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  Ruined

  T.B. Larkan

  Copyright © 2022 T.B. Larkan

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Todd Faulkner

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  For any family member opening this, turn back now. Please, I don’t want to ruin Christmas.

  This book is dedicated to all the women who constantly doubt themselves and think they are never good enough and too damaged.

  My most sincere appreciation goes out to NaTae for being with me every step of the way and even reading as I write, and bouncing ideas off each other. I never would have finished if it wasn’t for you.

  I want to thank Abbey and Lexi for being the support and push I needed to finally start. Abbey, you read the very first draft, and watched the story change a thousand times.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  My mother forced me into adulthood early on, telling me stories and offering tidbits of advice that a child would never ask for. She had all these sayings for me, rules you could say, to protect me. The more wisdom she bestowed upon me, the more I soaked it up. She would tell me to never trust a man who says he loves you, that he’s manipulating you. She told me I reminded her of my addict father sometimes, saying to watch out for my addictive personality, that one day it would get me into trouble. You could say that I took that one to heart and let it shape me in every way possible. Instead of heading her warning I set out on a path to find my personal brand of heroin, I tied it all. Thinking that if I knew what my weakness would be, that I could fight it, end it, and never give it the power over me that she warned me about. Every drug that was offered to me, every drink shoved in my hand by a man all too willing to take advantage of what may come. While I enjoyed every single one, to the point of heavy binges, no pill, no drink, no cloud of smoke fogging up my judgment, ever affected me quite like him, and it became my addiction. He gave me a fix like I’ve never felt before.

  I used to think that my mother was right about me, that everything she warned me about was true. I took every harsh word, every critique that she offered from an insecure place. When I met him, it was almost like I could see through the fog, but fear has a way of controlling us every time. Everything about him drew me in, I wanted to wring every last drop of life and emotion out of him. I wanted his love, devotion, hatred, obsession, and disdain. Whatever he could give me, and I could still never figure out quite how to return it. I feasted upon his emotions like it was my first sip of water in the dry desert. While he showered me with love, I repeatedly hurt him for the sake of it. We were both so young and while I cared for him more deeply than I ever had anyone before him, I didn’t know how to truly let myself love him. I held onto the idea of being so unworthy of the love that I so clearly craved, but didn’t believe that he would stay for more than a fleeting moment. I only believed in sucking up every drop of what he offered me until the inevitable day that he realized I wasn’t worth it and was gone. I saw myself as the greatest mistake he ever could have made.

  No one after him compared, so I stopped looking. I knew then that there would never be another like him for me, even if I never told him that. Once you’ve felt that all consuming desire, that fiery pit of betrayal, no mundane day to day fleeting feeling will do. I needed that next fix, just as much as he needed to believe that one day I’d love him the way he did me, purely. They say that you don’t hurt the one you love the most, and I hurt you repeatedly. I’ve come to believe that saying isn’t true, that maybe you hurt the people you love because you know you can get away with it. Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself to excuse how my mother treated me, how I let her treat me.

  Sometimes I sit and wonder if you still think about me, if you look back on the time we spent together fondly. I’ll look in the mirror and wonder if you’d still recognize me, or if we’d just be two strangers passing each other on the street. What are you supposed to do with those memories of one another when everything falls apart? Am I the only one who lays their head down at night conjuring up memories of us, trying to influence a dream where it’s possible we’re still together? Would you think that I changed, or would you still see the same guarded girl who couldn’t even manage to utter those 3 words to you. I like to think that we’ll always know each other, one way or another we’ll always call out to one another.

  I was falling harder than even I knew, and I needed time to come to terms with that. I needed more time, more quiet mornings laying in your bed while the sun peaked out under the curtain and I tried to keep quiet while sneaking out to avoid your mom. More sunny days spent at the lake crawling all over each other in the water and sand. More time to be honest with you and let you in to see me rather than feeding off your emotions and offering you nothing in return. More time to heal my fractured heart, more time to myself when I had never put me first, but time was never on our side. In the end I broke us, and I broke you in the process. I could see where we were heading, where my toxicity was leading us. My reservations made me run as fast as I could, and when you tried to follow I burned every bridge that would lead you back to me.

  Do you ever think of me? Do you think about the girl I wanted to be for you? Or do you think about the girl I was, the girl who couldn’t love you right and when everything was crashing down around us turned to your best friend.

  Chapter 1

  Sloan

  Hurt people, hurt people and I've lived my whole life in agony.

  I’ve learned through the years to keep my emotions my most heavily guarded secret. To me there was just no point in revealing how you truly felt to others when they were only going to see what they wanted too anyway. Even if they ask, no one truly cares about how you’re feeling. Everyone is inherently selfish, and I’ve just accepted it. I’ve always held back that part of myself, built walls that even the most experienced climber wouldn’t risk. My mother is a hard woman to love, trading affection for lectures and life lessons. While she can be cold and cruel, she made me a realist. It’s hard to take advantage of someone who doesn’t have anything to offer. From what I’ve heard she wasn’t always like that, but after countless heartbreaks and having to raise two daughters on her own she hardened herself and passed that trait on to me. Once, years ago I realized I had thrown down the drawbridge and let someone inside, and on instinct I tossed them back into the abyss.

