Consume my broken heart

Chapter 3

I'm laying on the sofa, my mind traveling elsewhere, once again. "Grace, you're up early?" Mom asked with raised eyebrows.

"I couldn't sleep," I answer her, truthfully. But the truth is, I haven't slept all night. I tried very hard, but it was as if I had an adrenaline rush. I kept analyzing the scene in the alley for hours. The gunshots near the alley. The man that tried to talk suicide out of my head. I might think he was stopping me, but his words were disrespectful and harsh. Sometimes I got the feeling he was just enjoying himself, seeing a weak girl that can't decide whether she wants to live or die.

I'm not a coward, as he presumes. He doesn't even know me or my history. You may judge someone if you have walked in their footsteps. Only then, it's right to make a statement or have a clear opinion about someone's situation. People make terrible mistakes and it's easy to hurt someone's ego and feelings when you know nothing about that person.

I can feel mom's eyes lingering on my face, trying to read my expression because I didn't set through with why I haven't slept. "Well, I'm here if you need a talk," Mom spoke softly after a long silence. "Maybe you want to go back to Lily?" she asked carefully. She's always weighing her words when she's talking to me. It hurts she can't even speak to me as a normal mother does to her child. I won't break into pieces if you just talk to me, not pleadingly, like she always does.

"I know, mom. Thanks." I say, consciously averting the question about Lily, my therapist. It's been two months since I went to her and I know mom still hopes I will go back to therapy. Lily has helped me a lot after the attack, but afterward, I got a feeling she can't really heal me. Healing is a process that takes time, and time is something I have plenty of. Because I'm twenty-one and still alone, with no friends, except for Ben, who I meet occasionally, I have nobody. I hate having time.

Time allows me to fall back into a negative mindset. Time isn't my friend at all. Eventually, we all die of an illness or just because we are old, but I want to decide when that happens. Because of the attack, I have a tremendous urge to keep control of just everything in my life. My daily schedule is so predictable because everyone that knows me well knows when I eat my breakfast when I'm going to take a walk, even when I'm going to sleep. Maybe that's why that stranger saw right through me. Obviously, I'm too predictable it scares me.

A year ago, a quite handsome guy tried to flirt with me, and from that day on, I relapsed backward. I couldn't even utter a single word to that man, and he didn't even do anything wrong. And when he accidentally touched my hand, I just freaked out. The brownie landed on the table right into his coffee.

I'll never forget the look on his face. He must think I was some kind of weirdo. Most of the time I think I'm not a normal person, destined to be an animal or something. Maybe after I die, I come back as a horse. They are gracious, strong, compassionate and so beautiful. Yeah, that would be awesome.

I'm not very talkative and I have changed my entire character, afraid anyone would ever see my personality as a weakness. And that's what I protect the most, my fragile heart. The broken soul that wanders through life like someone has the remote and controls my every move. I live because my body keeps on going and that's all...

"What are your plans for today?" Mom asks curiously. I turn my head in confusion. She knows my work routine. Why is she even asking that?

"I have the late shift today," I reply to her. I hate the late shift. It means I need to shut the bakery alone. Nathalie, the girl that works with me can leave an hour before closing time, so I'm an hour alone. Normally, just a few people come and go and mostly they are older people.

"Good morning," my sister Barbara aka Barbie storms into the kitchen, wearing her boyfriend's loose shirt. I roll with my eyes at the

"Good morning," Mom chirped happily. "Do you want pancakes?" Mom asks at Barbie.

"Grace, I have pancakes!" Mom yelled.

"Quiet, mom. Rick is still asleep." She whisper-yells. I chuckle and shake my head in disbelief. Poor Rick, I feel pity for the guy.

"Are you jealous, Grace?" Barbara sneered at me.

"Me jealous of you? Never." I answer coldly. That's a fucking joke. She can have her life because I wouldn't tray mine for hers. She's been pacing back and forth hoping some model agency will recognize her and give an exclusive contract, but the only thing she does is taking advantage of our parents' money. We were certainly not poor, but not super-rich either.

Our father is an attorney, and that's why we can live the way we live now. Because dad's hard work all of those years. Mom works under dad as his assistant. How cliché is that, right? My parents fell in love in high school and they are still in love with each other.

I stand up with an enormous sigh and stroll to the kitchen, placing myself beside mom. If I wasn't hungry I wouldn't eat, but my stomach is crying for food so I just do what my body asks of me. I take a bite of my pancake when I see Barbie staring at me. "What?" I retorted in annoyance.

"I just don't get it why you can eat all of this surgery food and still have a gorgeous body. You don't work out secretly don't you?" She asks me curiously. I swallow my piece and stare at her.

"Barbie, I don't have a gorgeous body and no, I'm not working out. I have a job, remember?" I say disinterestedly.

"Still in denial, aren't you? When are you going to grow up?" She asks in frustration. Barbie takes a huge bite of her apple, her eyes still fixated on me.

"When are you going to eat like a normal person instead of starving yourself?" I retorted with my brows up.

Barbie her expression went cold for a moment, but that changed when Rick appeared in the kitchen. "Baby, you're up early. I wanted to go for an early run." She pouts her lips in innocence, jumping from her seat to kiss the life out of that poor guy.

I groan in annoyance and take the plate in my hands. "What are you doing?" Mom asks in surprise, her expression concerned.

"I'm going to eat upstairs and read a little," I answer her with honesty. She doesn't need to know I want to avoid my sister and her boyfriend. I think Rick is number ten or eleven. I just can't keep count on Barbie's flirtatious life. If she can fuck herself up, she would do it without a single thought, but Rick or all the others didn't know that. They all thought sweet Barbie is as sweet as she looks like, with her skinny legs and dark blonde hair. But she has built quite a reputation since she searches for a modeling career.

I lay my plate on my desk and place myself behind my laptop. There's this weird feeling inside of me I need to look at the news for any clues about last night. Opening the internet, I take a huge bite of my pancake. I scroll to the topic news and with my mouth still full; I stare in shock at my screen.

MAN KILLED WITH TWO BULLETS THROUGH HIS HEAD IN FRONT OF HIS HOUSE.

I scroll down, searching for more information. Oh God, it happened last night around midnight at the same spot where I heard sirens. This was an assassination just a block from where I was standing. I could have been in real danger if it happened closer to the alley. And what with the man that pointed the gun toward me? Was he involved somehow? He was wearing a gun and had pointed it toward me so maybe he was the murderer who killed that man.

He could have killed me that easily because I was a potential witness, but he didn't. Why? The entire day flew by in a blur. These questions had been haunting me until it was time for my shift.