A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

Glad to have my daily interrogation out of the way, I placed my cell phone into the side pocket of my backpack for easy access. Gone were the days of carrying a purse. The backpack I used was lightweight and completely functional, keeping my hands free—one for my cane, and the other hand ready to catch myself on the rare occasion when my leg would not cooperate while walking on uneven ground. I had learned that painfully embarrassing lesson one time in front of the campus bookstore, falling flat on my ass when a seemingly innocuous crack tripped me up.

I gathered the rest of my belongings and headed for the library, leaving my newly constructed dorm building that resembled condominiums in size and amenities. My dad had complained when we toured the university during my senior year in high school that the campus was too “new looking.” Of course, he was an alumnus of Florida State University, which, he liked to brag, was steeped in tradition and character. Over the years, we had gone to several FSU football games, and to me, there was a fine line between history and just old. I personally preferred UCF’s modern architecture and facilities over aged vine-covered brick buildings. Of course, I had to keep my opinions to myself when I chose UCF since Dad would have a coronary if he heard me criticizing his old stomping grounds.

It was a long walk from my dorm to the library, and my leg had a tendency to lag about halfway there. I slowed my pace, hoping today it would give me a break until I could pass the lawn in front of the Student Academic Resource Center, where everyone liked to hang out. As I approached the popular hot spot, I tried to hide my limp as I passed a group of guys playing a game of Frisbee on the lush green lawn.

I remember the first brochure I opened for the school, before I had even decided to apply. I was immediately enthralled by the pictures of carefree students playing touch football and hanging out studying on heavy quilts lying in this plush expansion of grass. Everyone looked hip and happy. I remember thinking it reminded me of one of the Old Navy commercials on TV. I used to imagine myself in those pictures, spending time with the new friends I was sure to make. That memory was almost laughable now. I had no friends, and wouldn’t even think of trying to play Frisbee. Even something as simple as getting up from a sitting position on the ground required crawling and rocking back and forth as I tried to get my leg to cooperate.

My only goal, as it was every day, was to get to the library without anyone noticing me. Once I rounded the corner and was out of sight, my steps became nothing more than a shuffle the closer I got to my destination. Sweat beaded on my forehead while a steady stream ran down my back. There was no such thing as mild autumn temperatures in central Florida. Even in October, it was still eighty-five degrees and humid. I had exerted a fair amount of energy crossing the campus. My good leg was beginning to shake from shouldering the brunt of the work, while the handle of my cane became slick from the sweat of my palm. I knew I should stop and wipe it off, but I ignored it. I just needed to get to my safe place.

That was what the library had become for me. It was a sanctuary, an easy place to hide among the books and computers. Avoiding conversation was easy since talking in the library wasn’t encouraged. Being there made me feel normal—the way I wanted my normal to be—which was why I would trek halfway across campus every day after classes. Jake, my physical therapist, whom I still saw twice a month, was always riding me about pushing myself too hard, but the walk was better than the alternative of spending evenings at my dorm.

Not that I would ever admit that fact to Mom or Dad. They would press me to move back home again, but that would be the easy way out. All that did was keep me dependent on my parents. It was a struggle living on campus, but I had to keep trying. It didn’t help that no one seemed to respect private space and that every night felt like a giant sleepover. The first couple days of the semester, people barged into my room, looking for Trina, not even bothering to knock. By the end of the first weekend, I grew tired of it and started locking the door, forcing Trina to use her key anytime she entered. She was never quiet with her grumblings, making a point to tell me I was becoming the hermit of our dorm building. Ironically, I discovered the seclusion of the library around the same time that Trina started spending more time away from our room. I should have told her I was rarely there during the day anyway, but that would have required initiating a conversation.

I stopped just outside the library to let out a pent-up breath—taking a moment to wipe the perspiration from the handle of my cane.

A cool blast of air welcomed me as I pulled open the heavy door. Giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the dim interior, I glanced around the large room, grimacing at the crowds of people scattered about. Midterms for the first nine weeks were approaching, making my hideout a popular spot during the past week.

Trying to be discreet, I headed for my normal seat in the far corner of the room. My cane clicked loudly on the floor, echoing through the open space with each step. I kept my head down, trying to make myself invisible, but I could feel everyone’s eyes upon me. Their stares were heavy and smothering. It didn’t help that I was still overexerted from my trek across campus. My breath came out in slight wheezing gasps. I needed to sit. I made the final surge to my secluded seat, stumbling slightly from the floor’s transitio

n from hard tile to carpet. Luckily, my cane helped keep me upright.

Relieved to be able to rest, I sank into the comfortable leather wing chair that I’d discovered weeks ago. If I had my way, I’d hang a sign from it, declaring this spot as mine alone. I closed my eyes, dropping my head into my hands as I waited for my lungs to start breathing evenly again. Maybe Jake had a point. It was possible my brisk pace to get past the crowded scene at the Student Resource Center wasn’t the smartest thing for me to do. My leg ached badly, and I felt slightly nauseous. I fumbled blindly through my backpack for a water bottle I knew I had packed, jumping at the sound of a male voice over my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I answered, keeping my eyes closed while I gripped the arm of the chair. I could feel the presence of the person beside me, invading my personal space. I counted to ten in my head, waiting for him to leave.

“Do you mind?” My voice dripped like a leaky faucet with sarcasm after stopping at six in frustration.

“Not at all,” the stranger responded without budging.

“This seat is taken.”

He barked out a laugh. “I know. By me.”

Great. Just what I needed—a smart-ass. Dropping my hands, I glared up at the douche bag who couldn’t take a hint. I was just about ready to tear him a new one until his face came into focus.

I knew him, or at least, I remembered him. The one time I had gotten a good look at him would be forever branded into my mind.

• • •

graduation night 2013

A male face peered at me through the broken window, shining a small penlight into my eyes. “Do you know where you are?”

I started to nod my head, forgetting it was pinned against the dashboard. I grimaced from the resulting stab of pain. “Yes,” I answered.

“Try not to move,” he instructed. “Can you tell me what your name is?”

“Mackenzie Robinson.”

“Good, very good. Do you know what day it is?” He swept the light through the rest of the vehicle assessing the damage.

“Graduation.”

“Huh?” he responded, returning the light back to me.

“Today was graduation. May twenty-eighth.”