Broken, Abused, and Left for Dead

Chapter 1

    Here comes the sun, doo doo doodoo

    Here comes the sun, and I say

    It's alri-

    The song abruptly came to an end as her father forcefully pushed open the door of the red pickup truck. It was an older model, over fifteen years old, only being held together by a single thread. A shudder went through the girl as her father slammed the door shut, afraid the whole thing would collapse. She closed her eyes, her hand involuntarily rubbing the cigarette burns  and self inflicted scars on her arms. A coping mechanism that had surfaced late fall last year. Summer was here now, yet the girl still wore long flannels.

    The truck shuddered again, and she observed her father through the windshield smack the hood, afraid he would dent it. She tucked her tousled, auburn waves behind her ears and made sure the scars on her arms were covered. Slowly opening her door, the broken girl inside the truck transformed into a new one, her features bright and a continuous smile on her face.

    "You take that fuckin' long getting out again and you'll be seeing stars, y'hear?" he sourly spat out the words, his hick accent thicker than when he was sober.

    Putting on her best smile, the girl nodded her head submissively, "Sorry, daddy. I was just making sure my makeup looked fine."

    "I don't give a damn about your makeup, grab the shit and lets go."

    He moved forward, slightly wobbling, grabbing for the silver flask in his pocket before he had even made it five steps. It disgusted her, how he could never manage to stay sober, always had that filthy flask in his pocket. After a moment of watching him, she went back to the bed of the truck, unlatching it. Inside was the produce they had grown, well, that she had grown. There were plentiful amounts of tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, any vegetable a customer could want. This was her life now. On the weekends, she went with her father to farmer's markets, selling what little they had and on the rest of the weeknights she worked at a gas station a town over from where they lived. How else could she have afforded her material products that allowed her to at least look as though she lived a normal life?

    Stacking two of the crates, she figured it would take her three or four trips to bring everything to their stand. Thankfully, she had set up their small table and tent the previous night. As she walked towards it, her eyes drifted across the stands that had slowly started filling up with different merchants. Most were local farmers selling their produce, some were old women selling jewelry or hippies selling their weed disguised through boxes of blueberries. These gatherings were never checked by police, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Her father was sitting in one of the chairs, a glazed over look on his face. She knew he would be asleep in a matter of minutes and it would become her job to make the sales. Placing the crates down, a sigh escaped her lips. Funny, how a seventeen year old daughter ended up supporting her father who had just turned thirty-eight.

    Across the aisle was a group of three, brothers, by the look of it, setting up their own table. The youngest, who she assumed was around 6 years old, was handing different fruits to the middle child who placed them in a simple array on the table. As her eyes drifted over to the eldest, however, heat rushed to her cheeks as she made direct eye contact with him.

    Casting her eyes down, she quickly walked back to her father's pick up. How embarrassing. From the quick glance she had gotten, though, she had gathered he was handsome, with an espresso colored beard that wasn't completely grown yet, just long stubble. He had been wearing a camo trucker hat, his eyes a piercing green.  She shook her head, clearing the image away. They would be across from each other all day, providing ample amount of time to sneak looks.

    "Need any help?" a deep, masculine voice came from behind her.

    She hardly contained herself from flinching, slowly turning around to face whoever was behind him.

    "It's you," the words were hardly a whisper out of her mouth. He had his head slightly cocked to the side, a friendly smile on his lips. She felt a smile cross her own lips as she replied, "That would be great, thanks."

    He paced over beside her, grabbing three of the crates, only leaving one for herself. She grabbed it then latched the truck shut again.

    "I've noticed you at other markets too. You do this for a livin'?" his voice had only a slight accent that everyone in Alabama seemed to have, as though he had only recently begun to adapt it.

    "My daddy does. I'm still goin' to school," she had what most people would call the accent of a southern belle. It  wasn't easy to maintain at first, but now she had mastered it, sounding still southern, yet sophisticated. "And you?"

    "I graduated three years back in New York, then came down here for some easy livin'."

    "That seems like an unreasonable downgrade. Are those your brothers with you?"

    "My mom and father got in a car crash two years back. I guess you could say I'm their guardian now."

    "I'm sorry to hear that," a frown had replaced her smile at the sudden turn in mood.

    "It ain't no thing, really," a laugh cascaded, his tone still jovial. "They were drunk all the time and favored smacking us around 'stead of givin' us any love."

    "Huh. Sounds rough."

    They had made it back to her stand, and he placed the crates on the ground beside the table. While he was ducked down, she swept her eyes over him, taking notice at the muscular arms his white muscle shirt revealed. As he stood back up, he held his hand out in front if him.

    "Well, it was nice meeting you, Ms. -"

    "Willow," she interrupted. "No Ms. Just Willow."

    He smiled at her quick response, "Willow. And I'm Rowan. Stop by sometime if things get too slow over there."

    "I'll think about it."

    With that, he gave a faint tip of his hat and walked back to where his brothers were. She realized they all looked like exact replicas of each other, like it was looking at Rowan through different periods of time in his life. However, the other two boys had brown eyes, not the emerald ones that had captivated her. Glancing back at her father, she saw his chest slowly falling and rising, and knew he would soon be snoring.

    Maybe today won't be all that bad.