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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14. She's Not Afraid

The tangy smell of antisepitcs slice my thoughts in half as I analyze the drip, dripping of my dad's medicine bag. He lays peacefully, his long-lashed eyes shut. I brush away the hair from his face as his breathing becomes deeper. Then I go back to the piece of paper in my hand, crossing out the previous line. I can't get the wording right. I anxiously glance at the clock from time to time, waiting for Trent's surgery to be done. Three hours have gone by, feels like forever.

I'm sorry dad, I write on the hospital's napkin. The ink from my pen leaks through the napkin and into my jeans.

...but you had this coming.

I can't tell him this stuff in person, it would hurt too much. Speaking to him is like speaking to the old him, the nice him. That side of him is gone. All that remains is the monster he turned out to be.

You've hurt us for too long.

It's true, he has. His rudeness turned to violence but we chose not to see it. We chose not to confront him. We brought this down on ourselves.

You promised to God that you'd love mom. I didn't know that promises meant so little to you. Do we mean so little to you to? Do Evening, Ren, and I, your own children, mean so little that you'd beat up their own mother? That you'd beat me?

Tears sting my eyes as I try to write this all down. I struggle to put down all my feelings into words, to make dad feel all the pain he gave us.

I don't know if you realized what you did last night, but I sure did. I felt all the punches you gave me. You know how many times you hit me? Twenty times. Twenty reasons why I should hate you. You know how many times you hit mom? A hundred more times than you hit me. Plenty more reasons to hate you.

We're leaving, all of us. Ren, Evening, mom and I are moving out in a couple weeks. Leaving dad. He can't keep his hands to himself so we have to go. Where? We don't know.

Oddly, I don't hate you. I hate what you became, who you are now. Do you remember that man who carried me up on his shoulders? Who told me that I was beautiful? Who said he loved me, and meant it? Remember when I called that man you? Well, I do, and I'm going to miss him.

I don't hold back the tears, even as I hear the nurse beside me whispers that Trent is ready to see me. I scribble down a few more sentences.

You, you're not that man anymore. You, I won't miss. It's like that Keith Urban song, "Keep your cap, I'll take my sweater. 'Cause we have nothing left to weather." Keep your sweater dad, you might need it as the ice in your heart makes you shiver at night.

I remember when we used to sing to all of Keith Urban's songs.

I loved you. Eve, Ren, mom, we all loved you. You missed out on some awesome love because the love that we saved for dad doesn't belong to you anymore. We don't call you dad anymore. I know that after last night, you don't consider me your daughter either.

I get up, ready to see Trent.

Love, Levi.

P.S. Save this napkin, it has the last shred of love you'll ever get from me.

*

I shift my way through the crowd of people to reach Trent's room, 3A. I take a deep breath and walk inside.

"Hello Doctor," I say in a small voice as I sit on a stool by Trent. He's resting, his eyeballs moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids.

"Hello..."

"Levi."

"Ah, call me Mr. Stewart." he says, outstretching his hand. I shake it, feeling awkward.

"So, how was the surgery?" I ask, playing with my fingers. He looks grim, almost somber.

"It, well, it didn't go exactly as I planned it would. You see, the sedative for the surgery mixed with his medication-" My mouth pops open to correct him.

"Trent isn't on medication," I state as if it were a fact. Mr. Stewart looks at me as  if I had been badly misinformed.

"He hasn't told you?" he asks, looking sorry. I'm starting to get scared.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I guess he would want to keep it a secret."

"Doctor, you better tell me what in the world is going on," I start. He waves a hand in front to stop me.

"How close are you to him?" he asks, completely off topic. I don't think before answering.

"I love this boy." I say plainly. His eyes soften as I instantly go red. Goodness, why'd I have to blurt that out?

"Well, if you're that close-" Why won't he spit it out?

"Tell me!"

"Alright, calm down. Trent here, is bipolar. He needs medication to keep his personality in order," he says grimly. Bipolar? I need this to sink in.

"You mean personality disorder?" I ask, dumbstruck. How come Trent never told me?

"Yes, but Trent is a special case. While most common effects are feeling happy, then crashing into episodes of depression, Trent gets super excited, only to be met with psychosis, or psychotic behaviour. In his case, he can experirence murderous psychosis if he doesn't take these pills," he says, gesturing to the pills on the bedside.

He's capabale of murder? His mom, he probably scared his mom into suicide. That's why he almost killed me when I asked about her. That's why he almost killed my father last night. The fire in his eyes, that fire was his bipolar acting out.

"He is able to kill if he doesn't take the pills." I say more to myself than to anyone else. Mr. Stewart nods again.

"If he feels extremely angry about something, his psychosis will take over. The pills only help so much." I sit there contemplating what he just told me. After it's clear that I won't be talking anytime soon, Mr. Stewart leaves me to my thoughts. This is what Trent meant when he said I wouldn't understand. I can't understand, by I'd try. For him, I'd try. If he was scared that I'd run away if I found out, he was wrong. I'm still here.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whisper to him, tears coming back. "I still would've loved you."

"I was scared that I wouldn't love myself if I put you in danger," he whispers, suddenly awake. Something tells me that he was awake the whole time, which I don't mind. I wrap my arms around his neck, glad that he's here. Glad that I got to know him. He wraps his arms around me just as tightly.

"You almost killed me once, I'm not going to let it happen again," I joke, releasing him.

"I'm being serious Levi," he says, his hair clumping around his head in a way that looks extremely attractive.

"I am too."

"Liar."

"Hypocrite."

"So you're not lying, you don't care if I'm bipolar?" he asks getting scared. I take his hand in mine and decide that in this moment, right now, I'm going to push everything away. Push away my past to try and love Trent the way he ought to be loved.

"Of course I care, but I like you enough to stick around," I say, grinning. He grins back.

"Was it my killer good looks or colourful banter?" he jokes. I laugh.

"A little bit of both," I admit. We both move a little closer, our foreheads pushed together.

"You know how I kissed you? he asks, I slip my eyes shut and nod. "I haven't stopped thinking about it."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," I say in response.

"You really know what words to say, don't you?" he says, I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Just kiss me already."

And so he does, and I haven't been happier.

*

As Levi loses a love, love for her dad, and gains another, a love for Trent, Mark Jones sobs after reading her note. He realizes just what he threw away, what he ignored all these years.

"I'm sorry," he moans, overcome by sadness. He brings the note, the note with Levi's love on it, and pulls it to his chest. His tears soak through the napkin, until the love, signed by Levi heself, is washed away.

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