15 Ways To Fix A Broken Heart

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  • Published: 12 Mar 2013
  • Updated: 10 Apr 2013
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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*

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13. Please, Father

I refrained from totally grasping myself free from his grip before answering.

"There's nothing to talk about Trent." And with that, I offer my arm a little tug. Trent's iron-grip relents and I manage to pull my arm free.

"You know how I told you that you're a horrible liar?" he asks, peering into my eyes.

"Yes."

"It still applies." I huff a puff of air out from my lungs, stalling as much as possible. Trent brushes away a stray piece of hair away from my forehead, his fingertips brushing my skin. Heat races to my face turning it into the horrible, blotchy red I imagined it to be while I try to keep myself together.

"Trent?" I ask, finding the courage.

"Yes?"

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. The blood drains from his face in under a second, I'm guessing that wasn't the question he thought I'd ask. That wasn't even the question I thought I'd ask. It still applies though, I have no idea who he is, even after all this time. Is he the teasing, taking-it-a-bit-too-far-with-the-jokes-guy I've always known? Or is he the crying boy I saw the other night? There's too many to remember and they're all different, all unique. He's so many people, I just don't know which one he is. I need to know which one told me he loves me.

"You wouldn't understand Freak, you honestly wouldn't." I almost scream at him for his use my old term of endearment, but I stop myself. He was kind of right about it sounding nice. I shake myself out of it, that word brought me hell in the first place.

"Then help me understand."

"It's not that easy."

"It will be once you tell me." We're seriously close to the exit of school and I'm tempted to ditch, but instead I stay put with Trent. Mrs. Nona would be mad if I ditched.

"Why're you suddenly interested?" he asks angrily, running his hand through his hair. I take a step back, getting angry myself.

"You said we needed to talk," I say simply.

"Not about me," he mutters.

"So you get to know everything about me, but I don't get the chance to know you?" I ask, faking innocence.

"I never wanted you to know me!" he yells, his voice bouncing off the walls. His breaths come shallower, more angry. I'm startled, why is he so angry?

"Then why did you ever talk to me in the first place? Why'd you ever come to me if you never wanted me to know you?" I yell back, just as angry. Don't cry, I tell myself, don't let him see you cry. A few classroom doors open, probably wondering about the two hormone-drenched teenagers in the hallways. I bet they think I'm silly, that I'm over-reacting. Trent probably thinks so too. I even think I'm being silly. All he said is that he didn't want to you to know him, I tell myself, that he didn't want all those memories we had in to happen in the first place. Then why does that make me so angry? I already know the answer. If he didn't want me to know him, he porbably didn't want to know me either, which brings me around to the original question: why'd he ever come to me in the first place?

"I came to you because I couldn't stop myself, you were just so sad after Lewis. I felt bad-"

"I didn't want your pity!"

"Let me finish Levi!" I keep quiet.

"I didn't want you to feel sad, and since we didn't know each other I thought that I'd make you feel the next best thing: anger. Anger you couldn't get attached to, anger doesn't get someone to love them. I was going to slowly slip away from you after I was sure that you were better. I should've just let you get better and then move away from you, I should've, but I couldn't. You were the first person in a long time, Levi. I couldn't leave you, yet I couldn't let you know me, know my bad side," he explains, the anger in his eyes fading.

"You were the first in a long time Levi, you are the first person I've loved in a long time." And with that, I start to feel shaken, cold. I'm just as confused as ever, what does he mean by "my bad side"? And what does he mean by "You were the first person"? I was just about to open my mouth to respond, when a teacher finally flings their door open.

"You, be quiet!" Mrs. Bennen screeches. "And get back to class!" Trent flings off his sweater and wraps it around my arms.

"Sorry Mrs. Bennen. I was just on way to the washroom when I saw this girl, she was cold you see," he says, gesturing to me. "And I was just helping her." His words never fail to amaze me. I stand there, forgetting to play the role of a cold, helpless girl. Instead I breathe in the scent of the sweater, the same smell of of his sheets. Take that out of your mind Levi, I tell myself.

