A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Thirty-One

"Their love was strong, but timing was wrong, and love decided that they didn't belong."

"Hi, Claire. I just wanted to let you know I'm allowed to leave the hospital this afternoon. They say I can go back to school on Monday. Uh, yeah...Anyways, I'd appreciate it if you called me back. Bye."

I threw my phone across the room. It landed in a pile of clothes, saved from complete destruction.

If only the same could be said of me.

After the events of two days earlier, I had barely left my room except to go to school. All spare time was spent in tears. I felt regret deep inside. I wanted to hate Brock, to tell him to his face that I never wanted to see him again. But I knew that would be a lie.

He haunted me everywhere I went. The books he'd bought me for my birthday sat in the middle of my bookcase. Each time they caught my eye, the hurt started all over again.

Countless calls and texts later, and here we were. I hid in my bedroom, tried my best to pretend I was fine at school. Questions were thrown at me from Zoe, from our group of friends that I was forced to spend time with once more. I had forgotten how much I despised the way they made me feel. The one person who made me feel worthy was gone from my life. There was no way the void in my heart could be filled.

A honk cut through my endless misery. I sighed and stood from the bed, my face almost unrecognizable in the dresser mirror. The contact lenses had been a waste of money. Already, my eyes were irritated. I ignored it.

"How long are you going to behave like this?" Zoe glared when I got in the car.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I pulled the belt across my chest and buckled it. "I'm fine."

"No, you are not. Stop acting like a child and grow up, Claire. Get over it."

My eyes stung as they filled with tears. "I am over it. Let's not talk about it." I looked out the window, blinking.

Zoe sighed, but she knew better than to push me. Neither of us bothered to speak to the other on the ride to school. I already dreaded the thought of Monday, when I would be forced to see him again.

Several people whispered when they saw me cross through the doors. It made my anxiety even worse, knowing these people would wonder what I had to do with Brock's attempt. Word traveled fast in the hallways. Everyone had known what happened by the next day. I questioned how they even knew, but knew better than to dwell on it.

As I took a seat in Spanish class, my phone buzzed with a text message.

Can we please talk? I need to hear your voice.

It was so hard not to cry as I typed out a response. One word. The end of everything we'd had.

No.

I did not bother to check the next message that came.

For the rest of the day, it was hard to focus. My phone kept receiving messages. Someone kept calling. It vibrated for hours before I set it to silent. And, then, to do not disturb.

Everyone continued on with their lives. No one mentioned him. It was so easy to understand then how little people meant to each other. Unless it resulted in death, no one took the time to think about it. People were so easily comforted by the idea that, if it didn't involve them, it would not matter.