‹ Prequel: Pretty Little Bones
Status: This story is dead. Odds of revival are slim to none. I'm so sorry.
Broken Bird
Pieces
Everyone wants to know what happened, but I just want it to be over. I don't want to talk about it; I don't want to think about it. I want it to go away. I want my normal life back. I want to be treated like a person instead of a victim.
I don't want to be a victim. I don't want to be broken. I don't want him to win whatever sick game he was playing. I'm better than that. Nobody pushes the Hummels around. So there.
Everybody looks at me like they expect me to fall apart at any minute, and I hate it. I hate it because I'm not falling apart; I can't. Their concern is touching, but don't they know I'm stronger than that?
And I hate it because... I'm not. I'm not actually that strong. When I'm alone again, I feel the pieces shattering. I can feel myself losing the game, my mind, everything, and I hate it because I don't want to be this person.
I don't want to still be so afraid, to jump at the slightest things like a traumatized animal. I don't want to see it happening again randomly in my head and freak out. I don't want to dream about it and how it might have gone worse. I want to sleep through the night and wake up with it all behind me (or preferably with it all having been a bizarre nightmare.)
It probably doesn't help that I can't go to school for several weeks in my current physical condition. I can't do much of anything really. Apparently, everything you do somehow involves your ribs; I must've missed that biology lesson.
I can't help but wonder if I really want to go back to school anyway. Part of me does for the sake of having some semblance of normal life back, but then I remember. It happened at school. A stupid paranoid voice in my head tells me it's not safe to go back there. A less stupid thought occurs to me as well: flashbacks.
Flashbacks suck, to put it bluntly. They suck possibly more than cracked ribs, which suck a lot. I have them randomly lying in bed or walking through the house, and anyway I can think to avoid them I will try. I know if I ever actually returned to that parking lot...I've been avoiding my own car already, and that's just at home.
At this rate, I'll probably just become one of those crazy people who are too afraid to ever leave their homes. I already meet all the requirements, so it's the next logical step. Except somehow I won't because I can't.
I don't want to be a victim. I don't want to be broken. I don't want him to win whatever sick game he was playing. I'm better than that. Nobody pushes the Hummels around. So there.
Everybody looks at me like they expect me to fall apart at any minute, and I hate it. I hate it because I'm not falling apart; I can't. Their concern is touching, but don't they know I'm stronger than that?
And I hate it because... I'm not. I'm not actually that strong. When I'm alone again, I feel the pieces shattering. I can feel myself losing the game, my mind, everything, and I hate it because I don't want to be this person.
I don't want to still be so afraid, to jump at the slightest things like a traumatized animal. I don't want to see it happening again randomly in my head and freak out. I don't want to dream about it and how it might have gone worse. I want to sleep through the night and wake up with it all behind me (or preferably with it all having been a bizarre nightmare.)
It probably doesn't help that I can't go to school for several weeks in my current physical condition. I can't do much of anything really. Apparently, everything you do somehow involves your ribs; I must've missed that biology lesson.
I can't help but wonder if I really want to go back to school anyway. Part of me does for the sake of having some semblance of normal life back, but then I remember. It happened at school. A stupid paranoid voice in my head tells me it's not safe to go back there. A less stupid thought occurs to me as well: flashbacks.
Flashbacks suck, to put it bluntly. They suck possibly more than cracked ribs, which suck a lot. I have them randomly lying in bed or walking through the house, and anyway I can think to avoid them I will try. I know if I ever actually returned to that parking lot...I've been avoiding my own car already, and that's just at home.
At this rate, I'll probably just become one of those crazy people who are too afraid to ever leave their homes. I already meet all the requirements, so it's the next logical step. Except somehow I won't because I can't.