Mrs. Bennen purses her lips, deciding the believebiltiy of Trent's story. "Alright, just get to class." And we do.

We finish English, and all the other subjects before ever speaking again. No texts from him, no calls. Nothing but silence. I want Trent to answer my questions, I want him to tell me everything I need to hear. The only catch: it might make me want him more.

*

It takes me a while to realize that I'm still wearing his sweater. It reaches to the middle of my thigh and hangs loosely. It's so comfortable and smells so nice. I pull it tighter around my body before going back to doing homework. And messaging Sia and Sammi, but mostly messaging Sia and Sammi.

"Hey, Ren!" I greet after a white-faced Ren practically runs into my room. He pants and collaspes into my lap, his breaths are becoming more labouring. His asthma is acting up. I give him a few minutes to catch his breath before asking what caused him to run so hard.

"What's up Ren?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

"Mom. And. Dad," he says, panting slightly. I completely understand why Ren wanted to leave so fast. Mom and dad have been at their throats a lot lately, literally. One time I swear Dad touched mom by the neck. Once they're both mad, they'll find an excuse to be mad at you too. It been going on for at least a month. I wish it would just stop.

"What'd they do this time?" I ask grimly. Half of me doesn't want to know but the other half needs to, needs to know how else my life is getting more and more tangled up.

"Just yelling," Ren says, finally catching his breath. I pat the spot on my bed next to me, motioning him to come over. He gladly takes the hint and snuggles close to me. The heat of his chest leaks through his shirt, how warm is he? I delicatley place a hand over his forehead, only to feel it hot to the touch.

"Ren, are you okay?" I ask, softly. He rests his head on my shoulder, his soft, brown hair flopping in front of his closed eyes. He nods his head softly.

"I'm fine," he breathes. He is not fine. I pull myself off my bed and lay him down carefully. I arrange my books away from the pillow and he falls asleep almost instantly, belieing his words.

A burst of shouting can be heard as Eve blows the door open, also in a hurry to escape the 'wrath' of our parents.

"Don't you see we're dying here! Your work has done nothing-nothing!-to pay the bills. You're wasting your time with that garbage you call a job-" Dad yells.

"Don't you dare call my work garbage! Helping kids with their problems is not garbage!" Mom says in her shrill voice.

"How would you know how to solve your problems, let alone other kids'?"

"Don't act like you know kids! You've barely paid attention to your own!"

"Don't go there Shelley!"

"Don't touch me Mark, or I'll call the cops!" A deafening smack is loud enough to be heard through our closed door, accompagnied by a thud. Did dad hit mom? I want to believe that he wouldn't, the man whose blood and flesh I share did not hit my mother. No, I refuse to believe it, even though I hear wailing right now. More smacks, more wailing. It's repeating itself like some sick lullaby. I think I'm going to throw up.

Eve's usually neat hair is in disarray and she's out of breath, much less though than Ren.

"I think Dad hit mom," she whispers, falling to the side of my bed. She feels weak, so do I. My hands shake as I remeber a song, one mentioned in The Book.

Oh, father. Please, father.

I'm happy Ren doesn't have to listen to this.

"I'm calling the cops Mark!" More smacks, wet smacks. Bloody smacks.

I'd love to leave you alone but I can't let you go

"Levi?" I hear Ren shuffle in my covers. I rush to his side, not wanting him to hear my dad beating my mom. Eve is on the floor covering her ears. I throw her headphones and cellphone to her, she takes them gratefully and blasts her music, drowning out the sounds.

"What is it Ren?" I ask, covering his ears with the pillow. He fights me off and sits up, straight and tall.

"I'm hungry." Good, he doesn't suspect anything. I give him a weak smile and slowly push him back down.

"I'll get you a sandwhich if you lay down under the covers," I promise, the sounds are getting louder, more violent.

"But I can't breathe under the covers," he whines. I push him down. My cellphone gets buried with Ren.

