Our Broken Pieces

By M.E. Clayton

What do you get when your broken pieces are too broken to repair?

A destructive relationship that’s dangerous.

Mystic
Mystic Anderson was broken, and she knew this. However, she had no idea why. Her parents were wonderfully supportive, she got along nicely with her brother and sister, they lived in a great neighborhood, and she was well on her way to graduating high school. So, with all that going for her, how did she end up so broken and lost?

With a secret that nobody will understand, Mystic has been living with her broken pieces for as long as she can remember. While most people would probably get help for their issues, Mystic wasn’t looking to be cured of her affliction. She had a coping mechanism, even if it was an unhealthy one. Still, she couldn’t see herself ever walking away from Gage Evans, no matter what.

Gage
Gage Evans was evil, and he knew this. He also knew exactly why. On the surface, he had the perfect life. He was popular, good-looking, athletic, lived in a goddamn mansion, both his parents were doctors, and he was well on his way to graduating high school. So, with all that going for him, how did he end up so evil and unconscionable?

With a secret that nobody will understand, Gage has been dealing with his demons since he was twelve. While he knows it’s wrong and should seek help for the darkness he harbors, he has no desire to cure himself of all the things that are wrong with him. Damaged beyond what most people can accept, one person accepts him just fine. Mystic Anderson is his saving grace, and he will never let her go.

When life has other plans...
Ten years later, Mystic is a shell of her former self. Estranged from her family, she has only one friend who she can trust and a job that is as mundane as her life. When her new job put her face-to-face with Gage Evans again, it’s obvious that she hasn’t been cured of him.

Ten years later, Gage is as cold and as ruthless as he’s ever been. The only people he can tolerate are his mother and best friend, everyone else can go screw themselves. When he comes face-to-face with Mystic Anderson again, it’s obvious that he’s still as angry as the day she left him.

With desire and rage warring with each other, can Gage forgive Mystic for all those missing years? Better yet, can Mystic forgive Gage for the heartache she’s had to endure? And can they figure it out before one destroys the other?

NOTE: This book contains adult language, adult situations, explicit sexual encounters, and questionable aggression and consent. If sensitive to any of the aforementioned issues, please do not purchase.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.E. Clayton
• Release date: Nov 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005182373

M.E. Clayton

M.E. Clayton works fulltime and writes as a hobby only. She is also an avid reader and Pinterest addict. When she's not working, reading, writing, or on Pinterest, she is spending time with her family and friends, or her dog, Boy, or her cat, Seatbelt. She lives in California with her husband and enjoys doing nothing but reading. Seriously. She does nothing but read. However, that's how she likes it.

Book preview

Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.

That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked into commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. However, if you’re a stickler for grammar, my books are probably not for you.

Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. However, the only downside to my reading obsession is when I fall in love with a series, but I have to wait for the additional books to come out. And because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, when I started publishing my works, I vowed to publish all books in my series all at once. No waiting here…LOL. Now, the exception to that will be if enough readers request additional stories based off the standalone, such as in Facing the Enemy. At that point, if I decide to move forward with a requested series, I will make sure all additional books are available all at once. As much as this is a hobby for me, I am writing these books for all of you, as well as myself.

Thank you, for everything!

Contact Me

I really appreciate you reading my book and I would love to hear from you! Now, unfortunately, because I do have a full-time job, and a family I love spending time with, at this time, I’m afraid it would be very hard for me to maintain a multitude of social media sites. However, for the sites I do participate in, here are my social media coordinates:

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Dedication

For my husband-

My Nicholas, Chase, Julian, Kane,

Marcus,

Damien, Will,

Theo,

Ramsey, Liam, Deke, Ace,

Callum,

Mason, Aiden, Gabriel, Michael,

Kade,

Nixon, Lincoln, Jackson,

Talon,

Phoenix, Ciro, Luca, Nico,

Francisco,

Styx, Sterling,

Samson, Ford, Raiden, Duke, Alistair,

Sayer, Nathan, and Gideon

all rolled into one.

I love you.

