Shatter Me (The Jaded Series, #1)
SHATTER ME
The Jaded Series #1
ALEX GRAYSON
SHATTER ME
The Jaded Series #1
By Alex Grayson
Copyright © 2014 by Alex Grayson. All rights reserved.
Cover Design and Formatting by Kim Black at TOJ Publishing Services.
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All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Disclaimer
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
A Note
About Author
Dedication
Since the beginning of Shatter Me and throughout the whole process it has been my husband and daughter that has suffered from the time spent away from them. I gladly dedicate this book to them with my sincere apologies for the neglect and frustration it has caused. I love you both so much and thank you for understanding the importance of Shatter Me.
Disclaimer
This book contains content like rape, drugs, and hard situations that may trigger bad memories for those that has been in similar situations. Not suitable for anyone under 18.
Book Description
I'm running, as fast and as far as I can. My past is trying to shatter me, but I am determined not to let it. I've come this far, I won't let it break me now.
I had to stop in a small town to get enough money to run again, but I found myself wanting to stay. The reason? Jaxon Walker. He doesn't make me so afraid. He comforts me. But how much comfort will it take before my walls shatter? And what happens when my past finds me? Will it destroy me finally or could Jax possibly save me?
My name is Bailey Winsor and this is my story.
Chapter One
Jaded Hollow, OH – 6 miles ahead
I release a sigh, exhausted and nervous about my next stop on my long and tedious journey.
I’ve been driving since eight this morning, with a couple of stops in-between for restroom breaks and gas stops. It’s coming up on nine at night. I need to keep moving. I don’t want to give him the opportunity to find me. Him, being Steven, my worse nightmare, my worse fear, my husband. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice in the matter because my gas tank is running on fumes and my pocket book is getting low. I need to find a way to make a little cash before I move on.
My arms hurt from holding onto the steering wheel for so long and my legs are cramping from the constant push of the gas pedal. I’m so hungry I fear my internal organs will dry up and turn to dust due to lack of nourishment. I’m exhausted to the point where my eyes have that sandy, papery, gritty feel and I’m worried I might dose off behind the wheel.
Needless to say I’m ready to get out of my cramped, beat up old car that I bought for five hundred dollars at the beginning of my unplanned but wanted trip. All I want to do is get a quick bite to eat, fall into bed, sleep like the dead, and not get up for a week. I know finding a place to eat won’t be a problem. I’ve seen signs for Maggie's Diner up ahead in Jaded Hollow, which state it is an All-night diner. It’s finding a place to crash that will be an issue.
With about fifty dollars to my name I can’t even afford to rent a hotel for the night. Sleeping in my cramped car is definitely not appealing, but I have done it before and am prepared to do it again. I just hope I can find work in this middle of nowhere town that is to be my home for a short amount of time. Sleeping in my car for a few nights I can deal with, but I really don't want to wake up with a crick in my neck and cramps in my legs every day for weeks at a time until I can afford a place to stay.
It is dark out so I can't really see the landscape around me. From what I can see from the light of the moon and the shine of my headlights I am surrounded by woods. The road is curvy and there are a few small hills.
I slow my car when I reach a wooden sign that welcomes me to Jaded Hollow, OH. It looks old and the scene on it represents the country town I’m about to enter; a farmhouse with silos sitting behind it and a field of corn.
I speed back up, anxious to reach my destination. About a mile past the welcome sign I start taking notice of my surroundings. It’s important to familiarize myself with where I’ll be staying just in case I need to flee again. He may come for me and I need to know where I’ll be safe.
Large houses start appearing. The only reason I can see them is because their porch lights illuminate the front stoops. Many of the houses are at least a couple hundred feet from the road and sit on large amounts of land.
Further down the road bright orange street lights dot both sides of the road. Smaller houses start popping up on either side of the road, along with businesses thrown in here and there. There’s a post office on one side and an outdoor shop on the other.
There’s also the Jaded Hollow Public Library, a red brick building with a large, colorful brick book that sits right out front. There is a gazebo that’s off to the left and a small swing set and slide right beside it. I can picture a mother sitting in the gazebo reading her book as a little girl swings close by. With the image in my head, my stomach cramps and my eyes sting. I immediately push the image away before it has the chance to cripple me.
As I slow down to a stop at what appears to be the only red light in town, I notice a building that houses three motorcycles and five cars. The building sits on the corner of County Road 14 and Big Bulge Road. There are several lit advertisement signs on the windows and front of the white building, most of which are advertising different types of beer. The largest lit sign reads ‘Jaxon's Pub’.
