Shattered Poetry (Broken Lives #2) Read online

  She shook her head, her orange hair again brushing my arm, the girl not understanding the meaning of personal space. “I dinnae think so. It looks like ye’re cruising for a bruising. Which means I’d have to fight anyone ye provoke to protect that pretty face of yers,” she said, giving me a cheeky smile.

  I grimaced at her. “I don’t have a pretty face, it’s hot as fuck, and I don’t need no girl protecting me. Anyway, what would you protect me with? Your cuteness?”

  Her face went slack. “Ye think am cute?” she asked, looking like she really wanted me to say yes.

  “Of course you’re cute, so don’t play the oh, I dinnae think I look good, but why are all these lads paying me attention skit,” I said, imitating her accent. “That bullshit belongs in books not real life.”

  Annabelle started fidgeting with her bag, pulling on the straps. “Boys don’t pay me attention.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said sarcastically, not in the mood to stroke her ego, when mine was shattered and lying in pieces at Mrs. Hatton’s feet.

  She frowned at me. “It’s true. Am covered in freckles, not to mention ma orange hair. People hate redheads. They call us soulless freaks.”

  “There’s nuthin’ wrong with your hair, it’s pretty, and you can play dot-to-dot with freckles. A li’l fun before a fuck.”

  Her mouth dropped open, her eyes going wider than Phelia’s arse. If I wasn’t in a shit mood, I probably would’ve laughed at her comical expression, but instead I pulled out a spliff from a hidden pocket in my bag. I couldn’t give two shits about the smell it would leave on me, because I wasn’t sticking around school long enough to get caught, especially since English was my next class. I needed to steel myself before I saw Mrs. Hatton again, and it was going to take more than an hour or two to do that.

  I lit up the spliff and took a long drag on it, the sweet, tangy smell clashing with the slightly bitter taste, my own personal yin and yang. Whether it was women or drugs, bitterness always followed, telling me nothing would, or ever could, be perfect.

  I blew the smoke out, watching the breeze sweep it away as though it had never been there. I wondered what it would be like to disappear like the smoke, leaving no trace behind. Here one second, gone the next.

  “Ye shouldn’t be smoking at school,” Annabelle said.

  “I never do what I should.” No fucking truer words.

  She extended her hand, which was shaking worse than mine. I frowned at her, not sure what she was playing at.

  “Ye going to give me some?” she asked.

  “You just said I shouldn’t be smoking.”

  “Looks like I cannae take ma own advice. So, hand it over, lovely.”

  I handed it to her. She took a drag on the spliff, the goodie-two-shoes not coughing or spluttering like I’d expected her to. Instead, she blew out a perfect ring of smoke.

  “You smoke?” I asked, thinking I must be hallucinating.

  “Usually cigarettes. I swipe ma uncle’s Marlboros when he’s not looking.”

  I grimaced. “Coffin nails are gross.”

  She raised an orange eyebrow at me in amusement. “And smoking weed isnae?”

  “Weed calms me, plus I like the smell, while coffin nails stink. My dad’s a smoker. It’s like a film that clings to the walls of our house and everything in it. Wish he’d stop.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed ye dinnae like ’em.”

  I sneered at her. “Cos you think I’m bad?”

  She winked at me. “Bad boys are hawt.”

  I took the spliff out of her hand and took a toke, not bothering to answer her. She held out her hand for me to pass it back. I did, noticing her hand was still shaking.

  “Looks like bad boys scare ya too,” I said.

  “No. Am shaking ’cause I have a wee thing for ye.” She took another drag, then handed it back. “I shouldnae have said that, I know ye’re not interested in me. Am not sexy like Phelia. Cute doesn’t get boyfriends, it gets pats on the head by grannies, who still think I like My Little Pony.”

  I blew a smoke ring that wasn’t half as good as Annabelle’s. “You’re prettier than Phelia,” I muttered, holding the spliff out for her.

  She didn’t take it. “Now I know ye’re lying to me,” she said, shoving her bag off her lap.

  I retracted the spliff, mildly amused at her little temper tantrum. “Nope, not lying. Phelia’s not that hot.”