Playlist

Light Me Up Again – Ingrid Michaelson

so·ci·o·path

/ˈsōsēōˌpaTH/

noun

a person with apersonality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.

psy·cho·path

/ˈsīkəˌpaTH/

noun

a person suffering from chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behavior.

Psychopaths are born.

Sociopaths are made.

Prologue

The pain is like it always is. Unbearable.

The tears are like they always are. Real.

The desire is like it always is. Fiery.

The bond is like it always is. Unbreakable.

And the insanity of it all is like it always is. Consuming.

With every thrust into my body, my heart beats just a little faster while my soul dies a little inside.

How can a person feel so alive and as if they’re dying, all at the same time?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I was fourteen. It’s also a question I’ve been trying to answer for just as long.

So far, all I’ve managed to come up with was that I was weak, along with being...deranged.

I mean, I had to be somewhat mentally dented to be here; to be doing what I was doing, right?

Something had to be wrong with me. I knew that. I knew there was something...damaged somewhere in my mind, but for the life of me, I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

I also learned that you didn’t have to come from a damaged home to be damaged. You can come from a happy home with both parents who loved each other, a brother who was in college to become a veterinarian, and a sister who was in college to become a medical research scientist, and still be...wrong.

When you’re damaged, though, you almost wish for a traumatic childhood you can blame your proclivities on. People sympathize with the damaged if they have a good reason for being damaged. There are support groups and counselors and all sorts of outreach programs where you can go and feel like you’re getting help. Or, simply, like you’re not alone.

But where do you go or who do you turn to when you don’t have a good reason for all the darkness that resides inside your head? Where does an eighteen-year-old high school senior that comes from a loving family go to for that kind of help?

I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to, and so I ran.

I ran away from my thoughts. I ran away from my feelings. I ran away from the real me.

I ran, and ran, until the day I got caught.

Or, rather, until the day someone caught me.

After years of confusion and shame, one boy noticed me and saw right through me until I had become a helpless outlet for his own personal demons. We were both fourteen the first time he grabbed me by the arm and had whispered in my ear, "I see you."

I remember being terrified, but...excited, too. I remember the hope that bloomed in my chest at the possibility that I’d finally found someone I could share myself with. Little had I known that the boy I thought would become my confidant would be the boy who would turn me into his prisoner.

After a full year of torturous games, we had been only fifteen when I had first let him use me with no regard. I had caved to the darkness and had spilled all my wicked, depraved desires all over the floor at his feet. And for three years, he’s been picking them up, one by one, and toying with them however he saw fit.

The pain was welcomed. The tears were genuine. The desire was brutal. The bond was unhealthy. And the insanity was the only thing that made it all bearable.

My face was pressed up against the wall and my jeans were pushed down around my knees. My palms were flat against the wall, but I hadn’t bothered to use them to protect my face. I let the force of his will throw me up against the wall and I stayed there like a good little weakling as he yanked my pants down and slammed his length into my body.

There should have been shame, and if I were normal, there would have been.

I should have stopped him, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head, I would have.

It had hurt like it always did. And just like I always did, I welcomed it. I welcomed the punishing grip he had on my hips. I welcomed the brutal invasion that would leave me aching. I welcomed the maddening grunts expelled against my ear. I welcomed the crazed way he couldn’t control himself once he got his hands on me.

I welcomed the insanity.

Part

I

Chapter 1

Mystic~

It was hard to escape the realities of adulthood when we were only six months away from graduating high school and the big, bad, real world was just looming on the horizon. Everywhere you went, everyone was talking about prom or graduation or college.

There were also fresh tears spilling in random girls’ restrooms all throughout Washington High. Relationships were sinking faster than the Titanic all over the place. Everyone was ready to start their new lives off at college or the military or wherever their plans were taking them. However, there were still a few serious relationships that were promising to last through the transition from high school teenager to young adult.

I prayed for those relationships.

I really did.

