Broken

Broken

By

Christa Cervone

Copyright © 2013 Christa Cervone Cover
design by Todd M. LeMieux Cover image © Christa Cervone Back cover
image © Christa Cervone

No portion of this book may be
reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form
without the permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and coincidental.
Any resemblances between persons living or dead, establishments,
events or location is entirely coincidental.

The portrayal of Alex Minsky’s story
has been altered to suit this book. Though some of his story is
true this is not a biography of his life.

Printed in the United States

A very special thanks to
Alex Minsky

This book and cover would
not be what it is without you and your story. I truly appreciate
all the time you took out of your busy life to talk to me. Your
story as well as your outlook on life truly inspires me as it does
people all over the world. Don’t ever lose the spark you have
inside of you.

Alex, I want to thank you
from the bottom of my heart. You helped me turn Garrett into a
truly sexy beast.

Music has been a huge inspiration in
the writing of this book. Back in October when I first heard this
song I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s what inspired me to
begin writing this book and for that I thank you, P!nk. I hope
someday you will read it and know how much your music truly
inspires me and the world.

Just give me a
reason
Just a little bit's enough
Just a second we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again

Give Me Just a Reason --
P!nk

Chapter 1

My Saturday started just like every
other Saturday with me lying in bed, my mind in a fog and my head
pounding from all the tequila I had consumed the night before. The
memories of bringing Chris, Kyle, Connor or whatever his name was,
back to my apartment were flashing through my head. I remember the
two of us leaving the bar as I closed my eyes trying to shake the
memory.

We met on the dance floor
at Danny’s, the bar I work at. I pushed him up against the wall
outside of the employee entrance. With my hands down the front of
his pants practically exposing him, I kissed his neck. His skin
tasted salty from his sweat. Taking a step back I pulled him
towards the stairwell that leads up to my apartment. I carefully
tried to climb the stairs backwards but tripped over my own foot
and fell landing on my ass. I tugged on his t-shirt pulling him on
top of me. My hands fumbled to pull his pants down.

Over the years, sex and alcohol had
almost become a necessity for me to function. It temporarily filled
the gaping hole I’d been left with when my heart shattered four
long years ago. Even though the sex and booze were only a momentary
fix, it helped me through my nights.

I opened my eyes wide
trying to make the memories of last night stop. I was so pissed at
myself for doing what I did but
another
flash hit me.

I slowly slid my body down
a step until my mouth was pressed up against his already exposed
cock. I heard him moan. He grabbed my hair with both of his hands
and guided himself into my mouth. I slowly ran my tongue down his
cock, hoping it would drive him crazy. He sucked in a big gasp of
air. I stood up and moved myself up a few steps and pulled my skirt
up revealing that I had no underwear on.

He laughed a deep devilish
laugh. “You’re a bad girl, Leila.”

“
I know,” I purred gently
nibbling on his ear.

He moved up the stairs and
stood face to face with me. Bringing his index and middle fingers
to his mouth, he wet them with his tongue. Licking them like a
lollipop. He then lowered his hand and pushed his fingers into my
pussy. His eyes were staring at me with such intensity. I knew he
wanted me.

I dug my nails into his
back. “Fuck me,” I said hoarsely, the words barely coming
out.

He quickly pulled his
fingers out of me, yanked my hips closer and thrust his cock inside
me with one swift move
.
I let out a deep moan and dug my nails deeper
into his back. He flinched from the pain, though he never asked me
to stop as he kept plowing himself into me. We both froze when we
heard the employee door open below us. Once I realized no one was
coming, I began to giggle and thrust my hips up and down his length
again.

“
Don’t stop,” I said
breathlessly.

As the memory persisted, I began to
feel sick to my stomach. I took my pillow and put it over my face
and screamed as I clenched my eyes shut. My chest was heaving from
my anger, and still my mind wandered back to what happened
next.

“
Let’s go upstairs,” he
panted in my ear.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t
really interested in taking him back to my place. I nodded my head
even though I would’ve been happy to get off on the stairs. He
pulled out of me and yanked his pants up roughly without zipping or
buttoning them. We walked up the last few stairs, and I searched
frantically for my key at the bottom of my purse. The tequila was
running through me as I fumbled trying to get my key in the lock
but dropped it on the ground instead.

As I bent over to pick it
up, I felt him push his erection against me. Standing up, I reached
around and freed him from his pants. I hiked my skirt around my
waist and stood on my tiptoes guiding his cock into me. He slammed
me up against the door causing me to grip the door jam to steady
myself and regain my footing as he rammed himself into me.
“Harder,” I gasped.

Fuck me!
I flung the pillow off my face and across my
room. I quickly leapt out of bed and began pacing back and forth.
How could I let myself act so cheap? I actually fucked someone on
the stairs, and I have no clue what his name was. Last night felt
like an out of body experience.

I remembered how I pretended to be
asleep, hoping he would just leave. Thankfully, after a few
minutes, he did. The thought of random men touching me and wanting
to hold me after sex actually made my skin crawl. The last thing I
needed to complicate my life was another relationship. It was
pretty obvious to me that I was in no state to have or even handle
a steady boyfriend.

