R.I.P My Broken Heart
Strange, blue-eyed look
Home isn't the same anymore.
Craig has moved out-he's living on University Campus with Macalya, his much-loved fiancee. Lindsey has got the twin's to look after and her and Pete's wedding to plan and Pete.....
He is giving me a strange, blue-eyed look that means trouble.
"Annie," he sighs. "I went into the bathroom this morning."
"And?" I say, pushing away the breakfast Lindsey is offering me. She frowns and looks at my ribs showing through my skin, my pointy wrists and ugly collor bone.
"And I found the broken mirror and the blood and the razor," Pete finishs. He drops the razor on to the table. The silver is stained with blood, and I slowly reach out and go to take it. Pete slides it back into his pocket.
"You've got to stop slitting, Annie. You're making yourself ill. You're depressed, suicidal, anorexic-"
"I'm not."
"Annie, I know the signs. I've been here, remember?"
After Mum and Dad died, Pete got depressed. He slit too, and had to take pills and everything.
"That was different."
"How was it?" Pete snaps. "I lost two people who were incrediably close and important to me."
"Frank was different!" I yell. A sharp pain crosses my head and I wince. I need to eat to get rid of the headaches but I won't give Pete that satisfaction.
"Frank wasn't different at all! He was......."
"What?" I snarl. "Tell me, Pete, what you really think of my dead boyfriend!"
"You know exactly what I think of him."
"It was all your fault! If you hadn't sent him off to Leeds, none of this would ever have happened!"
Pete and I are too much like each other. Both stubborn and defiant and argumentive.
"Look, Annie," he sighs now, running a hand through his thick black hair. "Just stop the slitting, Okay?"
"It's not that easy."
"Try!And go and get dressed, you're having counselling today."
Pete enrolled me at this totally sad counselling group. We all sit round in a big circle and this bright woman offers advice. Nice.
I slope upstairs and open my wardrobe. Nothing fits anymore. All my clothes are too big, but I chose my black jeans and black lace corset.
That was your favourite, Frank. You used to always pick it out for me. You used to play with the ribbon on the front, and tickle me because it rode up and showed my midrift.
I put on my army boots and my favourite baggy black jumper. It was your's, remember Frankie? It was your special black jumper, the warm nice one. I always used to snuggle up to you when you wore it, and you used to take it off and let me wear it.
Pete drives me down to counselling. It's in this big bright building, painted blue and orange. I scowl up at it as we walk in. The girl behind the desk smiles shyly and me and Pete go through into the room.
Around fourteen chairs are set out in a circle. Some kids are already sitting down. The woman who runs it ( Heather) comes over to talk to Pete and I take a seat.
I'm sitting next to a boy I've never seen before. He has long, greasy brown hair and scared brown eyes. He swallows and almost smiles.
"I'm Wil," he stutters nervousy. I grin slightly.
"Annie."
He nods and looks down at his Converse. He is wearing sweatbands, like every other kid here. They're ashamed.
I'm not ashamed, Frankie, because these scars show how much I love you.
"Now, everyone," says Heather, sitting down." It's time to share. Honey, let's start with you."
Honey shifts in her seat, tosses her blonde hair and sighs.She's such a fake. She says she slits because she has problems. What problems?
"Well, last night my cat died and I was really upset. So I slit three times. And Daddy and Mum had another argument so I slit some more."
"That's not a reason to slit," I sigh. Honey glares but Heather smiles.
"Now, Ann-Marie, we all have different reasons. Pete said you had a bad night last night, yes?"
I scowl and she continues, loving it.
"He said you slit in the bath. Smashed the mirror, pieced it back together and wrote ' I want to die' on it in your own blood."
I blush.
"I did it for Frankie," I whisper.
I did,Frankie. I want to die so I can be with you again.
After counselling, I wait by the doors for Pete. The new boy, Wil, comes over.
"Is it raining?" he asks, and I nod. He pulls up the hood of his Iron Fist Wishbone hoodie and walks away in the rain. Weird. All the other kids get collected by their parents, but Wil is different.
You were different, Frankie.
You were special.
You had pale skin and golden eyes and long dark hair that turned curly when it got wet. You wore a leather jacket and skinny jeans. You had your nose and ears pierced You were amazing at Art. You were so romantic and funny.
