A Thousand Years.

A Thousand Years.


1. chapter 1.

Okay to get us started off on a good name basis, I am Cassidy Brooke. My friends in real life call me Brooke-that's my middle name- and practically forget Cassidy. So on here I'm gonna sign my authors notes as #CassidyBrooke.

This is my first story on movella. I usually post on watt pad.- I'm brookeparker602- so check me out.

This is practically my life put into a story with a twist.

I hope you like it, lovelies.

#CassidyBrooke. 😂


All rights go to a thousand years and Twilight saga. For the song.

A thousand years. Ch. 1

I stare down at my scars, regretting them. I watch as they trail up and down my left arm. I switch my glance over to my right thigh and stare at it for what seems like hours- it was only minutes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I call myself mentally.

I force my eyes away and walk out of my room. I smell bacon and my slow walking is turned into a sprint as I make my way to the kitchen and my frown is wiped away.

"Mornin' Brooke!" My dad says over the sizzle of bacon in the skillet. "You okay?"

I press my hand to my cheeks where they are soaked.

"One step closer!" I yell as I make my way over to the stool beside our island bar.

"One step closer." He mumbles.

"Spruce up, daddy. I'm alive, aren't I?" I say vibrantly. "Am I the only one excited today? Do you know what today is?!" I practically yell the question.

He sighs. "I know what today is."

"I have died everyday waiting for you!" I began to sing, "Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you. . . "

"For a thousand years. . ." He begins.

"And I'll love you for a thousand more!"

"Ah, okay, Molly called you. You left your phone on the bar last night."

"Oh, jeez. This'll be good. I already told them I made my decision." I pick up the phone anyway and call her. She picks up after two rings. Every since they found out about the cutting it's been this way.

"Hello?" She says.

"Hey hey hey!" I yell into the phone. My daddy shushes me.

"I know you want it." She yells back and we both burst into a fit of laughter.

"That laugh, tho'" she says to me, laughing harder.

"I can't help that I laugh like a hyena."

"Hey Brooke, me and Alana where wondering what we were doing tomorrow when summer started?"

Oh, great. There using the royal we and acting like they don't know.

"Y'all both know where I have to go. I'll be back a few weeks before schools starts back. Tops. I promise we can hang out then." I persuade her.

"Brooke! Why do you even have to go? You got released, like, ten years ago!"

"Yea, bu-"

"But nothing. Why do you still go?"

"Okay. First, I got put out two summers ago. Second, I'm still having trouble with depression. Third, I don't have to spend time with my mother. Four-"

"How many are there?!" She screeches.

"Calm your titties." I relax her, "and fourth, I wanna help people. I'm a good example. And I know what it feels like to sit there talking to therapist who know nothing. They act like they do... It's annoying because they tell you to stop and you can't- it just doesn't work that way." I tell her.

"Ugh. Fine. But we have to hang out afterwards."

"Okay. Darling, don't be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years and I will love you for a thousand more."

"Okay. A thousand years, got it."

"One step closer?"

"Yea, okay." I listen to her giggle. "One step closer."

I hang up and turn to my dad.

"Hey Brooke..." He begins. He has that face again. The one he gives me before a blow that is bound to end with a blood dripping arm. The one he gives the female deer- during that season- before he shoots.

I'm already shaking my head.

"What? Spit it out. That way I don't have to think about it at the camp."

"Your- mom. . . She is. . Um. . . Wanting custody again." His face is full of resentment as I study it.

"Great. Okay. Big deal." It not that big of a deal. My dad will win again. We might be low on money for a bit but that's fine. I watch him as he gulps and then sighs. "There's more," I say as more of a statement then a question.

He nods, "She might actually win this time. She's accusing me of a lot of false accusations."

No. No, no, no.

Vase, I thought.

You see, I'm like a vase. I held in my emotions about everything for a long time. At the age of 13 I started to over flow with those emotions but I kept my top on. So when I overflowed, I stared to crack.

Eight years. It has taken me eight years to move on with my life while she was in it. Then, when she finally was out of my life I was sent off to a rehab/summer camp so the pieces of me could be put back together. Luckily I didn't shatter- just chips here and there.

During those eight years was just court, drugged up mother, and a mentally abusive dad. I survived. I was the strong one of my friend group. Alana's parents divorced when she was 6. Molly claims to be anorexic- which makes me irrevocably angry since I have seen ACTUAL anorexic people- for attention. I offered hands an turned down hands when I was offered. I never like pity. I think the best way to take care of your problems is to face them head on.

I don't think my problems are that big. It just mental stuff, most of it is. I couldn't believe how ugly I was. How messed up my life was and how messed up I was.

Near the last year, I broke. I needed an alternative, ultimatum, an sidetrack. Something to take it all of my mind. I would take anything that would keep me from breaking. I remember curling up in a ball, -holding myself together, with my jacket pulled tight around my chest to bandage the gaping hole in my heart my mother had left there- as I gasped for air.

I just wanted to cry.

I wouldn't though.

I would never cry.

It was like my body wouldn't let me cry.

I didn't like my choose for the alternative. I took on cutting. The sharp pain in my thigh and wrist was so existent and demanding of knowledge that I rarely thought of when the next court date was or when she would break into the trailer again to beat me.

When I got caught at school for it, my dad sent me to the camp that summer. I hadn't told anyone about my cutting problem and slight anorexia. Not even my friends, who I would talk to when I needed help during those awful fits of air-gasping, didn't hear anything about my life anymore. I couldn't let it hurt other people anymore. I couldn't be the reason other people got hurt. I would rather my self get hurt than others.

"Brooke. Brooke, honey, it's okay." My dad snapped me out of the horrid memories. He began to sing the song that meant so much to me. The one song that I listen to and understand. The one song that gives me power to me brave. "How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid?"

"I can't-" I gasp as my chest tightens. "I can't love her!! I am afraid of her!"

"Brooke, calm down!" He says in a soothing voice.

I could feel the air leaving my lungs in gasps. "Darling, don't b-be afraid." I cooed. "And all along I believed-"

I gasped

"I would find you."

He rubbed my arms.

"And I will love you for a-"- gasp-" thousand more."

I said the last line through gritted teeth.

But when I said it I knew it was a lie.

"One. Step. Closer."

To a razor, I thought. Or a pencil sharpener. Maybe even a knife.

Defiantly not my true love-Not what I wanted most. All I want is to be one step closer to what I love most. But what is that? What do I want most, now? I was going back to my mother and I couldn't stop it.

"Brooke. Brooke baby." He placed a plate of bacon in front of me. I couldn't eat. If I was going to her I had to be perfect.

"No," I said despite being hungry. "I-I can't."

"Brooke, I promise, I swear, on a thousand years of servitude and love, that she will not get you." He said looking me straight in the eye.

"Don't use my fandoms- twilight in specific- against me. It won't change anything," I said to him. "I'm going to go pee."

I remove myself from the stool and head to the bathroom. I stare at the razor I use to shave my legs. Stare and stare. I just cut this habit. On my own account, too. The camp couldn't change me. I did it myself.

Two, I think to myself, you get two.

I sigh and give in. I snatch the razor up. I don't take the blade out. That would make my dad suspicious.

Afterward at break, during school, all I think of is the stinging feeling in my thighs. I only have a few words in my head that I can't get out and I'm having a mental conversation with myself in my head.




She will not hurt me. She will not. I will love even when I'm afraid. I choose to love my self.j

One step closer.

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