Page 38 of Broken Pieces

When I turn there’s no one there.

I must be seriously overworked if I’m seeingandhearing things.

All I need is to go to bed and try to get a good night's sleep. That’s rare. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Max getting hit by that car and then feel his body next to mine as I lay with him on the road.

I push back the tears and the nausea that always comes when I remember the accident and walk the final few steps to the dorms.

When I reach the entrance, there’s a newspaper on the step. Weird, no one’s ever had one delivered here before, but I suppose there's a first for everything. The headline immediately catches my eye as I pick it up.

I have to slap my hand over my mouth so I don’t scream as I read the bold letters over andover.

When I unfold the bottom, I see the blown up photo of Max’s smiling face as he poses in his baseball uniform.

I clutch it to my chest as bile rises in my throat.

Is this someone’s idea of a sick joke?

I’ve not kept my family or what happened a secret. I just refuse to talk about it with anyone. No one needs to gossip about what we went through.

James would know the most about me out of anyone here, but I thought he wanted to be friends so why would he do this?

Goosebumps break out on my skin as I hear what sounds like a metal pipe being dragged along concrete somewhere behind me.

I press my back to the door and look for the source of the sound, but don’t see anyone. Then a loud bang rings out and I grab for the handle, opening the door and tumbling inside.

Slamming it shut behind me, I run for the stairs and don’t stop until I’m safely in my room.

As soon as I close the door, my phone pings with another text. My palms are slick with sweat as I try to unlock the screen.

Everything inside of me screams at me not to open it, but my thumb's already tapping the screen and a picture pops up.

It takes me a second to focus on the image, but when I do, I end up dropping my phone and the newspaper still clutched in my other hand to the floor.

My phone lands screen up and the image glares at me in the dark.

The blurriness of the photo makes it difficult to make out much, but I know that it's me front and center. It's only my lower half, but I recognise my body and the underwear I have on.

Who took this? And when?

I must have been sleeping, which means someone's been in my room.

Another text comes through and I want to stomp my heel down on my phone and destroy the whole thing, but instead I pick it up and read it.

Don't flaunt it if you don't want someone to take it

Looking around I expect to see a shadow looming over me, but I'm still alone.

Memories of my stepbrothers flood my mind as I try to make sense of the fear circling in my stomach.

There’s something else there as well. Anticipation? Hope that maybe it’s them that have come to scare me?

It’s not like them to act like that, but I suppose I don’t know them anymore.

Would I even recognise them if I saw them again?

Two years is a long time for someone to change.