Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(110)

A piece of shit.

I hook my shoe into the bag at my feet and tug it up.

I dig into the black plastic bag and pull out a new bottle.

If I get drunk enough, maybe I’ll forget those nasty little facts.

I wonder how much it would take to convince myself I’m not in love with the girl I have to let go? That I haven’t loved her since before I realized it.

That pushing my baby away isn’t about to fuck me?

Wreck me?

Fucking break me?

Because it is.





Brielle





Once I get home, it’s late, but I’m unable to fall asleep, and when the sun comes up and through my window, my head only pounds harder, my mind running crazy.

When I first got here, I was buzzing and each day my happiness grew, but this morning all I feel is tired and unsure.

Back at my aunt’s, it was easy to control my emotions, to limit my body’s impulses and internal reactions. The simple way to do so was to simply not engage. People there, they made it easy, they wanted me to keep to myself. When my aunt first began expecting me to be her live-in maid, my blood would boil with every scrub of the sponge, every sweep of the mop, but I quickly realized there was no point in getting angry and I was only hurting myself. I had to do it, so I’d put on some music and clean in peace.

Since the day I landed there, I told myself all I wanted was out, but these last eight or nine months killed me. I didn’t only want out, I needed out.

I needed my brother.

A connection.

One person, that’s all I wanted.

One person I could wake up and smile at, who would smile at me, truly happy to see me.

I needed to see happiness, to catalog it, in case there came a time I couldn’t see at all.

Not in case, when.

The restlessness that came with waiting for the day Bass would show up began to eat me up. That’s when I noticed the puffiness returning and far more frequent.

Still, all I could do was sit quietly and imagine what I’d have when I was gone.

A life where I could be happy and free, have friends, and above all, my brother. I’d be like the tacky wall stencil found in my aunt’s living room and live, laugh, and love.

Now here I am, living, laughing...

I swallow.

Loving.

I guess I forgot why I cut off the possibility of connections in the first place, but I remember well now.

I can’t control my emotions when other people are in my life, and they saw it firsthand, what a liability I can be, and now I’m forced to wonder if I can handle the world I was taken from but now living in the middle of.

If this life, this place, is worth a lifetime of darkness in an already dark world.

I’ve asked myself this question at least a dozen times since yesterday’s accident, and every… single... time... I do, a haunted, addictive, infectiously live pair of brown eyes pop into my mind, and mine close, a deep, raspy voice answering with the same nine words...

Never let fear hold you back, baby girl. Ever.

So, as he would say, fuck it.

Everything sucks, so what more can it hurt?

My mind screams a lot, but I ignore it.

I shouldn’t have.





“I don’t think we should be here.”

“Shut up, Valine.”

“Bitch!” she snaps, but when I start laughing, she playfully shoves me.

“You might be right, we probably shouldn’t, but have you ever let that stop you, because I have, and guess what.” I pause, looking to her. “I’m over it. I need to talk to him and it needs to be now.”

Her grin is slow. “About fuckin’ time. Here. I’ll give you a boost.” She runs to the gate, bends, and waits.

“We’re not sneaking in. We’re going right through the door.”

Her eyes narrow. “How?”

I sigh, eyeing the place. “I’ve got a feeling they’ll let me pass.” And not a good one.

Royce walked away from me, and that can only mean one thing—he blames himself for what happened to me, and that’s my fault.

I should have told him more about my condition so he understood, but I was afraid he’d push me out, and now here we are.

The boy with the sweetest hidden heart, who wants nothing more than to find his epic ending, did the one thing his mind can’t handle, the thing that makes him lose the little bit of cool he possesses, as I saw on the very first day when Franky gripped on to my arm—he hit a girl.

He hit me, at least that’s the way he sees it.

I need to talk to him, to explain what he couldn’t see.

I need him to listen to me.

We reach the front gate and as I thought, we walk right through without any issues, but as we reach the doors to the Wolves Den, Andre slips farther in front of the door.

“Really?” My shoulders fall. “I thought you were a friendly giant where I was concerned?”

“Gotta know what your plan is before I let you in there, girl. A broken Brayshaw ain’t pretty, and I need to call for backup if you’re here to drive the blade deeper.”

“Come on, Andre. You know me well enough by now. Do you think I’d pour salt in a wound?”

His eyes move between mine and he grins. “Nah, you’d pacify the pain, but I’ll tell you, this ain’t gonna go however you worked out in that pretty little head. Our boy, he’s on another level tonight.”