My self-destructive behavior and
self-hatred had hit an all-time high. I threw myself back onto my
bed and buried my head in my pillow again. I let out another scream
and closed my eyes tightly, as my mind began to race. I’d had
enough this time. I forced my thoughts onto something
else.

I began thinking about my grandma and
how much I missed her and what she would think about my recent
behavior. It was hard to believe she had been gone for almost two
years now. I had spent so much of my childhood with her. It was
like having a second mother.

My grandma had always called herself a
“shutterbug.” She was one of those people who always walked around
with a camera either in her hand or around her neck. She must have
taken a million pictures of me throughout the years. She and my
grandfather were the ones who bought me my first camera. I can
remember it clearly––I was turning ten years old, and she was so
excited to give me my gift. She didn’t even wait until my
birthday.

It was a Kodak point and shoot camera,
and although it wasn’t a great camera, it was my very own, and I
loved it. I took pictures of my dolls. I posed them up against my
bed, changing their outfits and their hairstyles. Luckily, it was a
digital camera, so I was able to view the pictures on a
computer.

I was so deep in thought
when my alarm actually went off, it scared the living shit out of
me, making me jump a mile. “Ugh,” I moaned.
I’m just not into shooting this wedding
today
.

As a recent graduate of WSU, with a
Bachelor’s Degree in Art, I’d wanted to be a photographer, for as
long as I could remember. Once I’d begun high school, and they’d
offered a photography class as an elective, it was a no-brainer for
me. I’d eventually become really good. One Christmas, my parents
and grandparents pitched in and bought me a digital SLR camera.
With my new camera, I started photographing my friends, family,
neighbors and even the children I babysat after school. Anytime you
would see me, there would be a camera either in my hand or around
my neck just like my grandma.

I became the photographer for the
school newspaper and took many of my classmates' senior pictures
for the yearbook. It was a nice, little part-time job for me during
high school. When the time came to figure out what I was going to
do for a career, it was pretty obvious. I was fortunate that the
local University offered an art major and photography classes.
Although my mom wasn’t poor, I knew she couldn’t afford to send me
to some fancy photography school in the city.

Once I started college, my high school
photography teacher, Mrs. Grady, introduced me to a local wedding
photographer named Katie Wright. Katie also was one of Mrs. Grady’s
students. Mrs. Grady gave me a glowing recommendation. Katie and I
hit it off immediately. Katie began her career in photography in
her early twenties. She took the industry by storm. Within the
first few years of her career, she became one of the most highly
demanded wedding photographers in our area. This was a huge
accomplishment considering her age and the length of time she had
been photographing. She stood all of five feet tall and weighed a
hundred pounds soaking wet. She had long brown straight hair, deep
green eyes and a perfect complexion.

Don’t let Katie’s size deceive you,
when it came to her photography business, she was a killer business
woman. Even though she was one of the youngest photographers at any
given bridal show, every bride and groom wanted to meet with her
because of her reputation. There would be a line at her booth
waiting to discuss their up-coming wedding. Working with Katie was
great. She taught me everything there was to know about the wedding
photography business.

When I first began working with Katie,
she told me she wanted to ease me in slowly. Even though I had over
three years of experience with photographing my classmates, wedding
photography was much different. She described many of her brides as
“Bridezillas.” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant by
that. However, once I had worked a few weddings it became very
clear as to what she meant. Some of the brides were crazy. I
started off as Katie’s assistant at weddings, I was there to make
sure the bride and groom looked perfect. I assisted in the posing
and also kept the wedding party in line, in case they got rowdy.
She called me “her second set of eyes.” Eventually, she had me
photographing the weddings alongside her. After I graduated, she
officially promoted me to a photographer. I was so thrilled. I was
actually going out and photographing weddings on my own.

In addition to working with Katie, I
also served at Danny’s. I had been waiting tables there since I was
eighteen. While I attended WSU, I mostly worked Thursday and Sunday
nights. Now, that I was no longer in school, Danny had offered me
the lunch shifts during the week. He knew I really wanted to start
my career in photography, and gave me the weekends off.

Working the lunch shift
also helped him out as he didn’t have to hire two new waitresses.
Danny knew I didn’t want to be a barmaid for the rest of my life,
so picking up shifts during the week gave me more money in my
pocket. I didn’t want to be one of the college students who had to
move back home with their parents. In my opinion, this was not an
option. I had been living on my own since I’d started college. I
liked being independent, not having a curfew, and also I didn’t
want to worry my mom by coming at all hours of the night. I liked
the “
outta sight, outta
mind
” mentality and I think she did as
well.

Even though I had lived within
commuting distance of WSU, I lived in the dorms my freshman year. I
had suffered a horrible bout of depression the summer prior to
starting college. My mother had thought it was very important for
me to experience living with students my own age. She had been
worried that by not doing so, I would isolate myself again. She was
very grateful for my roommate Amy. Amy was five feet seven with
gorgeous, curly, black hair and beautiful, creamy white skin. Not
only was she breathtakingly beautiful, she was the happiest and the
most positive person I had ever met. She put up with my depression
and my mood swings and would tell me in a goofy voice to “Turn my
frown upside down.”