  I try to
make sense of all the thoughts swirling around while my cousin and new roommate Elena loads another bowl. I take a long hard hit, followed by a pull from the wine bottle in my lap. Mixing the two things that can usually numb my mind for the night. Sitting out on the patio, I start to gaze upward when I finally hear her words drifting to my ears.

  “And I seriously don’t understand! How are you not going crazy?! I would have killed him, I still might! Sloan, seriously you're acting too calm.” That’s a statement I’ve been hearing all my life, that I should somehow be acting differently. I don’t know any better than to suppress most of my emotions, and if I’m being honest it annoys me when someone tells me how they think I should be acting. I hide everything and tend to lean toward wallowing on the inside, because again, the truth is no one truly cares. They don’t care if you’re suffering, or if you’re deliriously happy. They most definitely don’t want to hear about it, especially if you self deprecate like I do. She's been going on for hours about my ex, and I know she’s been talking for a while, but I’ve tuned most of it out. I’ve already heard everything she’s saying, I’ve said it to myself more times than I can count in the last month. That’s exactly why I should just go back to my room, because about a month ago I walked in on my boyfriend Luke inside some other girl. I should be hurt, but I only feel an enormous amount of relief. Relieved that I no longer have someone breathing down my neck, waiting for a declaration of love that was never going to come. Maybe that's why I’m here, smoking weed out on the patio while a party rages inside. Wondering if I’m finally being punished for the past.

  “I think I should just fuck someone else,” I blurt out not bothering to look at Elenas scolding stare. I glance around the large back patio, taking in the twinkly lights she has strung that light up the area. It’s a strangely chilly May night in Wells Grove,Texas. One of those days where the warm sun sets and darkness casts a chill in the air. Elena and I sit on the porch swing, slightly rocking back and forth while we smoke away our problems. Crossing my legs underneath me to keep them warm I wonder if I meant what I just said. I know it won’t fix the emptiness that’s been building in me since I was a child, but sometimes sex is the only outlet for me. For me it’s always been the way I connect, the way I feel something towards someone. I’m well aware it’s not healthy, but it’s the cards I’ve been dealt. When I was a teenager I tried to pretend these emotional issues for me didn’t exist, that someday I would feel love like a normal person, like everyone around me. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve come to terms with what exactly I’m capable of, and what I’m not. There was a time when I was younger that I tried to be something else, tried to love someone, but I turned out not to be enough.

  “I just want you to meet someone who could maybe fuck some feelings into you.” Elena says while dipping her head to me, chuckling and raising her eyebrows. Elena has always been more of a romantic than me, looking for love and trying to see the best in everyone.

  “If you know someone capable of that kind of sex, please send them my way.” I let loose a breathy laugh. Serious relationships have never really been my thing, and my ex Luke was starting to plan a future for us. A dispassionate future I had every intention of not being a part of. Luke and I hadn’t been together that long, and we weren’t that serious, or at least I didn’t think we were. Maybe that’s why he cheated on me, maybe I wasn’t giving him what he needed, emotionally. Just another situation where I wasn’t enough. I’ve always been better equipped to handle flings and one night stands, situations that I felt in control of. The problem with putting a lock on your emotions is eventually you're going to have to open that box.

  “You know the worst part about all this? I’m pretty sure I left my favorite bikini there.” I say lightly trying to change the mood, chuckling on the last few words. Elena bursts out in laughter beside me. I was lucky to have her as my cousin and best friend. Elena's dad Byron is my mothers older brother, his kind warmth is yang to my mothers cold yin demeanor. My sister and I spent a lot of time growing up with Elena and my uncle Byron escaping my mother, and with Elena and I the same age we formed a close friendship. Elena and I could almost pass for sisters, we even have the same last name, unlike me and my actual sister. My mother chose to give me her family's name, Harris, instead of my nonexistent fathers. Elena gives off the same loving energy as her dad, always putting others first and caring more deeper than is possible for someone like my mother and I. “We should probably go back inside soon. Dean is going to come looking for us, he thinks we keep sneaking off so you can cry,” Elena says after she stops laughing and rolls her eyes. Elena knows that crying isn’t something that happens to me often. Dean is mine and Elena's other roommate, and a family friend of hers. Dean and Elena met one summer years ago when their parents dated very briefly. When their parents' short relationship went up in flames, they managed to keep in touch over the years. Dean also works for my uncle at his construction company, and offered him a room with us wanting someone around to watch over us. Even though I know it annoys Elena that he’a always hanging around, I think she secretly loves having him here . Elena’s assured me a thousand times that they're just friends, but I catch the way Dean looks at her when she’s not paying attention, and I hear the way Elena's voice changes when teases him. Elena tends to be straightforward, not having much of a filter. So when she says the first thing that comes to her mind it can sometimes catch people off guard at her honesty.

