Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (25 page)

Dante scowled at me. “Lennon was
revolutionary too. He even wrote a song called
Revolution
. It wuz one of
his most political songs, a response to the Vietnam War.
Bring on the Lucie
wuz
another one. It’s a protest ’bout war and killing. He believed in peace and a
perfect world, like he sung in
Imagine
. Personally, I don’t believe a
perfect world is possible, since there are too many crims and psychos in the
world for it to work. It’s a nice idea, but only a fantasy, a dream that
hateful people will stomp all over if they get half the chance. Anarchy is more
likely than John Lennon’s ideal. Violence and greed is in our blood, our psyche
a minefield of imperfection.”

I blinked, not believing what I was
hearing, his words impressive.

“Do you go to church?” he asked.

I nodded, still dumbfounded by his
intelligent spiel, the boy a contradiction in so many ways.

He narrowed his eyes. “The next time you
go there, look at the people on either side of you, then the ones in front and
behind you, as well as the people raising their hands in prayer. Also, listen
to the churchgoers who sing the loudest and open their mouths to take communion
on their tongues instead of their hands. At least one of ’em will steal from
you if war breaks out. They’ll even bash you to get what they want, their base
needs more important than this bullshit ’bout loving thy neighbour. And I
guarantee at least one of the men in that church will rape you, not caring a
shit as you scream for them to stop, if anything, they’ll pro’bly get off on it.”

My eyes widened. “Dante! That’s a horrible
thing to say.”

He grimaced. “Maybe, but it’s still the
truth. Bosnia’s enough proof of that.” His lips twitched in anger. “My cousin’s
neighbour, a man who’d lived next door to her all her life, raped her as soon
as the Serbian bombs hit their town. Humans are savages, no worse than animals,
preying on the weak and vulnerable for their own gain. They’ll even bring down
the strong with the right words, grinding them into the ground, making them do
what they want.”

“Not all people are liked that,” I said.
“Some will go out of their way for others.”

“You’ll need a hundred of those to make up
for the few who’ll fuck you over, though, all it’ll take is one person to make you
wanna blow your brains out.”

I wondered whether that
one
person
was his stepfather. “I hope you’re not talking literally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suicide. You don’t think about it, do
you?”

He scoffed. “Fuck off.”

“Dante! Don’t be rude, I’m being serious.”

“Well, it’s none of your business, and
anyway, I’d rather die from liver failure, cos at least I’ll have fun gettin’
there.” He glanced at his watch. “Looks like it’s time for me to fuck off-ski. But
knowing bloody Hemi, he’ll be late.” He dropped the pen on the table and stretched
out his arms, resting them on the back of the couch, his left hand a whisper
away from my shoulder. He tickled it with his fingers, giving me a flirtatious smile,
as though we hadn’t just been talking about suicide. “Can I have a drink?” he
asked.

“Sure.” I jumped up and headed for the
kitchen, relieved to be away from him. I hoped his ride came quick, the feeling
between us once again lapping into awkwardness. I grabbed a glass tumbler from
the cupboard, then removed the orange juice from the fridge. The sound of a car
caught my attention, drawing me to the window. I glanced through it, hoping to see
Dante’s ride, but instead a blue Hyundai pulled into the driveway across the
road.

Sighing, I poured some juice into the
tumbler, then put the bottle away. I picked up the now full tumbler and headed
back to him. He was sitting in the same spot, with his arms still spread out
over the back of the couch, but with a friendly smile instead of a flirtatious
one, the boy having a large repertoire of smiles.

I held out the tumbler for him to take. He
took it and sniffed at the juice, wrinkling his nose as though it was off,
which I knew it wasn’t, since I’d had some earlier in the day.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked up at me with a disgusted
expression. “I wanted a
real
drink, not kids’ stuff. I don’t drink
orange juice unless it’s laced with vodka.”

“Orange juice isn’t kids’ stuff and I’m
not giving a minor alcohol.”