A wistful part of me wished for those relationships to work. I was rooting for them. I wanted them to have that rare story where they made it through all the pitfalls of adulthood. I wanted them to live into their eighties and still be together. The realistic part of me knew they’d need more than my simple prayers to make it, though.

They were going to need a damn miracle.

Sitting at the same lunch table I always sat at, I listened to my best friend, Margot, prattle on about her upcoming birthday party. While I had already turned eighteen a couple of months ago, Margot was hitting the big one-eight this weekend, and she had a huge party planned with damn near the entire school invited.

I smiled across the picnic table at my friend because I could feel her enthusiasm and it was contagious. I hadn’t had a party for my eighteenth birthday, but I wasn’t popular like Margot was. I was a book nerd with a few casual friends, and I was okay with that. The less people you knew, the safer all your secrets were.

I’m so excited, Margot rushed on. It’s going to be so much fun. My smile widened. And can you believe my mom agreed to let it be unchaperoned? Margot’s parents were divorced, and her father was absent from her life, so she grew up with a mother who walked the tightrope of parent and friend.

I’m just wondering how you’re going to be able to fit the entire school in your house, I joked. I wasn’t kidding at Margot’s popularity. She was a Washington High Tigers cheerleader, and she knew everyone. Take whatever stereotype idea you have of cheerleaders and erase it from your mind, though, because Margot was the opposite.

Margot was stunning with her dark red hair, bright green eyes, and her athletic build, but those were the only clichés you could lay at her cheerleading feet. She wasn’t snobby or entitled or condescending. She wasn’t a jock-whore or conceited. She was none of those things.

No.

Margot was nice to everyone and was smart as a whip. She stopped and said hi to everyone and she never tolerated nastiness or bullying. Margot Cross was genuinely liked by everyone and I couldn’t imagine anyone not going to her birthday party.

That’s what the backyard is for, she laughed. Besides, you’re exaggerating just a bit, Missy. Margot was the only person who called me Missy, and I loved her for it.

While my parents were the best and my home life was happy and blessed, I still wracked my brain wondering where the hell my parents had come up with the names for me and my sister and brother. They weren’t hippies or druggies. They had no good reason for naming me Mystic, my sister Destiny, or my brother Alaric. Drugs. Drugs would have been a good reason but that wasn’t the case. My mother claimed that she had wanted our names to mean something, but with the exception of Alaric-which meant all-powerful ruler-mine and Destiny’s names were stripper names, much to my mother’s denial and our dismay.

Sure, Destiny’s name was synonymous with fate and had meaning but it was also a name plastered on a locker in the back room of a strip club.

And Mystic just sounded ridiculous. I had spent all my life trying to get people to call me Missy instead, but my mother refused, and my father wasn’t going to sleep on the couch for calling me Missy. Alaric and Destiny refused because they weren’t going to be the only ones suffering through life with ridiculous names, so that left Margot.

Well, no matter, I’m sure it’s going to be a great party, Mar, I replied.

She arched a perfectly plucked brow as she said, By the way, I forgot to tell you, guess who asked me to prom?

I almost rolled my eyes. It was a safe bet that every single guy at Washington High has probably asked her to prom already or was going to. Who? I asked out of curiosity. If she was mentioning a random invite, there had to be a reason.

Chance McQueen, she replied, causing my stomach to roll.

I did my best to act casual as I picked up a french fry from my lunch tray and popped it in my mouth. It bought me a few precious seconds, but I could swear Mar could see my heart trying to beat out of my chest. I swallowed my fry and asked, Really?

Margot’s smile was all teeth. He caught me after cheerleading practice to tell me he was coming to my party, and then he just asked me to prom. Kind of out of the blue, she said, shrugging a shoulder.

Margot’s party Saturday night was going to kick off the first party since we got back from Christmas break, and while I had nothing against parties, knowing Chance was going to be there had me wishing I could bow out. There was also the fact that he had asked her to prom. Why would he suddenly do that after all these years?

I prayed my face was impassive. What did you say?

Her grin was telling. I said yes, she squealed. I said yes, Mys.

She said yes.

Margot was going to prom with Chance McQueen and that probably meant they were going to start hanging out more now.