  “Are you ladies done?” I meet Dean's eyes as he slides open the patio doors looking at us, as if he heard his name. Elena and I are both 23, while Dean is a year older. I don’t know Dean that well, only having been around each other a handful of times in the past. Dean can be charming when he needs to, but more often than not it seems as if it’s covering something. He loves to push Elenas buttons, always making comments under his breath and trying to get a rise out of her. He’s tall with dirty brown hair that he keeps shorter on the sides and longer on top, his natural curls sticking out in every direction. His tight muscles bulge out of the white button down he’s wearing, a little view of chest hair peeks out from where the top few buttons are undone. He keeps a light dusting of facial hair decorating his jaw. His aristocratic angular face always held a slight smirk, scaring me slightly.

  Elena looks like the girl moms warn their sons about, but is the most kind hearted soul I know. She has a short pixie haircut that she likes to dye random colors to cover her natural blonde hair, right now it's a pastel shade of purple. Elena and I are the same height but where I’m slightly curvier, and she has the slimer body of a girl who runs miles a day. We both have the same shade of blue eyes, those of her father and my mother that have passed down to every member of our family. The only difference is theirs don’t hold the pain and anger that my mother’s and mine does. She has her septum and nose pierced, and even more piercings traveling all the way up both ears. So much eyeliner I'm not sure it comes off at the end of the night. She has a butterfly tattoo taking up the center of her sternum, and a huge scar from a car accident her senior year of high school across her left shoulder and some on her right leg as well. She doesn’t hide behind her scars though, often wearing clothes that highlight them. Tonight she’s wearing a small white tank top with thin straps and dips down low enough to make out the beginnings of her sternum tattoo. She’s paired that with plain jean shorts that sit high on her slim waist. Elena and I might look alike, but we’re very different.

  “We're coming, don't stress out dad,” I say as I stand up and push by him into the house and he falls back and lets us pass by. We walk back into the kitchen and I'm hit with the realization that the music has stopped. I glance around at the people flooding my friend's house. My uncle left Elena her childhood home when he moved to live in Dallas full time a few weeks ago. Wells Grove is a college city, with a beautiful lake on its outskirts. While I grew up in the city with my mom, Elena grew up here out by the lake. Sometimes it feels like we're from different towns, when we grew up in the
same place. Her father is a contractor, and owns a successful construction company. He built onto his childhood home, creating something beautiful, and much better than anything we would be able to afford otherwise. Luckily for me Elena doesn’t want to live alone. It's a two story dark cottage house that backs up right to the lake, 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms with a beautiful library sunroom that wraps around the entire back half of the first story. Elena spends all her spare time there with her books. Elena's dad did almost all the work on their home, beautiful dark wood floors, vaulted ceilings and a stone fireplace that takes up a whole wall in the living room. The house is homey and comfortable, covered in pictures of family and friends. Candles and books cover every surface, warm colors throughout remind you of fall year round. Elena and Dean's rooms are up on the second floor while mine is on the first off the kitchen.

  There are about 25 people here, some I know from previous parties, but there are quite a few new faces. Elena decided to throw a start of the summer/housewarming party for Dean and I. She invited most of the people from around the lake that she grew up with, and everyone showed up. While Elena and I are cousins and best friends, we both have parts of our lives the other knows nothing about. I glance down at my clothes feeling a bit out of place. I didn’t expect this many people to actually be here, but then again everyone loves Elena. I had just rolled out of bed in my jean shorts that barely covered my ass and an old loose sweater. My shoulder length strawberry blonde hair is dirty and greasy from not washing it in several days, but at least I had makeup on.

  “Shots?” Dean asks while holding up some glasses and a cheap bottle of tequila. I throw a thumbs up his way right as the music starts. It’s a quiet guitar, slow but beautiful and the notes have a hint of familiarity to them. I glance around the room as he pours, when something catches my eye. Sitting in the corner by himself, head bent down and eyes closed is the source of the quiet music. I would recognize that tousled short dark brown hair anywhere, those long slender fingers strumming effortlessly, and a rose tattoo decorating the top of his right hand. He doesn’t raise his head to look at me, just keeps on playing, but I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Dean shoves my shot beside my hand that I didn't realize was gripping the counter top. I toss it back without looking away from the man in the corner. He keeps playing and I don’t need him to raise his head to know the honey rich brown of those eyes. Those eyes when they last saw me, dark and full of pain. The rose tattoo on his right hand that matches the one on my left shoulder. It’s been 5 years since I felt his all consuming presence, 5 years I’ve spent trying to fill the void he left in me.