Broken by Rylaan Colon (the best books of all time TXT) 📕

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I lay down, his eyes are roaming throughout my room.

“So, I mean… great room,” he says awkwardly.

His face lights up, blushing.

Like he hasn’t been here before.

As if we weren’t just messing around, talking.

I look around my room, it’s a mess.

Paper littered everywhere.

I instantly feel a wave of nervousness.

He looks at my bed, tracing the outline.

His eyes investigate each and every flower littered on the comforter.

Then he looks down at my floor.

I find this cute and the butterflies come back.

I tare my eyes away from him.

I can feel the tension in the air. The hairs on my neck raise.

They seem to do that when I get nervous.

“Do you wanna, uh sit down?” I ask.

He looks at me and nods.

He walks over towards me and sits on the bed.

He crisscrosses his legs.

He seems to be getting comfortable.

I watch as his breaths lighten.

“I was won-,” suddenly I hear footsteps on the stairs.

Too heavy to be my brother’s and too loud to be my mom’s(she isn’t here anyway), so it has to be Micheal’s.

Memories flash through my mind.

“Um, my dad is coming. I’m sorry. Uh… hide, please” I say in a whisper yell.

I look at him apologetically.

His face flicks between confusion to fear.

I quickly shuffle him into my closet.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him as I close the door.

Micheal staggers into my room.

“Honey, you- affak downstairs. Bnight.” He is drunk again.

“Oh, ok. Hi and goodnight,” I give up at the end.

I can feel a weight on my chest.

It hurts to see him like this like it always does.

To think of the times he gets like this and doesn’t go to sleep.

Sadly, I’m used to this by now.

I don’t call my dad, “dad” I call him Micheal.

His real name.

It fits the monster he is.

When my mother is off at work (she works night shifts), my father drinks.

He drinks enough that most of his paychecks go to buying his alcohol.

Sometimes when he gets really mad, he can’t control his anger; I have scars that remind me of that all the time.

That is why when my father is around, I’m always on the edge of my seat.

Always scared of what he might do.

I walk to the hallway, look around and close my door.

And then I lock my door.

I slide down my door, relieved that nothing happened while he is here.

My brother is asleep and so is my father; I call him out.

“It’s all clear.”

He slowly creeps out of my closet.

He looks as if he was just in Narnia.

“Sorry about that, that...that was nothing,” Silence.

I wanna jump in front of him and ask him what’s up like we did when we were little kids but we aren’t little anymore.

So much is different now.

“What’s wrong,” I ask.

“I-I nevermind,” he says shaking a smile off of his face.

His posture becomes more foreign.

He is still blushing.

I walk over to my bed and sit on it.

I pat the bed.

He walks over to the mattress right next to me, and slowly sits down.

“So is your father okay?” I hear a sense of confusion in the question.

“Yeah, he gets this way sometimes,” I reply.

“He doesn’t get like this when people are around.”

I’m kind of hesitant, he’s never been to my house when my father was around.

When we were kids, my father wasn’t home much.

He always said that my mom could take care of us until we were mature enough to be useful.

Even now I still remember how old I was when it first happened.

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” he says.

“It’s fine. It isn’t as bad as it sounds,” I lie.

I pull down my sleeves that revealed a bruise.

“Oh well, where is your mother?” Ask he does, “Did she get the job?”

I reply with “A night shift at the cafe.”

His face lights up again like he was hoping for my mom to get a job.

I know I was, so she could get away from Micheal, but I also didn’t want to be alone with him.

By now the tension is gone, but that feeling inside my stomach is bubbling up.

I look straight into his eyes.

He stops talking, I didn’t realize he still was.

I feel like I’m in a movie.

His eyes are dark.

I can’t tell if they are light or dark, but they have white waves.

They look like the waves crashing into the sand.

Our hands touch briefly and I lean in more.

He takes his hand and curls it around my face.

I look down, he brings my head back up.

I know my cheeks are as red as a tomato.

“You look cute, did you know that?”

I look away blushing.

He doesn’t look awkward for once.

I get up, “Ok, well um… we got our homework done right? So what now?”

“Right um, maybe I should go... if you want me to,” he asks.

I wanna scream “No!” and that I want him to stay all night but instead I say.

“Ok, yeah. See you in Geography. I guess.”

“Ok,” he gets up, grabs his stuff, looks at me, I smile and he climbs out the window to his house.

Through the tree between our houses.

You’re so, so, so, so, so, so dumb I think in my head, ughhh, dummy.

It is now 8:23.

Wow, I think.

I slowly take off clothes and change.

I change into a nightgown that barely drapes down to my knees.

It’s white with the words “Sleepy Bitch,” in pink.

My best friend left it at my house when she secretly stayed the night, a few nights ago.

I slowly climb into bed and turn on my bedside light.

I grab a book and flip to the first page.

I’ve read this book many times.