"Please," I beg. He complies, hiding his head under the covers. I take a deep breath and walk to the door. Eve is still on the floor, bobbing her head along to the music. I huff in more air and step outside.

Oh, father. Please, father

"You're useless! Utterly useless, you hear me!" I hear my dad yell from the living room. I hear mom's strangled yelp, she isn't even fighting him anymore, she's just wimpering. I sneak into the room, only to see mom pinned against the wall, blood flowing down her forehead. Veins in dad's hands are prominent, pulsing due to the pressure of keeping my mom against the wall and away from the phone to call the cops.

Put the bottle down for the love of a daughter

Dad wasn't a drunkard, he knows what he's doing. That makes it all the more worst.

"You're going to quit your job and get a better one, you hear me!" More blood, I can hear it splatter onto the wall. I shakingly smash Nutella onto bread for Ren, carefully cutting off the corners although every instinct in my body yells at me to run. Once I'm finished I do run away, away into my room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dad screams, moving onto me. My blood runs cold as I turn around to face my father. The sandwhich in my hand absorbs my sweat, I can't give this to Ren anymore.

"I'm going to my room," I reply. To my extreme displeasure I hear my voice shake. Mom's on the ground, the sides of her face leaking blood. She desperately trying to crawl to the phone. I must distract dad.

"To eat?" He laughs. "You're getting fat, I don't think it's wise to eat," Pain stabs my heart. What happened to the father who told me that I'm beautiful? That I don't need to diet? He left after he started beating your mom, an evil voice in my head snarls.

Don't you remeber I'm your baby girl?

"I don't think it's wise to beat your wife," I say, thankfully, in a clear voice. He pales, the blood in his face gone. To his credit, he recovers quickly.

"I think I'll beat you instead then, you and your smart mouth."

How could you push me right out of your world?

I don't feel it, not exactly. I see, as if it were happening to someone else, a fist connecting to a cheek. My cheek. I hear sirens in the background, although mom is still on the floor. Maybe a neighbor's called the police. Thank God for nosy neighbors. Again, I feel disconnected. As if I'm not really getting hurt. Maybe this is one of the signs of dying, I joke as another fist closes onto my face. I fall to my knees as a pounding jarrs the front door.

"Levi! Open up!" I hear. It's Trent! Trent, coming to help me out. I'm glad I didn't walk out of his life.

"You called someone? You dirty bitch, how could you do this to your father!" Another hit, I feel it. My face finally screams in pain as I smile, laughing at the idiocy of my father.

"How could you do this to your family?" I spit out. His face falls, his fists realx. Trent knocks down the door.

Lied to your flesh and your blood

"Levi? What the heck happened?" Trent asks, seeing my face. It feels raw and bloody, I guess the pain is catching up with me.

"Ask him," I say pointing to dad. Dad's eyes flick over to me and then Trent, deciding who to hit first. I guess he goes for me.

Now it hurts a lot.

"You son of a bitch!" Trent shouts, attacking my father. Dad is taken aback, too surprised to fight back. Trent tackles him, knocking him to the ground. They both land with a thud. Sirens get louder, almost as if they're right outside my door.

"Don't touch Levi again!" Trent screams, throwing punch after punch at Dad. Trent's getting more violent by the second, throwing kicking, punching my dad. It's frightening to watch. The fire in his eyes that almost killed me; it might just kill dad. Of course, if the police officers didn't come at that moment.

Trent, momentarily distracted by the officers, didn't see dad get the broken leg chair from under him. Trent didn't see the broken leg chair drive into his skin. But I saw, I saw the piece of wood bore into Trent's skin. I saw dad come after me. All under a second.

Dad sends me flying across the room before the oficers cuff him. I cry out as they cuff Trent.

Put your hands on the ones that you swore you love

My sandwhich, the one I left the safety of my room to get, is kicked out of my hand by an officer.

"No," I moan, "now Ren'll be hungry."

And then I lose vision, then consciousness, and then my grip on life itself.

A/N

*The song Levi is thinking about is called For The Love of a Daughter by Demi Lovato.

 

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