Broken

I don’t know what it is about this paragraph but I really want to finish it. There’s something about the text that gets my heart racing and pleads with me to be inspired. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of how I felt when I first saw Stephen Jones. That magical moment when I finally started to feel like someone new.

I pick my pen up and hover it over the page. I want to write more, I feel like the words are in there within me, but they’re trapped. They’re waiting for something. Or maybe someone.

If only I could see Stephen again. I don’t know why but I feel like that could solve everything. Even if he’s a player who totally blew me off I just want to see him. Maybe it’s just to get answers, to learn why he didn’t come back for me after he promised that he would, or maybe it’s because I miss him and he’s handsome. So damn handsome.

There’s no point in me looking him up online. Mostly because I already have and for someone that wants to have a music career he has a very sparse social media presence. I’ve found a very bare Facebook profile. I’ve sent him a friend request but I haven’t had anything back as yet. I don’t hold out much hope because it doesn’t look like he’s really into it at all.

I sigh loudly and roll over on my bed so I’m staring up at the ceiling. All I want to do is get the hell out of here but I can’t seem to do it. Something is holding me in place and I don’t know what it is.

“Tia?” Mom’s voice rolls up the stairs. “Are you in?”

I haven’t seen much of her since I’ve been back, but I think that might be more because of me than anyone else. I’m avoiding her, I’m avoiding Dad, I’m basically just avoiding life. Every time the house is empty I take a look around, I snoop trying to find what I can, but I don’t get anything. My dad keeps his office locked when he’s not in there and it seems he has the only key that he keeps on him at all times, so I have to assume that he’s meticulously careful and everything is only in there. You would think that he’d have one slip up and he’d accidently drop something somewhere, but it seems not. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good criminal.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I practically mumble back.

“Can I speak with you?”

I know she’s asking for permission to come into my room and I’m also very aware that she’ll find a way in whether I say yes or not. I flip back onto my front, slam my laptop shut and tuck my notebook away. This house might be big, but it’s no good for privacy. For me at least. I’ve been forced to learn how to make things look boring so Mom doesn’t don’t bother.

“Yep. Come in.”

I force myself into a sitting position and I brush my clothes down. Maybe if I make myself look presentable Mom won’t notice that I’m falling head first into a pit of depression. One that I’m not sure I’ll be able to claw my way out of.

By the time Mom has pushed the door open I think I look normal enough, but judging by the furrowed expression on her face I haven’t managed to pull it off.

“What is going on with you, Tia?” she asks in an exasperated tone of voice. “You just aren’t you anymore.”

“Erm.” I can feel my face flame with humiliation. I cough awkwardly trying to cover up my embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Tia.” She shakes her head in despair. “When you left here you were such a happy girl, always laughing and having fun with your friends. Now, I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re always locked away in your room, you don’t speak to any of us, I never see you with anyone. What happened to you? Did you have a bad time in college? Or maybe on the cruise?”

I screw my fists up in temper. I don’t want to say it aloud for fear of having a massive argument but I don’t see how she has the right to say this to me. She barely knows me, she didn’t know me then and she doesn’t know me now. This is all superficial observations that she’s basing this off of. Maybe if she really knew me she would have more reason to be worried, but that isn’t the point here.

“I’m just trying to work out what to do, Mom, that’s all. I’m trying to work out my next move. I thought you said I could stay here for as long as I need to.”

“You can,” she insists rapidly. “This isn’t that. I’m just worried, that’s all. Are you happy? Can you honestly tell me that you’re okay at the moment?”

I part my lips, ready to reassure her again but before I do I halt myself. I’ve been wanting to speak to Mom about this the whole time, I just haven’t had a chance. Maybe this is the opportunity that I’ve been waiting for. She’s in my bedroom, we’re alone, Dad is out as far as I’m aware… it has to be now.

“No, Mom, I’m not happy.” I purse my lips and shoot her a determined glance. I wait for her to challenge me but she doesn’t. She waits for me to start speaking again although I can tell by the way she desperately tries to keep her expression straight that it isn’t patiently. “I overheard something the other day in this house that has me really worried.”

Almost as an instinctive reaction she stands and she paces up and down the room. “You… you did?”

I need to pursue this now, no m

atter what. “I came home and I didn’t think that anyone was in. As you know I didn’t come home much during the holidays when I was at college…”

“You didn’t come home at all,” Mom accuses. “Not even once.”

No, because I didn’t want to come back into this circus freak show, I think, but of course I don’t say that aloud.

“So I wanted to familiarize myself with the house again.” I offer Mom a one shouldered shrug. “I was just walking aimlessly around.”

“And what happened?”

“I heard…” I sigh loudly and hang my head. “I head Dad and Adrian talking about murder.” I expect Mom to gasp or something, but she remains dead silent. “Mom, did you hear me? They were talking about murder. As in, they are going to commit murder. They’re going to kill someone because someone saw something they didn’t like.”

Mom still doesn’t say anything. She just nods and looks at her feet. Sickness coils around in my stomach, I have to clamp my lips tightly together to stop it from spilling out. My brain buzzes painfully, I can almost feel it banging against the sides of my brain. This doesn’t seem like Mom just ignores everything and turns a blind eye to it, it seems like she actively knows and she chooses not to care because of a few designer handbags.