Every Broken Thing: Far From Ruined Book 1

Chapter 1

The solitude never bothered me. To be honest, I quite enjoyed it.

Once I finished, I flushed the toilet and washed my hands. Retrieving my backpack, I gave a quick glance in the mirror to satisfy my vanity before rounding the corner to exit the bathroom, but instead of facing the opening to the hallway, I ran face-first into a hard chest.

Compared to the immovable wall of muscle before me, I stood zero chance of remaining on my feet, and the crash sent me sprawling on my ass. My tailbone complained, and pain ricocheted up and down my spine from my ungraceful landing. I was average height and slightly below average weight, no Mr. Universe, and I accepted my less than ideal genetics. But damn if moments like this didn't hurt my pride.

Vile curses built behind my lips as I fumbled to right myself on the dirty floor, but when I lifted my furious gaze to spew profanities at the guy who ran into me, my voice choked off. Eric Boyt glared down at me like I was the bane of his existence, and though I would cuss out any other person for pushing me over, I bit my tongue hard to keep silent. His dark eyes narrowed as I scrambled to my feet, learning a long time ago not to stay on the ground when he was present. He tracked my every movement as a wicked grin spread over his thick lips.

Well, shit! My evening just took a turn for the worse.

Eric was my archnemesis since freshman year, and, although I could blame my brother for our three-year-long rivalry, I didn't. It wasn't exactly his fault he accidentally walked in on me jerking off to gay porn. No matter how horrifying it was for me to come right as my bedroom door opened to reveal my wide-eyed brother, I couldn't imagine Will's trauma. There was nothing enjoyable about catching his little brother mid-orgasm with the scene of two guys "sixty-nining" on his own laptop monitor. So much for deleting internet history.

Needless to say, he spilled the beans to a friend, who told another friend, who apparently couldn't keep his trap shut, and voila! Poor me, forced from the closet kicking and screaming.

Within a week, the whole school knew I batted for the other team, and though it shouldn't matter one way or another who I preferred getting off to, the student body disagreed. Eric, the band leader, surrounded himself with a group of dumber-than-rocks dickholes, and I became the new punching bag. By the next year, the novelty of my orientation, thankfully, wore off and, other than derogatory insults thrown my way, people left me alone.

Well, most people. Not Eric. He continued to make my life miserable for the next three years.

"Watch where you're going, Brigs!" Eric's growl brought me back from memory lane, and I squared my shoulders and jutted out my chin as I adopted my ever-present snark.

"Then don't take up the whole doorway, Boyt!" I leveled him with a heated glare and assessed my options. "Not my fault your gigantic ass is always in the way."

His eyes, glassy and glazed by what smelled like weed, widened at my retort, and I immediately regretted my thoughtless insult. My mouth always plunged me into trouble, but I wouldn't apologize. I quite enjoyed offending him. He was an asshole and had it coming.

"What the fuck did you just say, faggot?" He rolled his thick shoulders as his muscles bulged against his tight shirt.

He was one of the best wrestlers in our school and his size showed it. He was huge, tall and broad, and he won our physical altercations, hands down. My muscle mass was pitiful compared to his.

Still, I refused to cower or grovel. If I was going to get a beating, I was going to take it like a man, damn it.

"You're wasted," I pointed out, the overwhelming scent of marijuana wafting from his pores. "Just let me pass."