Nearly Broken

Copyright
©
2013 Devon Ashley

All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system, without written permission from the author.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and
trademark owners for all wordmarks mentioned within this work of
fiction.

Sale of
this edition of the book without its cover is unauthorized.

This is a
work of fiction. Any similarities within are purely coincidental.
Special fonts used this publication include LainyDaySH, My Own
Topher, Glider Girls, and Milk and Cereal
, all
courtesy of kevinandamanda.com.

First
Published June 2013

ISBN
9781475132830

ISBN
1475132832

“In
this world, it is too common for people to search for someone to lose
themselves in.

But I am
already lost.

I will
look for someone to find myself in.”

―
C.
JoyBell C.

I methodically tugged
at the bottom of my sleeves, pulling them down as far as they
stretched, covering the horrors hidden beneath its thick cotton. It
was something I did naturally these days, like an itch always begging
to be scratched.

As soon as I left the
bathroom, I saw him in the corner booth. Nine-fifteen. You could set
your watch to his nightly arrival. I waved to the man and headed to
the cooler behind the counter to grab his beer before heading over.
“Hey, Joe,” I said. “How was work today?”

“Same ol’,
same ol.” He immediately grasped the icy bottle. I swear he
didn’t know how to function without it, almost like it was an
extension of his right arm that was separated at birth.

“You want your
usual?”

“Yeah.”
Before I could get even two steps away, he added, “Hey, Megan.
A bunch of us are goin’ fishing tomorrow. There’s gonna
be some girls there, too. You should head out with us. Get some sun
on your pasty ass.”

My lips pressed
together. Joe still hadn’t given up. When his attempts to get
me alone repeatedly failed, he began with the group outings. Don’t
get me wrong; he wasn’t unattractive. Though I never saw him
outside his oil-covered blue coveralls and dirty baseball cap, I was
sure he could clean up well enough. And with a body only achievable
through countless gym hours, crisp, Caribbean blue eyes and light
brown hair, I understood why some of the local girls flaunted
themselves for his attention. I just wasn’t one of those girls.
In another life I might have actually said yes, but not this one.

“Thanks, but
fishing’s not really my thing.”

“Seems like
nothing’s your thing. Fishing, camping, drinking, pool. What
the hell
do
ya’ do?”

“It’s
nothing personal, Joe. I just don’t go out anymore. And I don’t
date.”

He rolled his eyes and
took a long swig of beer. I took the opportunity to leave, but I
still heard his mutters behind my back. “Jeesh. Who the hell
fucked you up so badly?”

I sighed.
You have
no freaking idea…

Instead of placing my
order through the pass-through, I avoided staying in the front room
all together and went to find Paul in the kitchen. “He wants
his usual.”

“Already got it
going. Ready in three.”

I leaned against the
tall, stainless steel refrigerator and watched Paul do his thing,
flipping the burger on the grill and frying up the greasy fries that
came along with it. You wouldn’t think by looking at the burly
man that he’d be the softy that he was. He was probably fifty
pounds overweight, with dark brown eyes and curly black hair that
always seemed to look wet, with unsightly pit stains on his yellowed
white cook’s uniform. But behind his typically sour expression
was an incredibly kind and gentle man, like a big teddy bear. He and
his wife Darla owned Breenie’s Diner and not only gave me a job
when I came into Myrtle Creek, Oregon, but let my broke ass stay in
their guest room until I got a couple of paychecks under me. He was
almost like the dad I no longer had. Which was why it was a little
awkward when he asked, “That boy still trying to ask you out?
Because you can do better.”

“I think you’re
a little biased. I’m no better than anyone else that hangs
around this joint.”

“Maybe not. But
you seem the most likely to get the hell out.”

Not much of a stretch
since I was the only one working here who willingly fled from my old
home to come to a town with only three thousand residents. “You
trying to run me off, Paul?” I teased.

“Nope.” He
passed me the burger deluxe. “I just never thought you’d
stay this long. You’ve got the looks and the smarts to be
something far greater than a waitress.”