The light turns green and I creep along. Up ahead on the left a simple red sign shows that I have finally arrived at Maggie's Diner. There are several cars parked in front of the light blue building.
I park my car next to an old red pick-up truck, pull the key out of the ignition and lay my head back on the headrest. Not only is my car running on empty, but I am as well. With a deep breath I force myself to grab my purse and drop my keys inside. The air is nippy when I step out of my car so I grab my gray hooded sweatshirt that shows the Cookie Monster chomping on cookies, and slip it on.
As I approach the entrance a ma
n appears out of nowhere and startles me. I automatically allow my russet brown hair to fall in front of my face on the right side. This is born out of habit from trying to hide the hideous scar that runs from the corner of my right eye to my ear. People tend to stare, which makes encounters uncomfortable. So, to avoid any tense moments I learned real quick to hide behind a wall of hair anytime I am in the vicinity of people.
I peek at him from under my eyelashes. He looks to be in his early 30's. He wears a black hat that he turned backwards. His hair is dark and I can tell that he keeps his hair short by the stubble that peaks out from just below the hat by his ears. I can’t really see from the lack of light, but it appears he has dark eyes. Although he sports a five o'clock shadow you can see that he keeps his face clean-shaven. He has on a dark gray t-shirt with a black thermal shirt underneath that covers bulging muscles. He also has on a pair of worn form-fitting blue jeans and a pair of tan work boots. Overall, he is a very good looking man. At another time and place I would really appreciate his looks. But not now, I never want anything to do with a man again.
When I glance at him, he smiles and says, “Hey, sorry if I startled you.” His voice is rough, but still holds a smooth edge to it.
I duck my head a little and reply. “That's okay, I'm just a little jumpy.”
He grabs the handle to the door, opens it, and gestures for me to enter. “Ladies first.”
I notice the hand that holds the handle has a black and blue web tattoo. It starts at the center of the back of his hand and extends all the way to his fingers. I can’t see his palm, but I’m pretty sure that the tattoo continues to wrap around to the front of his hand. The webbing also wraps around each of his fingers. I briefly wonder what the significance is but then shake my head. It’s none of my business.
When I walk inside the diner I notice that it looks like a traditional diner that you see in movies and TV shows. It has a long white counter that has attached red vinyl stools right in front of it. Behind the counter is all the kitchen equipment a business needs to serve food and drinks; industrial stove and oven, microwave, racks of dishes, silverware, and all the food prep. There are two waitresses wearing red aprons standing behind the counter. One has to be in her mid 20's while the other in her late 50's to early 60's. She has a very grandmotherly look to her. A middle aged man and woman are sitting at the counter.
Along the front and side walls there are white tables with red vinyl booths. Salt and pepper shakers, a napkin holder, and two menus sit on each table. Several of the booths are occupied by a variety of people. One holds a young teenage couple, another a couple of older men, and the third a lone female drinking a cup of coffee.
The walls are littered with various pictures of people in their everyday life. One is of a couple of kids on a swing set. Another is a black and white photo of a man and a woman swinging on a hammock wrapped in each other’s arms. There is also an old picture of a man and a woman standing in front of a building that looks like Maggie's Diner a 100 years ago.
The man that startled me walks in and the bell on the door rings when it shuts. He starts walking towards the end of the counter where a portion of it lifts up, allowing people to move back and forth from behind the counter. The younger waitress runs from behind the counter and literally jumps on the guy once she reaches him. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and plasters an enormous smile on her face. Holding her up with one hand on her ass, he grabs a hand full of hair and slams his mouth down on hers.
I hear some chuckles from some of the patrons. The grandmotherly waitress behind the counter has a twinkle in her eye when she says, “Alright you two, break it up. Anna, you get back to work and you,” she says, pointing to the man, “go have a seat and I'll bring you a nice steaming cup of coffee.”
After another minute of tongue action the couple reluctantly break apart. They stand there staring into each other’s eyes when the man smiles hugely. “Hey, Anna Banana.”
“Hi, Nick,” the waitress replies in a breathy voice, her smile just as big as before. I think the nickname he gave her is corny and sweet at the same time. You can tell these two people are irrevocably in love. For a few seconds it makes me wish that I could find that kind of love, but I know that kind of love is rare and not meant for me.
I move away from the couple and make my way over to one of the booths in the corner. I drop my purse on the seat, sit down, and grab the plastic menu. I’m not real picky on what I eat, as long as it doesn’t taste like sawdust or have a beating heart. I’m pretty desperate for any food at this point.