“No one will find out if you don’t tell ’em,”
he said, putting the tumbler down on the coffee table, the glass surface making
a clinking sound. “And I drink all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it right, what you did
at school ample proof of that.”

“I lived and you’re not a cop, so stop
bein’ a prude and gimme sumpthin’ with bite.” He snapped his teeth. “Or I’ll
give you a bite.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think
you should wait outside for your ride.”

“And I think you should suck my dick, but
it doesn’t mean I’ll get it.” He pushed up and stepped over the coffee table,
his long legs clearing it easily. He headed for the tall cabinets lining the far
wall, his boots clomping against the floor.

“Dante! What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ a real drink,
foxy lady
,”
he said, singing the last two words. He ran a hand over the red-varnished wood.
“Now, which one has the booze?”

I stalked over to him. “None, and I told
you to leave.”

“Not until I get a drink.”

Despite my protests, he opened the cabinet
doors, letting out a loud whoop of joy when he spotted Markus’s liquor collection.
He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and whipped the cap off, taking a swig
before I could stop him.

“Dante! Give me that!” I shouted, trying
to take it off him.

He turned and gulped down more, his Adam’s
apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed the whiskey like it was soft drink. I
moved in between the cabinet and him, pushing up onto my toes to grab the
bottle. He pulled it away from his lips and let out a loud burp, looking pleased
with himself. I snatched the bottle out of his hand, sloshing a little onto my
shirt, but too angry to care.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone I let you
drink alcohol,” I snapped, furious with him.

He smirked at me, his lips wet from the whiskey.
“But you didn’t let me.”

“Just don’t say a word.”

“I wouldn’t cos it’ll get you into
trouble, like I wouldn’t tell anyone if we fucked.” He stepped closer, backing
me into the cabinet.

I shoved him with my free hand, forcing
him to take a step back. “If you do that one more time, I won’t tutor you again.”

He snorted out a laugh. “We both know
you’re talkin’ shit.”

My cheeks flared up, angry over the way he
was dismissing my words, which he constantly did, my opinion meaning nothing to
him. And I let him get away with it, too much of a
pussy
, like he said I
was.

He laughed. “I’m surprised you’re so full
of shit, considering how many times your cheeks flush.”

“Why do you say the most horrid things to
me?” I snapped, my anger spilling over.

“They’re not
horrid
; it’s just the
way I speak.”

“No, you purposely provoke me, and you
shouldn’t even be talking about sex. You’re fifteen years old, so act it!”

His smile disappeared, a flash of anger
replacing it. “Fifteen isn’t my age, it’s just the years I’ve spent in this
hellhole called earth.” He taped his head. “I’m older in here, much more than
you, cos I’ve seen and done things no fifteen or even fifty-year-old has. Age
is just a number, so stop lettin’ it get in the way of what you want. And I
know you want me. It couldn’t be more obvious.”

Before I could reply, his lips smashed
against mine, much harder than the first time at school, but still laced with
liquor. Shocked, I wrenched my head to the side and slapped him. He jerked his
head back and glared down at me with a pained expression, making me realise I’d
hit his bruised cheek. But I didn’t apologise, because he’d deserved it.
Instead, I returned his glare, almost daring him to try it again, my hand
itching to hit him one more time.

His pained look disappeared, replaced by a
sly smile, giving me the impression he was going to kiss me again. I hit his other
cheek before he could, what he was doing winding me up more and more.

He winced and brought a hand to his face.
“Stop doin’ that!”

“Not until you back off.”

He glowered at me, his eyes narrowing to
slits. “I ain’t backing off, ’specially not to some cock tease who pro’bly
frigs herself stupid thinking ’bout me.”

“Is that so?” I gritted out between
clenched teeth, almost daring him to say one more word, one more insult, so I
could have an excuse to wipe that sneer off his face.

“Yeah.” He placed a hand next to my head
and leaned his face down to mine, growling, “And you know it.”