  Annabelle screwed up her face in disbelief, making her look even cuter. She was like a porcelain doll, with painted on freckles and a cupid’s bow mouth, which right now was pursed in annoyance. “Ye can stop lying,” she mumbled. “Am no delusional. I could never compete with her. Not only is she prettier and sings better than me, she’s got boobs the size of ma heed.”

  I snorted out a laugh, a splutter of smoke escaping from my mouth. “And an arse the size of her ego. She’s too full of herself. I hate showy girls.”

  Annabelle cocked her head to the side, now appearing curious. “Then, why are ye going oot with her?”

  “I’m not.”

  “But ye have sex with her.”

  “You don’t needa be in a relationship to fuck,” I said, thinking about the threesome I’d had with Phelia and Jasper. I’d purposely drowned myself with liquor so I didn’t remember a thing, doing my best to pretend it had never happened. But Phelia and Jasper kept reminding me of it, the both of them wanting another ‘get together’. I took another toke and blew the smoke out, again wondering what it would be like to disappear.

  Annabelle looked away, her cheeks going brighter than her hair. She was probably a virgin, the type that needed a shitload of romancing before a guy could even get some stinky finger.

  I stubbed out the spliff on the ground before it burned my fingertips. “Just believe me when I say you’re hotter than that skank.”

  She glanced up shyly. “So, ye like me?”

  “Yeah, you’re nice. Much nicer than Phelia.”

  She shot forward, planting a kiss on me, getting half on my lips and half on my cheek. I jerked away from her, falling onto my back. “What the hell, Annabelle?!” I yelled, staring up at her, the chick having blindsided me.

  She jerked back, her face panicked. “But ye said ye like me.”

  I pushed back up. “I’m with someone.”

  “But ye dinnae like Phelia.”

  “It’s someone else.” I grimaced, realising that wasn’t true. Mrs. Hatton wasn’t my girlfriend—and never would be. “Actually, I’m not really with this bird. All she wanted from me wuz a fuck, nuthin’ more.”

  “But ye want it to be more?”

  I nodded, wishing I didn’t. Usually, it was me who only wanted one fuck, moving from one chick to the next, but with Mrs. Hatton... I definitely wanted more, and it wasn’t just about the sex. I liked her. I kicked my foot out, thinking karma was a bitch that stung worse than Deep Heat on my balls.

  Annabelle screwed up her little nose, looking at me in disbelief. “Is this lassie blind? ’Cause I cannae imagine any girl not wanting to be with yoou.”

  Woman. “She’s with someone else. She cheated on them with me.”

  Annabelle blinked, looking a little shocked. “Well, ye should count yerself lucky yer not with her. Cheats are bad news. Even if ye win her off her boyfriend, she could cheat on ye too. I know, I had a boyfriend who cheated on me with someone else, then cheated on that person. I even wrote a song aboot him. It’s called Fucktard.”

  My lips quirked up, a slight smile breaking through. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “It goes something like: he’s a fucktard, a giant numpty, who likes to bumpty other girls,” she said, singing it.

  I sniggered, the chick funny. “That’s awful.”

  She giggled. “I know, I just made it up now to make ye smile. I lied, I haven’t had a boyfriend. Apparently, am too picky. I only like cuddly teddy-bears or the hot, supermodel types, like ye.” She nudged my arm, giving me a crooked grin.

  I smiled back. �
�I wrote a break-up song once. It’s about my first girlfriend. She wuz a lying, cheating skank.” I grimaced, wondering why I kept going for cheats.

  Annabelle’s eyes widened, reminding me of an anime character. “She cheated on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. “What is the world coming to?”

  Unable to help myself, I smiled again, the chick chipping away at my foul mood. Not to mention the weed was mellowing me out, my mind relaxing along with my body.

  She nudged me with her elbow again. “What’s your breakup song called?”

  “Demon in Disguise.”

  She rolled her eyes, looking like she was humouring me. “Highly original.”

  I nudged her back. “Hey! Don’t make fun of me, I wrote it when I wuz thirteen.”

  “Do ye still remember it? ’Cause I’d love to hear it.”

  “I remember all my songs, even the bad ones.”

