Shattered Poetry (Broken Lives #2) Read online

  “Ones you don’t needa be scared of. They’re totally laidback, that is, as long as you don’t steal their stuff. That’s the only time I’ve seen them go ape-shit.”

  “You stole from them?”

  “Not me, some stoners. The dipshits totally had to run like hell cos my cuz pulled his shotgun out.”

  My eyes widened.

  He squeezed my hand. “Chill, Bazza wouldn’t do that to you. He’ll give things to you for free, cos you’re my missus.”

  I smiled at the last word, liking him calling me his missus.

  He continued, “I can get a job with him. He’ll set us up, so you don’t needa worry ’bout work.”

  I frowned, not liking that, but what could I do?

  “Don’t look so sad, maybe you could help teach Bazza’s kids. They do correspondence school, cos where they live is remote. Plus, those li’l dumbasses are thick as two short planks, so they could do with your help.”

  “Your cousin might not want me there because of what I’m doing with you.”

  “Nah, Bazza won’t judge, his family are fuckin’ backwater as. Wouldn’t be surprised if he fucks his sister.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Yeah.” He sniggered at my scowl. “Though, they’re still a bit free and easy when it comes to love. Not quite hippies, but close to it, and Bazza doesn’t know my age. If anything, he’ll pro’bly think I’m eighteen, since he always got me and my bro mixed up. Reckons we look the same even though Ash has a neck tattoo. I reckon he’s half blind, just too vain to wear glasses.”

  “He’ll know your age if he sees the news.”

  “Again, I don’t think he can see shit, not to mention he wouldn’t be caught dead watching the news, and even if he did happen to see it, he won’t care. His missus is in her fifties while he’s in his late twenties.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Yeah.”

  I hit his arm. “Dante! You have to take this seriously.”

  “Stop stressing, it’ll be fine with them. Bazza would rather stab himself in the nuts than rat family out, and the rest of his whānau are the same.”

  Even if they’re happy for us to live with them, what about getting there? People could recognise us if they put our photos on the news. We can’t even go into towns to shop.”

  “I could grow a beard.”

  “You can do that?”

  He scowled at me. “Of course I can, and it’s not bum fluff if you think that.”

  “I wasn’t insulting you, just didn’t realise you could grow one at your age.”

  “I started shaving last year, though I let it grow during the summer holidays. This chick thought I wuz in my twenties. Totally got a shag outta it.”

  I scowled at him.

  He continued, “Plus, you can cut my hair—”

  “No!” I yelled, his words sacrilegious. “I love your hair.”

  “It’ll grow back.”

  “No, wear a cap if you go out.”

  He smiled. “Does that mean we can go up north together?”

  I nodded, knowing it was a stupid, whimsical thing to agree to, but also knowing I would do anything to stay with him.

  His expression turned excited. “And you can cut your hair into a Cleopatra bob and dye it pink,” he said, touching my hair. “No one will recognise you after that.”

  “As long as you don’t cut your hair, I’ll do it.” I held out a hand. “Deal?”

  “Deal!” Ignoring my hand, he yanked me to him, wrapping his arms around me again. “We’re gonna be like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “Just with a happy ending.” I pulled his head down and planted a kiss on his lips, not sure it would end happily, but damn sure I was going to fight for it.

  He returned my kiss, his hands wandering down my body. He grabbed the bottom of my skirt and yanked it up. I knew I should stop him, knew we should leave straight away. Travelling in the dark was probably the wisest thing to do. We needed to get to his relatives’ home up north before our faces were splashed all over TV screens and newspapers. But as always, I found him too hard to resist.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled against my lips.

  I did, getting a thrill as he carried me into the bedroom.

  “I need you,” he murmured against my lips. “Need you so bad.”

  I breathed out a response, not knowing what I said, too caught up with his lips, his hands...

  His whole being.

  He laid me down on the bed and started stripping my body, my soul, my mind of every barrier I’d ever put up between us.

  There was no going back now.

  I was his.

  For better or for worse.

  This isn’t the end of Broken Lives!

