth with my overdue spunk and if I did it would only be to mute the fake groans she was putting on for me. I got up from the bed releasing my almost limp dick from her uncoordinated mouth and began to button up my signature black jeans. Wearing colors as dark as my forsaken soul apparently was my thing.

  “Huh?” As Kate (at least I think she is called Kate, she looks like a Kate. I guess a plain name for a plain girl) wiped the excessive saliva from her plastic lips she gazed up at me - her eyes glinting with lust. She looked confused at my change of mind, surely she knew how much of a fail that ‘blow job’ was.

  The girl actually looked hurt at how easily I could pull myself away from her – if I was not such a heartless git maybe I would of tried to ease the blow with some bullshit cliché “Sorry babe it’s not you it’s me.” But I was as soft as a rhino’s horn and I proceeded the way I do best. Like a pompous ass.

  “Maybe next time you run your whore mouth claiming to be good at sucking dick you should actually follow it through.” I spat at her rearranging my aggravated dick in my boxers.

  Not even a glimpse of remorse crossed my eyes as I took pleasure in watching the light go out in hers. If there was one thing I hated more than not being able to get off it was people (chicks especially) who thought they could fix things and more importantly fix me. They all held that familiar light in their eyes as though they thought it could heal.

  I had burned in hell for far too long, there was no amount of holy water that could wash away my corruption.

  I was getting by just fine, I had ever since that day, the day that sealed my persona and taught me the most valuable lesson I could have ever learnt. People are always going to leave, it does not matter if they are the last thing you have got in the world, your one reason for survival, your one chance at having a safety net. If they want too, they will leave and that is why I was never going to let anyone in again. In this life the only chance for survival was by focusing on number one.

  Smack.

  “You’re a jerk!” Kate squealed at me as the annoyance of my rejection poured from her assault.

  Shit – I had forgotten about the unsuccessful lay still knelt in her bra and panties, if you could even call the sheer piece of clear fabric pants. I loved nudity and kink as much as the next man but when you are being presented with a pussy that had been disposed in one time too many there was nothing appealing about see through lingerie. Now I was half tempted to offer her a pair of thick black boxers just to cover herself for her own sake as well as mine.

  “I’m a jerk, how could I say that, why do I have to be so mean. I’ve heard it all before so if you could hurry up and cover yourself then get the hell out.” My tone was sharp and fearful. I turned my back to her signifying the discussion was over.

  With that she clung her clothes to her chest not even wanting to waste a minute longer in my presence by getting dressed and fled for the door.

  I was sexually frustrated and after spending countless of nights awake I was now also sleep deprived, this had my attitude taking an unsteady turn for the worse. My libido was through the roof. I was no Romeo on an average day but I sure was the closest replicate of satin himself on a bad day.

  The nightmares seemed to be coming around too often these days. They were always lingering in my mind waiting to catch me off guard.

  In two minds I gave into my male need. I pulled my phone from the depths of my jean pocket and dialed a familiar face, all in attempt to forget the blood curdling nightmares that had been keeping me awake and my sanity at bay. I convinced myself this was necessary.

  “I knew you would be back”

  Odette answered the phone with such a smug tone I placed my heavy head in my tensing hands. I knew by me using her sweet pussy for my own selfish purposes would result in making her believe we were back on. Fortunately for my attention seeking shaft it was a risk I was willing to take.

  Odette was a sadistic Russian girl whose
father I was currently trying to screw out of his company and anything else that mattered to him. Some would consider her as beautiful but I knew of the evil that ran in her veins, ones she inherited from him. She told me time and time again she loved me and there was a reason I drifted back to her. That reason was clear – she knew how to suck dick like a vacuum and drink cum like it was water, the reason was as simple as that.

  “Cut your crap and get your pussy here.” I commanded knowing my dominance only exited her further.

  I ended the call and after tossing my phone to center of my satin sheets I led back stretching out in my king-size sleigh bed. I did not even need to wait for her response, I could practically hear her hooker heels screeching along the pavements running for a chance to get to me. Needy bitch. Another self-obsessed primped Barbie who was only good for one thing and had the audacity to think she could change me. That I would change for someone like her.

  What was so appealing about change? What gave chicks this baffling impression that any man who was interested in rough sex and chose to keep the world locked away could be saved. Did they honestly believe the execution of every tainted soul would end in some beautiful love story? The only story lines I would ever be involved in were tragedies - what was so appealing about that?

  Despite my hardened exterior, something I would never admit to another living creature, a small part of me clung to this fabricated idea that maybe the saving of my soul was actually a possibility. Then the realistic part of me squished that weakness with the sole of my shoe.

  There was no such thing as love and I was not about to let some cock greedy girl take over my already complicated life in hope I was capable to love another.

  Bang. Bang.

  I was pulled out my unwanted day dream by Odette’s arrival. Part of me wanted to give in to her endless begging of requesting her own key for the simple fact I would not have to keep getting up to let her in but I knew that would unleash a whole new level of crazy. I was just about putting up with this much of her and that was because it was necessary for the plan, no amount of mind numbing head was enough to outweigh the craziness of a stalking slut.