The Ties That Bind Us: (The Ties Duet Part One) by Danda K. (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📕

that lack of concern for my general well-being that is the reason I’m starting eleventh grade sporting new braces. Luckily, I only need them for a year. My parents finally had to cave, but only after several CPS visits and the school counselor calling to give them an ear full on my physical appearance, mental state, and lack of social etiquette.

In other words, they were sure I was being abused, but they’re fighting a system that’s beyond broken. Unless a parent is caught red-handed, the abuse will continue until the child escapes and runs off on their own. Or worse, stays and actually attempts to survive it each time.

My parents decided braces would be the best route. With state insurance, they pay nothing for any dental visits, and a dentist was also the least likely to ask questions about bruises since they only focus on the mouth. So, they show the school they are “on top” of taking care of me while continuing to hide the fact they’re regularly sucking the life out of their very own flesh and blood.

Growing up in Brooklyn is something most people write rap songs about. A lot of the greatest rappers were born and raised here. I shouldn’t know this little fact though, because I’m not allowed to listen to music. What Mom and Dad don’t know won’t hurt ’em, though.

Or, in my case, me.

I love music. I love music so much that I risk sneaking my best friend Camilla’s iPod Touch in and out of my house unnoticed every day. I like all types of music: rap, rock, pop, and country—even the occasional dreaded techno. I don’t have a preference for what I listen to as long as I feel it.

And these days, music is all I can feel.

It’s also why my biggest dream is to own a music store. Some say it’s pointless, given the time we live in. They’re probably right, but it’s the one thing I dream about: Owning a small, quiet store where people could come in and look for all types of music. From CDs, to vinyl, and even music sheets to learn from⎼ it would have everything for music lovers, right down to a small sectioned-off area to be used as a makeshift studio.

The saddest part about my dream is, deep in my subconscious, I feel like I chose it because I knew it would fail. Stores like that are no longer in demand with all these streaming services and live playlists you have access to. Maybe I chose this dream because I knew it wouldn’t work, and I needed something other than my feelings of uselessness and insignificance to be the reason for failure.

Shaking off my thoughts, I walk towards the door and pick up my bag. I stand there a minute with my hand on the doorknob, glancing over my shoulder to look at my father lying on the couch, drinking the beer I gave him.

Never a hello or goodbye between us.

◆◆◆

The walk to school is only about ten minutes from where I live, so I don’t mind it as long as the weather is decent. Today the skies are clear, and it’s warm. As I walk, I can feel beads of sweat forming on my neck from the sun already beating down on me.

I have my earbuds in, and I’m listening to my favorite songs so I can tolerate the outside world. It’s quiet on the street right now, just some store owners opening up shop and lifting the metal gate from the front of their stores.

I turn a corner, and my high school comes into view. Crossing the street, I turn off the iPod and place it in my pocket. Instantly, my guard is up, and I prepare myself for what my fellow classmates might throw at me.

“Hello? Look alive, Cam!” I hear Camilla’s voice in front of me.

No, I didn’t choose her as my best friend because our names can both be shortened to sound the same. She chose me, actually.

Right now, she’s clapping her hands and standing by the steps to the entrance of our school. My best friend is around 5’6” and beautiful. Her long, dark blonde hair flows in waves. Her skin always looks tan and dewy, and her makeup on point. Her lively green eyes are a stark contrast to my dark and dull brown ones.

She’s sporting her usual ripped knee jeggings, red Converse, and a white tank top under the grey cardigan I got her for her birthday. I had to collect over fifty pounds of cans to afford it, but she’s my best friend, so I didn’t mind.

For once, my father’s nasty habit sure came in handy there. Not that I would ever tell her that.

While I’m skinny like her, I’m also pale, with the frizziest dark brown hair that Camilla always tries to tame and brush for me. She tries to give me “makeovers” whenever I’m able to sneak over to her house after my mom is gone and my dad is passed out for the night, but I refuse.

And I like my glasses, believe it or not... just like I like my secondhand Docs, my baggy t-shirts, and my skinny jeans. It doesn’t draw any attention to the scarred body I try so hard to hide from everyone, including her.

Camilla is really popular. We met by chance at a CVS where she was looking for makeup, and I was buying myself bandages to cover my newest bruises. She asked me which color lipstick would look best on her, and I had to do a double-take. I looked all around me to see if there was someone else she would have been talking to.

When I decided it must be me she wanted advice from, I shrugged, confused as to why someone like her would even acknowledge me.

I went about my business, and she announced she decided to buy both. She continued to talk to a still silent me and somehow convinced me to hang out with