Abused And Broken Novels & Stories

The older they got, the more they followed her lead. And then came the night that broke me. My seventeenth birthday. A night I should have celebrated. A night I should have felt loved. Instead, I was alone in the storage room that served as my bedroom, exhausted from cooking and cleaning for a family that despised me. That was the night her guards came. The night she had them hold me down one by one and assaulted me. I won’t describe what happened. I don’t need to. Some things don’t need details to be understood. Some pain speaks for itself.

“No, because it’s not fair. Something inside of her is broken, and you’re making it worse. We all feel it. She needs help. Either her parents abused her or someone else, but there is something not right about her, -“ I walked away before I heard any more. They were both fighting about who would not have to date me? Sleep with me? But that wasn’t the worst part. They saw through me. Saw how weak I am and damaged. I am broken, and they see it. Maybe it’s all they see. A little mouse who needs help, and that’s the only reason they’re friends with me. I felt nauseous and ran to the bathroom, reaching the bowl just in time before everything I had just eaten came out.

Mickey asked, moving closer despite his earlier restraint. "Someone who's been broken by normal human problems. Someone who can barely get through a day without having panic attacks about cameras and cigarette burns." My voice grew smaller with each word. "What if I'm too damaged to be anyone's mate, especially someone as extraordinary as you?" Mickey was beside me in an instant, kneeling next to my chair so we were at eye level. "Lily, look at me," he said gently. "You are not broken. You are not damaged. You are a survivor who has endured months of systematic abuse and still managed to keep your essential kindness intact. That's not weakness—that's the strongest thing I've ever seen."

" As I finished speaking, I heard gasps from the crowd surrounding me. The series of revelations was almost too much for the spectators to process. "So Mr. Smith isn't the person we thought he was. It's understandable how he would treat his wife's family poorly after being betrayed like that, isn't it?" "Oh, poor child. Isn't his son only a year old?"

“Noemi Conti, former MMA fighter in training, abuses adopted sister.” Serves her right. But nothing prepared me for the images that followed. Photos of Alessia’s fractured arms. Her bruised body. Wounds so severe they made my chest ache. It felt like a veil had been ripped away, revealing the true horror she had lived through in silence. I sat there, frozen, the weight of her suffering crushing me. The pain she endured was far darker than anything I had imagined. “What the hell,” I muttered, scrolling through the evidence again, my hands trembling.

He felt like my friend already, "Man, that's some painful shit you've been through. Maybe I could hook you up with one of the strippers to get your mind off things, " Jake or Jax said. I can't really remember what he said his name was. "I don't want more kids, " was all I could say before I threw up all over the table. I was really messed up, I had two kids who are depending on me to be a good father. I had not taken this much alcohol since SHE told me she was pregnant, and now I was breaking down in front of a bartender who looked like he saw this scene every day. I was so ashamed of myself, I couldn't look my kids in the eye looking broken and sad.

"What do you gain?" "Nothing. Everything." I moved to the window beside her. "I've been where you are. Broken. Controlled. Used as a weapon. Someone helped me. Now I help others. That's how it works." "What if we can't be fixed? What if we're too broken?" "Then we learn to live broken. Find strength in the cracks. Build something new from the pieces." I met her eyes. "You're not alone. None of you are. Not anymore."

And Dax heard every word of what that man had done to my body. There would never be a way he could love someone as abused and broken as I'd become. No man would ever want a woman savagely claimed by another, brutally taken against her will, treated as debris. All my insecurities poured out like a champagne bottle opened, only there was no cause for celebration, and there would be no sweet nectar to enjoy when the fountain stopped. Only the pitiful remains of a shattered spirit and weak mind.

"I see broken things, and I want to fix them. Beautiful broken things especially." "I'm not broken." The laugh that escaped him was genuinely amused, "Of course you are. You're sitting in a stranger's house, wearing clothes you slept in, drinking whiskey you can't afford, because the alternative is sleeping rough and hoping you don't freeze to death before morning." Put like that, my situation did sound fairly desperate. "But broken doesn't mean worthless," he continued. "Sometimes the most interesting people are the ones who've been shattered and rebuilt themselves into something new."

Everything seemed to come back to my mind again. I don’t know what I should do. I’m confused, scared with what I might learn. I’m scared that what I’m about to learn will break me more into pieces. I don’t want this anymore. I’m fed up of being weak and how I always need to fix my broken self. If only… If only he loves me… I’ll be able to at least accept everything.