I willed my voice to sound steady and casual. I didn’t know you liked him?

She shrugged a shoulder again before saying, C’mon, Mys. You can’t deny the guy is gorgeous. Plus, he’s the best wide receiver on the football team. And he’s just...fucking hot, Missy. She pretended to fan herself. The boy is red-hot sexy.

She wasn’t lying.

Chance McQueen was gorgeous in the only way guys with blonde hair and blue eyes could be. He was tall, strong, athletic, charming, and just good-goddamn-looking. He was Hollywood good-looking. He was All-American good-looking. And there have been plenty of times I’ve passed the guy when he was fresh from football practice, dirty and sweaty, and I’d tripped on my own two feet, staring at him.

I just...well, you’ve never mentioned liking him or anything, I added lamely.

The guy’s hot, but I’m not one to chase dick, Missy, she replied. But now that he’s asked me to prom, well… She trailed off, leaving all the implications of her sentence hanging between us.

I put on my best smile. Well, I think you guys will make a great...team. Date. Couple, I stammered.

Her grin was back in full force. I know, right?

I wanted to be happy for her. I really did. By all accounts, Chance was a good guy, and objectively, they would make a great couple. But with Chance McQueen came along Gage Evans, and therein laid the problem. Where Chance was a good guy, Gage Evans was not.

Gage Evans was everything I should avoid.

Gage Evans was not a good guy.

Chapter 2

Gage~

Normally, I didn’t care who Chance fucked, but him asking Margot Cross to prom was a blindside I hadn’t seen coming.

Sure, over the years, he’s mentioned how hot she was and that he wouldn’t mind getting his dick wet with her, but I never thought he’d actually ask her to prom. Chance didn’t do relationships. He dated girls but it was casual dating, and everyone knew the score. He’s never asked a girl to prom, the winter formal, or even a goddamn movie. Chance hung out with girls, and if he was lucky-which the bastard was-he got laid more often than not. So, when he told me he had asked Margot Cross to prom, I had been surprised.

Then pissed.

While Chance was my best friend, I had a whole world of secrets he knew nothing about and him dating Margot Cross threatened those secrets.

My family belonged to the ‘right’ side of Cranston, California. My father was a medical doctor, and my mother was a family psychiatrist. We lived in a two-story modern home, complete with all that the new-age automation crap, and it was important that I lived up to the image that was expected of me. And because of that expectation, I guarded my secrets fiercely.

We were in the locker room, ready to hit the football field, when Chance had made his little announcement about asking Margot Cross to prom. Our lockers were next to one another, so it was easy to have semi-private conversations in here without having to shout across the room and noise.

I pulled my shirt up over my head and looked over at him. Why?

Chance threw me a smirk as he started unbuttoning his pants. Don’t be like that, G, he chuckled. Margot Cross is hot as fuck, dude, and you know it.

Margot Cross was a hot piece of ass, there was no denying it. And by all accounts, she was a good person, too. She was popular and kind to everyone. I didn’t hang out with her or talk to her, but there were plenty of rumors going around that she had given it up to her ex-boyfriend, Timothy Carr, last year, but then quickly dumped him after she’d found out she hadn’t been the only one he had been getting pussy from. Timothy, in turn, did what all insecure assholes did; he had started spreading rumors about her. Unfortunately for him, he had underestimated just how much people liked Margot, so his bullshit never stuck, and now it was like he never existed.

I’m not saying she isn’t, I replied as I started removing my jeans. I’m just surprised. I shucked my jeans. You’ve never mentioned liking her before. And since when do you ask girls to prom? Not to mention, it’s still months away.

He pulled on his undershirt, and then looked over at me. I’m not looking to marry her, G. It’s just fucking prom.

My brows shot up. The defensiveness was new, too. Chance was usually super laid back. Hey, man, no need to get pissy about it. I was just wondering what changed. If shit were just casual and Chance just wanted to fuck her, I could work with that. But if he really liked her, that might change things, and if so, I needed to know.

The drop in my