  There has been a new development in the series, so please read on. You’ll find the required information after the two poems. Also, I’m always happy to answer your questions, so don’t be shy in contacting me through my Author Facebook Page:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marita-A-Hansen/113130742120676

  Until I Met You

  I remember being happy at five

  When my father threw me up in the air, unaware

  Of the tears that my mother would shed, after she bled

  From his drug-induced punches, fuelled by meth-laced lunches

  I was also unaware that five years later

  My father would be arrested for domestic violence, after my mother broke her silence

  Of the abuse she received, so she could be relieved

  From the constant fights and terror-filled nights

  At six, I remember being happy

  When my mother gave me cuddles, calling me her snuggles

  Making me feel safe in her embrace, erasing all trace

  Of my tears and fears

  I didn’t have a care back then or feel the despair

  Of seeing her inhale her final breath, after she was stabbed to death

  By my stepfather, who took her life with a kitchen knife

  I also remember being happy when I was seven

  Climbing a tall gate with my mate, clueless that eight

  Years later, he would be screaming, crying, grieving

  After seeing his father gunned down, on the darker side of town

  I remember being happy on my eighth birthday

  After finding a big present wrapped in tissue

  I didn’t know that seven years later, I would be given another kind of tissue

  For the tears that I shed, as my best friend bled

  Under a surgeon’s knife, as the doctor fought to save his life

  I remember being happy when I was nine

  After I won my team a soccer game, receiving minor league fame

  That was the last time I remember being happy

  Until I met you

  PAST TENSE

  When I met my English teacher I only thought in first person, past tense

  I was a singularity, not a duality, keeping a woman not a reality

  I was just having fun, after a quick score

  Nothing more

  I didn’t care about the age differences or her teacher references

  Nor did I linger on the ring on her finger

  Instead I hungered for a kiss, to sink inside an existential bliss

  Which led to emotions, devotions I didn’t anticipate

  My heart came into play, needing more than one lay

  I wanted to stay with her for longer

  Hoping to make our relationship stronger

  By forcing her to see me as a man, an equal, an individual

  That she could love, adore, explore over years to come

  Which she was willing to do, to pursue

  Until people found out

  They let out a shout that she was a temptress, a seductress

  A paedophile who’d set out to beguile me, defile me

  They said she’d betrayed my trust, her love nothing but lust

  She was
a whore to them, someone to deplore, to abhor

  A scarlet letter who should’ve known better

  Not a love letter we’d written together

  I hope you enjoyed reading Shattered Poetry

  There have been changes to the BROKEN LIVES series. It’s now broken up into two sets (duets). Each set (duet) has a self-contained, standalone story.

  Broken English (part 1) and Shattered Poetry (Part 2) are the first set, finishing the high school stage of Clara’s and Dante’s lives. The next set, books 3 and 4, is a new story, taking their relationship to another level.

  Additionally, I would like to ask if you could review this book. Reviews are integral to a writer’s career. Not only do we need them to promote our books, they encourage us to keep writing. So, thanks in advance if you’ve given me a review, I really appreciate it.

  Kind Regards,

  Marita A. Hansen.

  About the Author

  Marita A. Hansen is from New Zealand. She loves writing, creating art, watching and participating in football, and running. She ran her first marathon in 2012 and is now planning on completing many more. For more information on Marita check out these links:

  Author Facebook Page:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marita-A-Hansen/113130742120676

  Blog Site:

  http://maritaahansen.blogspot.co.nz/

  Amazon Author Page:

  http://www.amazon.com/Marita-A.-Hansen/e/B005H5W79K/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

  Goodreads’ Author Page:

  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5129673.Marita_A_Hansen

  Artslant Page:

  http://www.artslant.com/global/artists/show/74433-marita-hansen

  Twitter Name: @MaritaAHansen

  MORE BOOKS BY MARITA A. HANSEN

  Graffiti Heaven (Graffiti Heaven #1)

  Behind the Hood (Behind the Lives #1)

  Behind the Tears (Behind the Lives #2)

  Behind the Lens (Behind the Lives #3)

  Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4)

  Don’t Peek (The Diaries of a Teenage Girl)

  Overwhelmed (Blurred Lines #1)

  My Masters’ Nightmare Season 1, Episodes 1 – 5

  My Masters’ Nightmare Season 1, Episodes 6 – 10

  My Masters’ Nightmare Season 1, Episodes 11 – 15

  Ricardo (The Santini Brothers #1)

  Brando (The Santini Brothers #2)

  Vincenzo (A Santini Brothers’ Short Story) from the anthology Men of Mayhem

  I Love You, Salvatore (The Five Families #1) – This is also a Santini Brothers’ Novella

  Sasha & Andriena (Lovers & Sinners #1)

  Broken English (Broken Lives #1)