  “Then sing it.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, it’s full of clichés.”

  “But I sung ye ma fucktard one.”

  I laughed. “It wuzn’t even real.”

  “Still sung it, and still waiting.”

  “But it sucks.”

  “Still waiting.”

  “’Kay!” I laughed again, the girl making me feel better. I started singing it:

  She’s a demon in disguise, a harpy with lying eyes

  Reeling me in, making me sin

  For a taste of her lips and a touch of her hips

  She’s a devil in angel clothes, one of el Diablo’s hoes

  A fake rose I wanna pluck, to kiss and fuck

  Losing myself in her arms, blindsided by her charms

  She’s a mischievous sprite with a venomous love bite

  A devilish ghoul with a pitch black soul

  Who whispers falsehoods as she strokes my manhood

  Cos she’s a demon in disguise, a harpy with lying eyes

  Reeling me in, making me sin

  For a taste of her lips and a touch of her hips

  She’s a bittersweet deceit, burning me with the Devil’s heat

  As she drags me down to Hell, while under her spell

  Causing me pain as she drives me insane

  Using my shortfalls, to cut off my balls

  My infatuation ending in castration

  Rendering me an aberration

  Cos she’s a demon in disguise

  A harpy with lying eyes

  Spewing never ending lies, until the day she dies

  Annabelle spluttered out a laugh, her lips having pressed together as soon as I’d said balls.

  “Stop laughing,” I said, also laughing. I didn’t know whether it was her or the weed, or my shitty song, but I couldn’t stop either.

  She pressed her lips together again, then spluttered out another laugh. “Cut off yer balls? What kind o’ line is that? And castration?” She hit my arm as though I’d purposely fucked up the lines.

  I grinned back. “My dad wrote that verse,” I said, which was why I’d kept it in, even though it sucked worse than Phelia.

  Annabelle’s eyes did the anime thing again. “What sort o’ dad suggests that to a thirteen-year-old?”

  “One without a filter, plus he wuz kinda drunk at the time.”

  She shook her head again, the slight hint of disapproval reminding me of her uncle. “Did ye write the rest on yer own?”

  “My oldest bro helped me a li’l, since my vocab back then wuz lousy. Unfortunately, his girlfriend found out it wuz ’bout her best friend and blew up at me. It turned into a full-on yelling match, which ended in my bro literally throwing me out of his house.”

  Her face dropped. “That’s ’orrible. What kind o’ person throws oot a little kid like that?”

  “I wuzn’t li’l. I wuz taller than you at that age. And I deserved what I got. I called his girlfriend a clueless bitch, plus a few other unmentionable things. When I lose my shit, everything comes out, whether true or not. In Tiana’s case, it wuzn’t true, well, except for the clueless part. She thought her best friend wuz an innocent li’l Catholic girl ... until the bitch ran away with her own stepbrother. That’s who she cheated on me with.”

  Annabelle did the anime impression again. “Ye’re having me on?”

  “Nope. Looks like when her mummy told her to clean her teeth, she wuz flossing them with her stepbro’s thin dick.”

  She sniggered. “Ye’re funny. Though, what’s a thirteen-year-old doing singing aboot sex? Not like ye would’ve been having it.”

  I raised my eyebrows, making it abundantly clear that I had definitely been getting my dick wet at that age.

  Anime look strike four. “Ye had sex at thir-teen?’

  “Yup.”

  “Whoa. I havenae even been kissed by a boy, let alone had sex, and I’ll be sixteen next month.”

  “You have been kissed by a boy.” I pointed to myself. “Moi.”

  She scowled at me. “Yoou didnae kiss me back, ye numpty, so it disnae count.”

  I sniggered. “I like the way you speak. You amuse the fuck outta me.”

  “While I like everything aboot ye.” She patted my cheek. “Though, a lad shouldnae look prettier than a lassie. Yoou, Dante Rata, should be locked up, ye’re a danger to all females.”

  My smile dropped. “Well, at least the locked up part.” And with a straightjacket.

  My phone started ringing. I pulled it out of my bag, grunting at the sight of Jasper’s number. I placed it to my ear. “What do ya want?” I snapped, hoping he wasn’t going to bug me about another threesome, his obsession with Phelia getting on my wick.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Jasper barked back.