In my head, I read,

“The elegance, as she takes each step. Her glass slippers making a sound that breaches across the entire ballroom. The way she makes every head turn. The mystery of who lies behind the gold mask. As her hair rests effortlessly. Her gown made out of pure gold. Shining brighter than the morning sun. Her smile that reaches across the mile-long ballroom. ”

The words didn’t seem to make sense to me.

My mind is so foggy.

I try to read, but my mind is blocked by the thought of his sparkling eyes.

I look out my window at the night sky.

His eyes were like an image you would see in a catalog.

I can’t seem to read so I put the book down and turn the light off.

I grab my covers and close my eyes.

The feeling of him so close it still on my mind.

 

 

Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

“Slam,” I hear.

“Crash,” and another.

I reach over to get my phone.

Time, 6:47 am.

Day, Friday, Oct 28th.

I get out of bed, get dressed as quietly as I can.

Slipping on a sweatshirt.

I slip in my contacts.

My eyes start to sting.

I slowly open my room door.

I can hear Micheal’s rage booming throughout the entire house.

I can hear my brother crying in his room.

I creep out of my room and into his.

When he sees me, he wipes his tears away.

“Hey, Max, what’s wrong?” I ask.

He looks down at his lap, “I dropped one of the glasses, one od dad’s favorite, he-he hit me.”

I make my way over to his bed and I sit next to him.

I feel angry and I wanna scream at Micheal.

I clench my fists and then release them with a sigh.

“Oh Max, I am so sorry,” I hold him in my arms for a minute.

I know mom can't drive him to school, she’s too “busy.”

“I can drive you to school on my way,” I say.

“Thank you, big sis,” he says thankfully.

He looks up at me, he looks scared.

“Are you going to be okay if I go and get washed up?” I ask full-heartedly.

I feel bad for him, I know how he feels.

I’ve felt it before, many times.

I only hope it doesn’t get that bad.

“Yeah,” a smile disappears just as fast as it appeared, “ I guess.”

I walk past the stairs leading the way to my parent's fight.

Mom and Micheal's conversation is dying down.

“SHATTER” I spoke too soon.

I look briefly down the stairs and I notice there is an expensive glass shattered on the floor.

I usually ignore their conversations.

I almost go to help but I stop myself.

I know mom could use my help at this time.

I go to step on the first step.

I look at my watch, Micheal should be leaving soon and mom will be free.

I leave the glass shards where they are and I keep walking.

I go into the bathroom and wash my face and brush my teeth.

I walk to my room.

I quickly pack my bag.

Book, Laptop, Phone, Shoes, Coat, Textbook, and Homework.

Ok, Good I think.

I grab my brother, we have to sneak out the back door so we don’t run into anyone.

My brother and I have done this many times.

It’s kinda sad.

As we are leaving, I see that our father’s car is gone.

And I can hear mom weeping inside.

I feel bad for mom but I get scared.

“Sorry Mom,” I whisper as I look back at the house.

“Wait, I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Max says as he turns to me.

“It’s okay, we can pick up some food on the way.”

……………………………………………………………….

The time on my phone says 8:31 after getting breakfast and dropping Max off.

My school starts at 9:25, so I still have some time.

I decided to go to the library down the street from my school.

I arrive at 8:46.

I was hoping to read at the library but that is when I see it.

“It” or “Them.”

“The cool girls,” Stacey, Ashley, and Tracey.

I hate them, Stacey and I used to be best friends but then I guess she found better ones.

More like sluttier ones I think.

I grab a random book off the shelf, sit down and start reading.

I feel “tap, tap, tap” on my shoulder.

I turn around and the look on my face changes.

Ashley, uggggh

“Hey, I just wanted to say nice clothes, hiut,”

The last word is unimportant.

It isn’t bad but you just don’t need to know it.

Anyway, I am caught by total surprise.

They hate me, well Ashley hates me.

“Uh, thanks,” I say.

She runs back to Stacey who is surprisingly smiling and waving at me.

I don’t see Tracey though.

I wave back awkwardly.

The girls smile at me.

I continue with my book, feeling a weight lifted.

Then I head to school.

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We can skip my 1st period (it was boring).

Now my 2nd period; Geography, which means, “him”

“Hey, hiut” he screams throughout the halls.

He catches up with me.

We walk in silence to geography.

When we get there all the kids are off task.

“RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGG!!!”

The bell goes off and every kid is in their seats, including us.

We all sit by our partners.

He is Mine.

Mrs.Grobinson talks on and on while she passes out papers.

“Okay class, with your partner you must write an essay about Amelia Earhart.” She tells us.

I look at him and he looks at me.

Wow, those eyes.

I can feel his leg brush up against mine, I expect him to move it but he doesn’t.

“ ...and present it in front of the class,” there is an erosion of grones.

This should be easy.

“Ok so what do we know about Amelia Earhart?” he asks me.

“Umm…”

By the end of class, we have about half of our essay done.