Page 210 of Broken Saint

I should feel bad for him. He looks like someone has just kicked his puppy, but I can’t find it in myself to care.

So instead, I sit in the back like a petulant toddler and refuse to indulge in his love of the game.

Once I’m inside my disaster of a home again, I swing the front door closed behind me and twist the lock. But I don’t turn the lights on. I’m happier in the dark.

Here I can hide. I can attempt to forget that real life exists.

With a bottle of whiskey in hand, I make my way to my bedroom. A notebook sitting on my dresser taunts me. It’s full of lists of things I need for this place. Plans and shitty drawings that have never come to fruition.

Dropping onto the bed, I flick through the pages as I sip straight from the bottle.

Eventually, I get to a blank page, and with the alcohol racing through my system, Cassie’s words from earlier slam into me.Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a pen in my hand and I’m scrawling across the page.

Dear Ella,

I’m sorry…

54

ELLA

“Ella, sweetie,” Mom calls from the other side of my bedroom door.

Walking back in here and crawling into my bed was like stepping into a time warp.

It’s exactly the same as it was before I left for MKU.

The walls and shelves are covered in all my childhood memories. Every single thing I ever achieved has been showcased here. Not that I ever really achieved much. Surviving high school was my biggest accomplishment.

Mine and Benny’s former years were on a very different scale. He was collecting trophies almost from the moment he started playing for his team. His talent shone through even when he was throwing balls in the yard with Dad.

I, however, never excelled at anything.

Any good therapist would probably tell me that was a big trigger with my eating disorder. Not feeling good enough, not knowing my place or what I was meant to do.

Benny knew. He always knew.

I was…lost.

I always have been.

The only time I’ve ever truly felt found has been when I’ve been with?—

I slam that line of thought down.

Since stepping foot back in Texas, I’ve done my best to banish memories of Seattle from my mind. It’s been harder than I thought possible.

It’s not just him that I need to forget. It’s all of them.

My family.

A lump crawls up my throat as grief once again wraps around my chest. I swear, it gets more painful every time, like barbed wire cutting into my skin, seeking out my heart so it can rip it to shreds over and over.

“Are you awake?”

I squeeze my eyes closed. The need to lie like I have done what feels like a million times since we returned burns through me. But the guilt is stronger.

I’ve been shutting her out. I’m more than aware of that. But hiding is easier.