  I winced, relieved I didn’t have a hangover. “Dammit, man, lower your voice, everyone in New Zealand can hear ya.”

  “Keep my voice down? You’re the one who jumped down my throat before I even had a chance to say kia ora,” he growled, saying hello in Māori.

  I shoved a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t meana be a prick. I’m just pissed off at someone.”

  “Who? You want me to bash ’em for ya?”

  “No, it’s a chick.”

  “Phelia?”

  “Nah, a different lay. This bitch told me to fuck off right after I gave her the big O.”

  “You’re joking?”

  I grimaced, knowing the only joke was on me. “Guess ghetto trash is only good for one fuck.”

  “You’re not ghetto trash and you’re better off without whoever this bitch is. And if you want sex, we can hit Phelia up for another threesome.”

  I groaned. “Quit it with that. I’d rather fuck Old Lady Stewart than do Phelia again, and that old hag’s pro’bly got spiders crawling up her twat from the cobwebs growing down there.”

  Annabelle covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

  “But—”

  I cut Jasper off. “I said no, so quit asking. I told you it wuz a oncer, and you agreed.”

  Jasper grumbled. “But Phelia won’t lemme do her without you there.”

  I gripped the phone tighter. “Is that why you’re ringing me? You want to get some skank again?”

  “Nah, I wanna know why you aren’t in English.”

  Because I fucked Mrs. Hatton. “Don’t feel like it, and how come you’re calling? Aren’t you in English?”

  “Nah, Mrs. Hatton took off at the beginning of class, sayin’ she wuz sick. It looked like she’d been bawling her eyes out.”

  I blinked at his words, taken aback. “She wuz crying?” I asked, knowing it had to be over me, but still surprised she gave a toss.

  “Well, it looked like it. Her eyes were red and swollen. Anyway, you wanna skip out? A few of us are gonna jack up some cars and do some racing.”

  “Sure,” I said, my mind still on Mrs. Hatton, wondering whether I’d gotten to her.

  Like she’d gotten to me.

  3

  Clara

 
That night I barely slept, Dante once again the cause of it, my conscience doing a number on me. And when I did nod off, I dreamt about standing in front of a jury, being jeered at and called a paedophile. But what made it even worse, was the jury was comprised of people I knew: work colleagues, the principal, my students, and... my husband. Markus looked devastated. Every bad emotion under the sun was written across his face. And all of them were directed at me—at what I’d done.

  I woke up in a cold sweat, with my heart racing, fearful Markus would find out. Although he was still in London, mourning the death of his father with his family, he was arriving back home today. I was due to pick him up from the airport after school. I didn’t know how I was going to face him after what I’d done with Dante. I also didn’t know how I was going to face Dante again, his class only a couple of hours away.

  I forced myself out of bed and stepped into the shower, taking longer than was necessary. Because once I was finished, I was one step closer to seeing Dante again. Regardless, I turned the water off and grabbed a towel, the clunking of the pipes reverberating around the room. Everything sounded louder to my ears this morning, adding to my already irritated state. Or maybe my irritation was honing in on the sounds, amplifying them, until I wanted to scream at God to turn them off.

  Trying my best to ignore a buzzing fly, but getting more and more agitated, I dried myself off, then wandered into my bedroom, wishing the birds outside would also shut the hell up. It felt like I had a hangover, and a really bad one at that.

  I threw on some clothes, grabbing my purse and keys as I headed out of my small three-bedroom brick and tile house, almost forgetting to lock up. Faster than I wanted, I was at school, walking into my empty classroom, the silence but a short respite. The kids were due to arrive in less than half an hour, Dante’s class unfortunately up first.

  I made a beeline for my office, stopping in my tracks at the sight of the small desk Dante had taken me on. Tears started to well up again, everything that had happened too much for me to cope with. If I’d had a one-night stand with a stranger, I could walk away and not look back. I may have had to live with the guilt of knowing I’d cheated, but it was better than being forced to see Dante five days a week, my infidelity and crime staring at me with young eyes.