A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

It was only after we entered the theater and faced the steep incline of the stadium-style seating that we remembered the stairs. In the past we had always preferred to sit in the top row. A row which now sat at the top of a mountain of mockery as yet another example of something that would never be the same again. Refusing to concede, I gripped the railing, preparing myself for the grueling task of making it to the top.

Mom made a move toward the first row. “Honey, let’s sit down here.”

Dad nodded his head. “This works for me,” he said with a forced jovial cheerfulness.

I ignored them, mostly out of frustration, wondering briefly if this would be the moment that Mount Mac the volcano would make an appearance again and erupt all over the theater. Since the graduation picture episode, which led to the demise of my laptop, I’d managed to hide my feelings. I was convinced that if anyone caught a glimpse of the darkness that now resided inside me, they would lock me away.

I turned back toward the stairs, done with letting another simple task make me the victim again. With painstaking care, I climbed the first two steps, using my cane and the railing for support. Neither of my parents spoke as they trailed patiently behind me. The entire theater could have been staring at me at that point, but I didn’t notice and, frankly, didn’t care. My resolve, or perhaps stubbornness was a better way to say it, was set in stone. I made it up ten steps with a thin trail of sweat trickling down my back. My hand shook slightly on my cane from exertion. Dad offered me his hand when he saw me wavering on the fourteenth step, but I brushed it away. I had to do this on my own.

Shallow and erratic breaths wheezed from my lun

gs and black dots speckled across my vision. My hair clung to the nape of my neck from perspiration. I sounded and most likely looked like a wreck. Judging by the painful rhythmic throbbing, my leg had suffered the heaviest consequences, but I still made it to the top step.

The last task was getting to the seats Mom and Dad preferred. “Excuse me,” I said to two couples who stood as I approached.

They began gathering their belongings. “Here, we’ll move down.”

“No,” I answered abruptly as I shuffled awkwardly around them to get down the row. I heard my dad thank them as I sank down into my seat just as the lights in the theater dimmed. Grateful for the shield of darkness, I wiped a stray tear from my cheek as I tried to massage the pain from my leg.

Mom reached over without saying a word and handed me a couple of pain relievers and my drink. I kept my eyes glued to the screen, not daring to look at her. The last thing I wanted was some sort of merciful look from my own mother. My newfound streak of obstinacy had caused a fair amount of friction in our family over the past year. The old me would never have ignored my parents and climbed the steps. I would have gone with the flow and meekly followed Mom and Dad to the first-row crappiest seats in the house. Even with a kink in my neck from looking up at the screen, I would have remained sitting there, saying nothing because that was what I did. Before the accident I was the good girl—the one who didn’t buck the system. Since then, everything my friends and I had endured made me reconsider the necessity of compliance for the sake of conformity.

I swallowed the pain pills, hoping the throbbing in my leg would subside soon. Most of the theater barked with laughter over a preview for some Christmas spoof movie coming out in November. It wasn’t that I didn’t think it was funny, but the pain in my leg had monopolized my focus. Thankfully, the pills worked their magic and the throbbing in my leg eased to a dull ache. I sat with a small measure of pride in the pit of my stomach. Six months ago those stairs would have been impossible. Today I wouldn’t say I made them my bitch, but I definitely proved they couldn’t beat me down.

For a brief moment in the darkened theater, I felt more alive than I had in a long time.

five

Bentley

Friday was a complete bust in one respect, but a surprising windfall in another. I headed to the library under the bullshit pretense of studying, hoping to see Mac again. I was banking on being able to coax her out of her shell a bit. It was a total Hail Mary pass considering the way she shot me down yesterday, but I couldn’t help being intrigued.

I would have thought the library would be as busy as yesterday, but it was dead as a cemetery. The only people I saw were a couple dudes sitting at a table arguing in loud whispers about some card game they were playing. I looped the entire library, expecting to find Mac hiding in one of the far corners. Coming up empty, I sank down in the same chair as the day before to wait her out. I pulled out a book so I would at least look like I was studying when she came in.

Eventually boredom took over and I figured if I was going to sit here, I might as well at least attempt to get a little work done, so I pulled my laptop from my backpack. As it turned out, I was able to find my zone, roughing an outline for a paper that was due Monday. Mac still hadn’t turned up, and I debated packing my bag and heading out. I stood up and stretched, looking over at the table of card players that had now increased to six people. It was some kind of fantasy nerdfest game, but they seemed to be taking it seriously.

“Fuck it,” I said quietly as I sat back down to start my paper. I had it completely drafted out anyway, and it wasn’t like I had anything going on at home.

Three hours later my neck was one big freaking knot from leaning over my laptop, but my paper was done. Rubbing a hand over my neck, I looked at my computer screen with satisfaction. It had been a while since I’d kicked out an assignment so flawlessly. Maybe there was something to using the library to study after all.

Looking around as I packed my bag, I could see I was the last person to leave. Even the fantasy geeks were gone. I glanced at my phone, knowing the library closed early on Fridays. “Sorry about that,” I said to the librarian as she switched off the lights. I couldn’t help noticing she had it going on a little bit. She was older—mid-thirties maybe, but she fit comfortably in the MILF category.

“That’s okay. I had a few things to take care of. I was going to tell you when I was ready. Did you finish?” She nodded at my backpack.

I flashed my dimpled grin that I knew was my winning smile. “I did. Thanks.”

She blushed slightly. “No problem.” I couldn’t help grinning. I hesitated for a moment. This was a once-in-a-lifetime, hot-for-teacher-fantasy kind of moment. After what I’d passed on yesterday, it was like karma was giving me a second chance to keep my man card.

“Was there something else you wanted?” she asked.

Fuck. It was like I had been transported back in time into an old Van Halen video. “Uh, nah,” I answered as my thoughts drifted to Mac. I turned and got the hell out of there before my little head could make up my mind for me.

• • •

I slept in the next morning since I’d gotten my paper done. After leaving the library yesterday, I chilled out at home and went to sleep earlier than usual. Once I got out of bed, I made a halfhearted attempt to clear a path across my room so I was at least able to walk to the shower without tripping over dirty clothes and discarded shoes and textbooks. I grabbed my work uniform off the back of my desk chair where I’d draped it after washing it the week before. Mom would have my ass if she saw it there. I could just picture her yelling I had a closet for a reason. “This place would probably give her a stroke,” I muttered to myself as I spotted an empty pizza box peeking out from under my bed. At least, I thought it was empty. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember when it was from.

I should have probably cleaned up, but I dismissed the idea before it could fully come to fruition. It wasn’t all that bad, and I knew where everything was, so it wasn’t like I was living in total filth.

My eyes drifted again to the pizza box. Okay, maybe a little filth. Tomorrow I would clean it.