So I’d been
told. I just lacked the desire for attention. “Don’t
worry, Paul. I’m not bailing on you anytime soon.”

He flashed me a tired
smile. I grabbed another beer on my way and laid it all out before
Joe, taking the empty bottle with me as I hurried off to avoid
further conversation about my lack of socialization. Somewhat ironic,
I know. Unfortunately, I still had to go back once more, and there
was no way I could be rude enough to ignore him twice.

Grabbing the
ketchup-smeared plate that now resembled something similar to an
abstract painting, I asked, “You want anything else?”

“Let me ask ya’
this.”

Shit.
I pulled
his ticket from the black apron tied around my hips and laid it
aside.

“So ya’
don’t wanna date. Why won’t ‘cha at least hang out
as friends?”

I narrowed my eyes at
him. “You really going to be satisfied with just a friendship?”
When he didn’t answer quickly enough, I added, “Night,
Joe,” and walked back to the kitchen.

After a few more late
night tables, midnight hit and the diner was empty. I spent the next
hour sweeping and mopping the dining room floor, then headed over to
the bathrooms to clean them up. When I came back out, I noticed a
young woman had taken up the seat at the end of the counter, her
perched feet on the metal footrest twitching irregularly.

“Hi,” I
said, forcing a friendly smile, trying to maintain the façade
that I wasn’t utterly exhausted and my feet weren’t
aching something fierce.

Her body straightened
and stiffened, eyes widening and lips pulling apart, hovering in air
without purpose. Even her voice seemed stunned when she asked over a
heavy breath,
“Claire?”

My head rotated
backwards and I peeked through the kitchen doorway, even though I
knew there was no one else back there. Well, Paul was. But a big guy
like that was never going to be mistaken for any
Claire
. I
returned my attention to her, putting myself opposite, with only the
counter between us.

“Megan,
actually. Can I get you something?”

She continued to
stare, her alabaster skin white as a ghost. I sometimes got looks
like this, but they were usually because a part of my damaged skin
peeked out beneath my clothing. Casually dipping my head, I made a
quick sweep of my body.

Nope. Nothing showing.

The silence almost
uncomfortable, I lifted my eyebrows and gently shook my head.
“Nothing, then?”

After a few more
seconds of unnecessary staring, the muscles throughout her body began
to relax, and her eyes glanced down at her hands. She sighed slow and
deep.

“Megan?”

It really wasn’t
a question, just a confirmation on her part, but I’d never
heard my name said with such disappointment before.

She was actually
really pretty, even with her light brown eyes cast in shadows and her
cheeks so slackened her lips naturally curled downward. She couldn’t
have been much older than me, possibly legal age already.

“I’m
sorry,” she said, beginning to shrug off the negative demeanor
for a saddened one. “Is the coffee fresh?”

“About two
hours,” I replied.

“Good enough.”

I turned my back to
her, and while I was pouring her mug and collecting creamer from the
cooler, she added, “I’m sorry for staring. It’s
just… Well… Here.”

I served her coffee as
she pulled a sheet of paper from a collection just inside her bag,
which lay atop the stool next to her. My eyes drifted to the picture
as she handed it to me. “Oh, shit!” I blurted.

“Yeah,”
she said dismally, taking a sip of the black coffee.

No wonder she couldn’t
keep her eyes off me. The colored flyer was for a teenage girl that
went missing a few years back. Claire Whitaker. Same five-foot-three
height. Same brown eyes that were as dark as the cocoa bean. Same
creamy beige skin. I know they say everyone had a twin out there, but
damn! The only significant difference was the ten extra pounds she
had on me. And her hair. Where Claire had brown, highlighted hair
with bangs and a length that fell to her shoulders, mine was just
plain brown, layered and long all around.

“Wow,” I
murmured, still mesmerized.

“Sure you’re
not really Claire?” Though she tried to hide it, there was a
twinge of hope in her voice.

One year, five
months, nine days since the fire, since I sealed my fate, a decision
that would haunt me until the day I died.

Shaking my head of the
thought, I asked, “Are you her sister?”

“Yeah. Thea.
Claire’s my only sister.”