Free Broken to Pieces by Avery Stark Page B

carefully.
    "Rape," she forced the word through her soiled lips. "He raped me."
    The word alone was like a punch to the gut for the young artist. In all of his time at the Inn, all of the time that he had spent with her, never once did imagine that the beautiful girl standing in front of him had been so deeply scarred.
    He suddenly felt immensely guilty for assuming anything about her. Then, as he stood and watched her start to cry, it felt like his heart was going to break. He knew how it felt to lose everything; how badly it hurt to see your life crumble before your eyes. What was worse, he knew damn well that there was nothing that he could say or do to make the young woman's pain go away.
    He pulled her in and pressed her face against his chest.
    "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Chapter 5
    July the second dawned over the quiet Chickweed Inn with a slight glimmer of things to come. By five that morning, it was already a muggy 70 degrees and climbing. The shimmering beads of dew that normally spotted the landscape had evaporated into the air, making it thick and heavy.
    Earlier, before the sun had managed to peek its golden head above the horizon, Emily was woken by a passing wren and her own restless conscience. And while the bird's high-pitched warble was often a welcome noise, it did little to soothe the girl's tired heart.
    Emily, dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a wrinkled, pink tank top from the day before, rolled out of her bed and smoothed her hands over the hair that had been pushed up by her pillow. When that was done, she struggled to twist the loose shirt back into the right position. It was wrapped around her like a cotton candy spiral, put there by the lack sleep that tormented her ever since the accident. Every time that she closed her eyes, Emily swore that she could hear the Sherriff muttering through his tears:
    They're dead.
    Once she knew that any more sleep was impossible, Emily slipped her bare feet into a pair of sandals and crept silently onto the back porch. Though her steps were light, it was hard to avoid the countless squeaky boards that wrapped around the Inn. Their groaning sighs announced Emily's presence to the deserted expanse spreading out behind the house, to which the only response was the crickets' chirping cadence.
    Emily walked half way down the stairs then sat so that her elbows rested on the very tops of her knees. From there, she lowered her head down and cradled it in her arms. Within seconds, small beads of sweat formed just above her eye brows as her heavy breaths mixed with the already moist air.
    The tender, swollen skin above her knuckles stung sharply as she clenched both hands into fists and rested them on the back of her tangled hair.
    "What a mess," she sighed.
    Amidst all of the turmoil and loss, Emily didn't know how she was supposed to feel. Should she be angry? Bitter? Outright pissed? It was almost impossible for her to control all of the emotions running through her head. She had been thrust into the world, alone and scarred. Every bit of support was gone and she didn't know which way she was supposed to be going, let alone if she could even do it by herself.
    Emily ran a finger under her eye and caught a single tear on the tip of it. It sat on top of her smooth nail for a second before rolling off and splattering onto the wood below.
    "Ahem," a voice came through the fading dawn and made her almost jump right out of her own skin. She jerked her head up and turned around.
    "Adam?"
    "I'm sorry. I wasn't, I mean, I didn't-"
    "Oh it's okay. I just couldn't sleep. Have a seat if you want."
    Emily moved over, allowing him to walk down the steps and sit just below her feet.
    "You were too hot, too?"
    She ran her fingers through her loose hair and looked out at the purple sky.
    "Yeah."
    It wasn't exactly the truth, but Emily decided that just agreeing would be easier than trying to explain what was really going on.
    The pair sat on the steps silently, though