Most of the foods are the same as any diner you come across. They have a large variety of breakfast dishes, the usual hamburger and fries, several different kinds of melts, and a select few dinner dishes, which included a roll, two veggies, and a salad. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. They offer coffee, sweet tea, coke, diet coke, fresh lemonade, milk, and water.
I close the first menu and pick up the second one. This menu is different than the first. It isn’t plastic and looks like it is just a thick sheet of paper that has pictures of desserts printed on it. To not be laminated and around food and liquids all day the menu is in perfect shape. There are pictures showing Kristen's Supreme Banana Pudding, Jay's Chocolate Crinkles, Barb's Coconut Cream Swirl, Brenda's Chocolate Cake Surprise, and Grandma Rosy's Pecan Pie.
“We have an ever-changing dessert menu,” comes a soft and flowing voice.
I glance up, making sure my hair covers my scar, and see the waitress that was swapping spit with the man a few minutes ago standing by my table. “Excuse me?”
She quirks her lips up into a smile and says, “I noticed you looking at the menu strangely and didn't want you to think we were so cheap we couldn't afford to laminate our dessert menu. The menu changes every month, so there's no sense in spending the money on laminating the menu's when they'll be tossed in the trash soon anyway.”
I glance back down at the menu in my hand and ask, “Why does the menu change every month?”
“We have an ongoing contest to see who makes the best desserts. Anyone in town who wants to enter brings in a dessert sample and we pick five to sell here at the diner for the whole month. They can either choose to give the recipe to us and we can make the desserts ourselves or they can make it themselves and just bring it in when we need it. At the end of the month the whole town votes to see whose dessert was the best. The winner gets one free meal a day for the next month.”
She is a beautiful woman. Her sandy blond hair is swept up on top of her head and has a pen sticking out of the back. It looks like she just grabbed a hair tie on the go and quickly pulled it back. Her face is free of makeup except for maybe a dash of blush and a quick swipe of mascara. She has beautiful blue eyes. They are a deep blue with a hint of a lighter blue around the outside. They kind of remind me of what a blue moon would look like if the moon actually turned blue during its second rare full moon of the month. The shirt she has on is a white button up with pleats running down the sides. On the top left side, right above her breast, is a white name tag that reads 'Anna'. She has on a pair of violet colored skinny jeans. Her shoes are standard white Keds.
She reaches out her hand and says, “Hi, I'm Anna.”
Not wanting to appear rude, I settle my hand in hers. “Bailey.”
“Well, hi Bailey, nice to meet you. What can I get for you tonight?” I can tell that she is an extremely happy and energetic person. She smiled the entire time she talked and bounced on her heels. I can never understand how some people are always happy and on the go. I can never remember a time in my life when I was truly and utterly happy. My childhood was filled with verbal and physical abuse. My one saving grace that kept me sane while I was a child was that I could one day escape it all. Little did I know that I would be jumping from the frying pan and into an inferno. Actually, it was worse than an inferno, I jumped straight into hell. A hell that scarred me, literally and figuratively, for the rest of my life. A he
ll that I had no means to escape from. A hell that I was still being forced to live in.
I release her hand and decide on something simple and cheap for my dinner. “I'll take the burger and fries, please.”
“And to drink?” She asks while taking out a notepad from her apron and pulling the pen from her hair.
“Water,” I reply, trying to go as cheap as I could. Most restaurants don't charge for water and I’m hoping Maggie's Diner is one of those places.
Anna scribbles on her little notepad, sticks the pen back in her hair and says “I'll have it right out for you.” Still smiling, she turns and flounces away.
A little dazed from my encounter with the exuberant waitress, I glance around at my surroundings. I notice that the young couple seated in a booth a couple of places over from me to the left is staring at each other with stars in their eyes. They can’t be more than 16 or 17 years old, but you can tell they are completely infatuated with each other. When I was just a few years their senior, I too thought that I had found something special and lasting. After college graduation it didn't take long for me to realize my hopes and dreams were all an illusion.
Looking to my right, I find one of the older men has turned around to look at me. He looks to be in his 70's. His hair is as white as salt with just barely there hints of pepper. His skin is wrinkled and sagging and his cheeks have that sunken in look. The arm that he has draped across the back of the booth is skin and bones. He’s wearing a green and gray plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow.
“Why do you wear your hair in your face like that, little girl?” He asked in a well-used and scratchy voice.
I sit there stunned and speechless at his inquiry. Not many people ask that question of me. I don't know if it’s because they don't notice, they don't care, or they don't want to offend me. This old man threw me for a loop and I don't know how to respond. Luckily, the old buzzard’s equally old friend rescues me from coming up with an answer.