15 Ways To Fix A Broken Heart

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  • Published: 12 Mar 2013
  • Updated: 10 Apr 2013
  • Status: Complete
I was, and still are, weird. Yes, my friends are the craziest people you'll ever meet. And yes, I was proud of that small insignificat fact. I thought he was too. But he wasn't, his type never are. I was played with and then made to be broken. Then I found it, The Book. It healed me, this simple book with 15 ways to fix a broken heart.
Copyright (C)
*For the World Book Day App Competition*


9. Nightmares

"Does it look bad?" I ask Evening as I snuggle under the covers, feeling cold. I could have slept there for a million years. 

"Does what look bad?" she responds, looking me over. "You look fine."

I smile. Good. I don't look like I want to cry. I don't look like I want to go back to Trent's house. I don't look like something in me is breaking off. Good.

"Thanks," I answer as she shuts off the bedroom light. Sparks float beneath my closed eyelids. 

Despite my much-advertised proclamations of my hatred for him, I have actually grown quite fond of him. Not love, like my friends think, but like. And that part of me knows he didn't do it on purpose.



I woke up to the loud ringing of my phone at my bedside table. I sliently curse it, I was having a very good dream of floating pies. I pick it up with fumbling hands and answer with a sleep-filled mouth.

"Who ever you are, you must be pretty damn important to me if I'm answering your call at five in the morning," I snap.

"Levi, I'm so-" says Trent. Ugh, I should've known. Only Trent would make me wake me so early in the moring just to annoy me.

"I don't want to hear it, Trent," I say and almost shut my phone off. One thing stops me, the sound of Trent crying.

Is Trent sobbing?

"I need someone right now-"

"Save it, Trent," I say, the authority in my voice wavering.

"Please," he begs.  As his voice cracks on that word, my heart breaks a little. I shouldn't forget that he's not worth the trouble, I shouldn't, but hearing Trent beg and cry wipes the memory from my brain.

"I'm- I'm coming," I say and click my phone off. I pull my sneakers on and slip out through the front door. Goodness, the things I do for that boy.

Although his place is only three doors down it seems impossible to find it in this perfect darkness. Eventually though, I make it to his front door and tentatively turn the handle. He didn't lock it.

"Trent?" I ask, stepping inside. My foot catches on a shard of glass and it crunches beneath my foot. I kick the piece of glass away and scan the room. It looks like a hurricane passed through: broken picture frames, ripped papers, canvases with holes with in them. All broken, all a mess. Did Trent go a rampage? I try to sneak away again, chickening out at the last second, but I hear crying again. That same heart-wrenching, scream-your-heart-out crying that I heard on the phone. Trent's crying. I walk into the hallway and tiptoe into the biggest room, hopefully Trent's room. My jaw drops.

Trent's spread-eagle on the floor, with rusted, bloody knives in his hand. His beautiful face is full of sorrow, full of agonizing pain although his arms are clean of scars.

"Levi, I'm so sorry," he wails after I sit by his side.  I gather him in my arms and make him sit up. I gently pull the knives from his hand.

"Trent, were you trying to kill yourself?" I ask as I examine each knife. The blood is too dry to have come from a few minutes ago. Trent wraps his arms around my waist and a rush runs through me, spiking my adrenaline. I push it away and focus on Trent.

"Are you stupid Levi? I wasn't trying to kill myself," he snaps as he sniffs his nose. I should've known Trent would be as snappy as ever. I laugh a little at his stubborn child-like stance as I pull him up and set him between the covers. I sit at the side of his bed.

"Then what were you trying to do?" I ask as I smooth down his hair. He looks at me with pleading eyes, the black of his irises mix with the regular, impenetrable black of the rest of his eyes.

"Terrible, terrible nightmare," he says instead, "terrible." I climb in and sit beside him, maybe if I were closer to him he'll tell me what the heck's going on.

"What nightmare, Trent?" I ask. His hands grip mine in a panic, pulling me toward him until there's no space between us. His looks at me for a second, his mouth open as if he's going to respond. He quickly shuts it though and buries his head in my shoulder, his tears soaking through my shirt. His arms are around me so tightly it feels as if I were the one who got hurt, I was the one crying. He makes me feel small and safe here, wrapped in his arms. I quickly wipe the foolish smile off my face as I remember that I should be the one comforting him, not the other way around.

I let him cry, let him get it all out before asking what's wrong again. Sun peaks out from behind his curtains as I wait for him to stop blubbering.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Levi," he says after a while. I wipe away lingering tears with the end of my sweater and muster a ghost of a smile.

"What for?" I ask. Trent's fingers graze the bruises on my neck and I shiver. Both from the memory and from his touch.

"For everything," he replies.

'Everything is a lot of things, you know," I joke. His arms tighten. He looks at me, my smile mirrored in his own face. He knows that I forgive him. I flick away stray hairs from is forehead before speaking again.

"What was wrong Trent? What nightmares?" I ask. Hopefully the concern I feel is reflected in my eyes. He takes a shuddering breath.

"You know how I said that I killed my mom?" he asks. I nod. "Well, it's true. I killed her." He flinches for a second, scared for my reaction. I rest my head on his chest and hug him a little more. If he thinks that this changes something between us, whatever it really is, then he's wrong. He's still Trent, snappy, arrogant, conceited, surprisingly kind Trent. He relaxes and pulls me closer.

"Why aren't you running?" he asks. The answer is relatively simple.

"Because I know that whatever you did, you didn't mean it," I say.

"Well you're right about that. I never meant any of it. It started with my dad. The day he died in that car accident was the moment I knew that it was the beginning of the end for mom. She loved him loads, you see. Anyway, she became depressed. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't do anything but stay in bed." He tells his story with a hollow sadness. I link our fingers. He smiles briefly and links them back, liking the gesture. He continues.

"And one day, I found her. With those knives." he says, gesturing to the knives, "she, she tried to kill herself. I was ten. I sort of lashed out and started to get all mad. I was just so hurt, I mean how could she leave me alone like that? Did I mean anything to her?" It makes sense now, his hatred for The Red River Runs, how he tried to kill me after I asked about his mom.

"The neighbors heard me, my screaming, and called the police. They brought mom and me to a hospital and then a bunch of crazy shit happened," he chuckles softly. "And mom got scared of me. I could see it in her eyes, she was petrified. She was literally scared to death of me. And she killed herself anyways."  His story ends on a blunt note. My heart feels hollow, empty. I can hear the tears choking Trent and my hollowed heart breaks a little more.

"How long have you been living alone?" I ask.

"Since I was twelve, so for five years," he answers. I shield my eyes from the impending raising sun. How long have I been here?

"I'm sorry," I mumble, unsure of what to say. He chuckles softly again, I never realized how perfect his laugh is. I catch myself smiling along to the sound and check myself again. I'm not used to this Trent, this soft-hearted Trent. I need to keep on my toes, who knows what'll happen if I get to used this version of him. I might get too attached.

"Was nightmare about your mother?" I ask. He nods solemly.

"You can say that," he says. We lay in silence for a moment. "What day is today?"

"Saturday," I answer.

"So if I asked you to stay with me a little longer, would you?" he asks. I gather up the sheets and pull them around us and breathe in their soapy scent.

"Maybe for just a little bit."

"Wow, you've changed."

"No I haven't," I protest.

"I didn't say it wasn't for the better.'

"But you implied it."

"No I didn't."

"Sure," I say sarcastically.

"You know, sarcasm is practically lying."

"No it isn't."

"Says the liar."

"Says the jerk."

"We're back to that?" Trent moans. I can feel his voice vibrations from his chest. I laugh, some things never change.


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