My hand whipped out. He grabbed my wrist
before I could make contact. I yelled out and went to hit him with my other
hand, dropping the Jack Daniels in the process. He grabbed that wrist as the
bottle hit the floor, the amber liquid probably spilling all over my blue carpet.
But I didn’t care, my focus solely on Dante.

“Let go!” I hollered.

“Not until you stop hitting me,” he growled.
“Just look at my fuckin’ face, woman. I’ve been hit enough as it is. I don’t
need you adding to my bruises.”

“I wouldn’t have hit you if you didn’t keep
pushing me,” I snarled back, wishing his face ... his beautiful, beautiful face
... wasn’t so damn close to mine. I wanted to kiss those full lips of his, to
taste the liquor on them, to get drunk on him, the boy intoxicating. The
temptation to do it started to claw at my insides, making my hands flex in his
grip, my jaw clench, and my eyes flare at him, the rage he’d triggered transforming
into full-blown lust, something that was ready to burst forth, giving a giant
fuck
you
to reason.

No longer thinking, I smashed my lips
against his, hitting them hard, my teeth clashing against his teeth in my rush
to taste him. He jerked his head back, looking shocked, but I didn’t care, my
restraints completely stripped away. He’d taunted me, flirted with me, got me
so wound up and needy that once I’d opened the floodgates, nothing was going to
stop me.

I stepped into him, pressing up against
his larger body, while my lips ran across his neck. He shuddered and let out a low
groan, mumbling, “Fuck, yeah.” He let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around
me, pulling me closer, making me groan too. I grabbed his head and yanked it
down, planting my lips against his again. This time he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he pushed me up against the cabinet, causing it to wobble. An ornament
toppled over the side, smashing against the floor, shattering like my mind. I had
placed a metaphorical gun against my head and pulled the trigger. My morals
were now collapsing in upon themselves, shot to pieces, damning my conscience forever.
But, I no longer cared. Not in this moment, not when he was kissing me like
this, touching me, giving me everything I’d fantasised about.

Desperate for more, I slipped my hands in
between us, flicking open his fly, then shoved my right hand down the front of
his underwear, grabbing onto—

A loud bang split the air like a
thunderbolt. I whipped my hand out of Dante’s pants and jerked my head back. He
appeared just as startled. His face was flustered while his eyes were round, a
picture of innocence and sex all rolled into one conflicting package. We stood
there in silence, just staring at each other, trying to process what had made
the sound, our minds listing halfway between lust and confusion.

Banging started up, pulling my attention
to the front door. The realisation that someone was on the other side of it finally
broke through my hazy, lust-filled mind. I held my hands up and stepped away
from Dante, as though the police were on my front porch, ready to break down my
door and drag me off to jail—where I belonged, what I’d done criminal.

“Go,” I pushed out, my voice strained. My
body was still throbbing, begging for release, but also knowing it wasn’t going
to get it. “Leave,” I snapped, just wanting him gone,
needing
him to go.
What I’d done...
Oh, God
...

Dante opened his mouth, looking like he
was going to say something, but jolted as a man with a Maori accent called out
his name. Spinning on his heel, he rushed over to the coat stand and grabbed
his leather jacket, yanking it on with a jerky motion. His fingers moved to his
pants, quickly doing up his fly. Once decent, he reached for the door handle,
hesitating to glance back at me. Again, it looked like he wanted to say
something, but instead he opened the door and disappeared out of it, leaving me
alone with my thoughts...

...and unbearable guilt.

24

DANTE

In shock, I strode towards Hemi’s car,
what Mrs. Hatton had done ...
unbelievable
. I knew she liked me but...
Fuck!
That had been amazing, better than anything I’d expected and if Hemi hadn’t
interrupted us, I knew we would’ve had sex. I glanced over at Jasper’s dad, pissed
off at him even more now, but kept my trap shut since it wasn’t his fault, the
guy actually doing me a favour driving me home.

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 mine—”

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?”