the broken girl// steve rogers

chapter one

People tell me that it'll get better. That he won't hurt me anymore. Well, those people are idiots who don't know a damn thing. He never stopped hurting me and things never got better. People don't know anything.

So, here I am, in New York, with barely any money with a black eye, bruises, and a busted up lip. I packed up all the things I could before he got home to yell at me and hit me.

The alley I'm currently sitting in isn't too bad. It's covered in trash, graffiti, and rats, but it'll do for this rainy night.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing in an alley, all alone?"

I looked up to see two guys covered in tattoos, smoking cigarettes, and in ratty clothes. The one who spoke had a gun in his pocket and a pocket knife in his hand, making me wish someone would come and save me.

"Um, I, um," I stumbled on my words as I looked at the gun.

He chuckled, darkly and took out the gun, "Oh, baby. We aren't going to hurt you," he said.

"Okay," I said, cringing at the word "baby".

"You are so pretty, ya know that?" he asked and walked over to where I was standing.

He ran his thumb over my cheek, making me cringe and tremble. He smirked at me and ran his hand down my waist.

"She's wearing too much clothes, right Wes?" the guy asked his friend.

His friend nodded, "I agree, Carlos,"

"Help! Please help me!" I screamed. Carlos shoved his gun against my head and clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Say another word and you'll have a bullet through your head!"

I looked at the exit to see a man standing there, slowly walking into the alley. He held up his finger to his mouth, telling me to keep quiet. I simply nodded as tears fell down my cheeks.

"Yo, Wes! Hand me your knife," Carlos said, as Wes was lying on the ground, unconscious and bleeding with the guy standing beside him.

"Here ya go," the guy said, bashing Carlos's head into the brick wall beside me. He then took the gun, took out the bullets, and beat the shit out of him.

I slid down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest as I cried. I couldn't help but cry and cry. I was almost killed, or raped. I have no money and my ex-boyfriend will probably come looking for me.

A hand was set against my cheek, "Are you okay, miss?"

"Yeah. Thank you," I said.

"I'm Steve Rogers," the guy said, helping me stand up.

I looked up at him to see the most beautiful blue eyes and messy blonde hair. His face looked like it was sculpted by God himself. He had a pair of jeans, a grey shirt, and a black jacket. He was super handsome.

"I'm Scarlett,"

He smiled at me, "Nice to meet you, Scarlett," he spoke and kissed my hand.

"You too, Steve," I said, blushing slightly.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Um, no. Not really,"

Steve took off his jacket and draped it over my
shoulders, rubbing my arms. He wrapped an arm around my waist as we began walking. I grabbed my bag, holding it by my side.

We walked down the street, getting strange looks by people. I mean, I can't blame them. They're looking at a beaten up girl, soaking wet, and a handsome guy with a few scratches who is also soaking wet. I'd be worried too.