You were mine.
Craig has moved out-he's living on University Campus with Macalya, his much-loved fiancee. Lindsey has got the twin's to look after and her and Pete's wedding to plan and Pete.....
He is giving me a strange, blue-eyed look that means trouble.
"Annie," he sighs. "I went into the bathroom this morning."
"And?" I say, pushing away the breakfast Lindsey is offering me. She frowns and looks at my ribs showing through my skin, my pointy wrists and ugly collor bone.
"And I found the broken mirror and the blood and the razor," Pete finishs. He drops the razor on to the table. The silver is stained with blood, and I slowly reach out and go to take it. Pete slides it back into his pocket.
"You've got to stop slitting, Annie. You're making yourself ill. You're depressed, suicidal, anorexic-"
"I'm not."
"Annie, I know the signs. I've been here, remember?"
After Mum and Dad died, Pete got depressed. He slit too, and had to take pills and everything.
"That was different."
"How was it?" Pete snaps. "I lost two people who were incrediably close and important to me."
"Frank was different!" I yell. A sharp pain crosses my head and I wince. I need to eat to get rid of the headaches but I won't give Pete that satisfaction.
"Frank wasn't different at all! He was......."
"What?" I snarl. "Tell me, Pete, what you really think of my dead boyfriend!"
"You know exactly what I think of him."
"It was all your fault! If you hadn't sent him off to Leeds, none of this would ever have happened!"
Pete and I are too much like each other. Both stubborn and defiant and argumentive.
"Look, Annie," he sighs now, running a hand through his thick black hair. "Just stop the slitting, Okay?"
"It's not that easy."
"Try!And go and get dressed, you're having counselling today."
Pete enrolled me at this totally sad counselling group. We all sit round in a big circle and this bright woman offers advice. Nice.
I slope upstairs and open my wardrobe. Nothing fits anymore. All my clothes are too big, but I chose my black jeans and black lace corset.
That was your favourite, Frank. You used to always pick it out for me. You used to play with the ribbon on the front, and tickle me because it rode up and showed my midrift.
I put on my army boots and my favourite baggy black jumper. It was your's, remember Frankie? It was your special black jumper, the warm nice one. I always used to snuggle up to you when you wore it, and you used to take it off and let me wear it.
Pete drives me down to counselling. It's in this big bright building, painted blue and orange. I scowl up at it as we walk in. The girl behind the desk smiles shyly and me and Pete go through into the room.
Around fourteen chairs are set out in a circle. Some kids are already sitting down. The woman who runs it ( Heather) comes over to talk to Pete and I take a seat.
I'm sitting next to a boy I've never seen before. He has long, greasy brown hair and scared brown eyes. He swallows and almost smiles.
"I'm Wil," he stutters nervousy. I grin slightly.
"Annie."
He nods and looks down at his Converse. He is wearing sweatbands, like every other kid here. They're ashamed.
I'm not ashamed, Frankie, because these scars show how much I love you.
"Now, everyone," says Heather, sitting down." It's time to share. Honey, let's start with you."
Honey shifts in her seat, tosses her blonde hair and sighs.She's such a fake. She says she slits because she has problems. What problems?
"Well, last night my cat died and I was really upset. So I slit three times. And Daddy and Mum had another argument so I slit some more."
"That's not a reason to slit," I sigh. Honey glares but Heather smiles.
"Now, Ann-Marie, we all have different reasons. Pete said you had a bad night last night, yes?"
I scowl and she continues, loving it.
"He said you slit in the bath. Smashed the mirror, pieced it back together and wrote ' I want to die' on it in your own blood."
I blush.
"I did it for Frankie," I whisper.
I did,Frankie. I want to die so I can be with you again.
After counselling, I wait by the doors for Pete. The new boy, Wil, comes over.
"Is it raining?" he asks, and I nod. He pulls up the hood of his Iron Fist Wishbone hoodie and walks away in the rain. Weird. All the other kids get collected by their parents, but Wil is different.
You were different, Frankie.
You were special.
You had pale skin and golden eyes and long dark hair that turned curly when it got wet. You wore a leather jacket and skinny jeans. You had your nose and ears pierced You were amazing at Art. You were so romantic and funny.
You were mine.