Page 53 of Broken
“Goddamn it, Elliot,” Mother snaps in irritation. “Stop tainting your brother’s memory with your bullshit.”
With a heavy sigh, I force my body to move and leave the only room with any amount of comfort left. My room isn’t mine anymore. I hate everything in here. The seafoam color on the walls, the white bed set and violet décor. It’s impersonal. No part of my life is here. There’s no proof of a kid growing up between these walls. No story to be told. I’ve been erased.
I shouldn’t be surprised since I was the disappointment from the beginning.
Flopping onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. I wish I could not feel anything. My fucking emotions are so goddamn strong they’re suffocating me. Numb is so much easier.
My head spins memories of Asher, wrapped in his warmth. For those few days, I was safe. I knew this was coming, but I tried so hard to just let it be what it was. Now my phone is dead, I don’t know where my computer is, and I don’t have the brain power to care either. Once again, I’m back in survival mode where the only thing I feel is anger. Why can’t I just go home? Why do I have to suffer here in this fucking house where memories strangle me?
Sitting up, fury like I’ve never felt wells up in my body until my hands clench and my vision blurs. Grabbing the lamp on the bedside table, I rip the cord from the wall and throw it as hard as I can across the room. It dents the wall with a satisfying thunk, the bulb shattering onto the floor. Reaching for a framed drawing of fucking flowers, I throw that too, screaming as I do. The only sound in my ears is my own heartbeat.
Hurt and angry, and with no way to get it out, I destroy this room. Everything not nailed down I use as a weapon to purge the pain boiling inside of me.
The door opens, and I spin around, one of the lamps still in my hand like a bat. Panting with tears streaming down my face, I stare at my mother. She surveys the damage and opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“Shut up!” I scream at her. “I hate you. I hate this place. I don’t deserve this!”
I swing the lamp at the mirror above the dresser next, and the glass shatters.
“You don’t love me; you never have. I deserve so much better than you!” Flinging the lamp across the room, I take a step toward her. “You never wanted us. We were a prop in this bullshit story you call a life. After Marcus died, you pretended like I didn’t exist. You put him up on this fucking pedestal that I can’t ever live up to, and I’m done trying! Why did you even have me?”
I shove past her, running through the hall and down the stairs. Past my father who’s reading a damn newspaper in the living room and barely glances up as I storm from the house. On the wide brick steps, I put my hands on my knees and suck in deep breaths.
What the hell did you just do?
I have no shoes on, no phone, nothing on me, in the same pajamas I’ve been wearing since we got here. Fuck it.
I rush down the steps and across the driveway to the sidewalk in front of the house. I’m done. With anger burning through me, I walk out of the neighborhood and find a restaurant. With zero shame, I walk to the hostess stand of the Mexican restaurant. She eyes me before forcing a smile to her beautiful face.
“Just one?”
“Can I use the phone? Mine died.” I’m not actually sure where my phone is but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh sure.” She nods and has me step down a hallway and offers me a landline. For once my anxiety is paying off because I have Jordan’s phone number memorized for exactly this situation.
“Hello?” she says after three rings.
“Jordan, it’s Elliot. I need a ride.”
She doesn’t ask any questions besides the address, and I thank the hostess on my way out to wait for her.
Jordan’s little blue Maserati Quattroporte pulls up, and I hurry to get in.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demands as she exits the parking lot.
“My parents’ house.” I sink into the seat and close my eyes. The rage of a few minutes ago gone, leaving me weak and tired. “Do you still have a key to my apartment?”
She scoffs, merging into the freeway. “Of course I do.”
The motor purrs as she handles the car, getting to the lane she wants and setting a course to my place.
“Where’s your key? And your phone?” She eyes me for a second while I stare out the passenger window.
“Still at my parents’, I think.”
“Right. Why are you back so early, and why is Asher blowing up my phone?” The exit we need is coming up, so she moves through the traffic again and pulls off.
The empty space where my heart used to live aches at the mention of his name. I can’t be his secret. A knot forms in my throat, but I force the tears back and take a deep breath.