Broken

Chapter 2

The weekend had come and I was in dire need of a break. I woke up fairly early and threw on my favorite black hoodie and slipped on a pair of skinny jeans. I tip toed outside with my skateboard and headed down the block.

As I rode down the street, the crisp morning breeze ran through my hair. I took a deep breath in and almost smiled to myself... Until I came across it.

The street had seemed to haunt me every time I passed it....

Me and Michelle's park.

I used to go there all the time in the 8th grade. It's a small, neglected beauty down the street from my house. It's somewhat secluded yet it seems to have the freshest air and most sunlight. Tethered flowers mixed in with vines that wrapped around a gnarled tree baring a tire swing.

Michelle was my girlfriend in middle school. She was the first girl I allowed myself to have feelings for. I mean finding out I'm gay was not the best. I hated myself for going against what I'd been taught was "normal". Was I normal? Once I met Michelle none of that mattered anymore.

Her big brown morphine eyes seemed to numb the pain. She had perfect blond hair and a smile along with a laugh contagious enough to end wars. At least the ones in my mind.

Michelle.

I swallow her name like bitter alcohol that burned my throat like acid.

It's been two years since she committed suicide. The night her mother found her baby girl with a pill bottle in a blood stained hand from the sorrow she painted on her arms.

I had to try and come to terms with her death even though the bitter-sweet denial was so much easier to grasp.

I kicked my skateboard up and carried it as I slowly stumbled into the tense aura of the park. I held my breath overwhelmed with emotion and headed toward the tree. Heh. She used to love this tree. Loved nature.

I traced the bark with my shaky fingertip before sitting down and leaning my head against its trunk. Then suddenly, without my permission, a tear slid down my cheek. Why couldn't I save her? Why wasn't she still next to me?

Why couldn't it have been me instead?

I broke down thrusting my head into my arms I had folded over my bent knees. I wailed pathetically digging my heels into the ground. All I could do was picture that face.

Hear that laugh.

Taste her lips.

Feel the chill of her soft palm on my cheek.

Why can't she come back to me?

All of a sudden the sound of a twig snapping in the distance sparked my attention. I quickly dried my tears with my sleeves and looked around for any sign of life.

" I'm sorry I didn't mean to... Am I interrupting... Wait, Nicole?"

I could recognize that face anywhere. Mrs. Watson, my English teacher, cautiously made her way toward me. It seemed as though she had been going for a jog and accidentally stumbled upon my once safe haven. I turned my gaze in the opposite direction to keep her from seeing me in such a vulnerable state. "Yea... It's me." I hate people seeing me show any sign of emotion. Any sign of weakness.

"Oh my god Nicole, what's wrong? Have you been crying?" She seemed sincerely concerned as she took a seat in the grass and debris next to me. I slowly exhaled the breath I'd been holding in as she got closer and turned to face her. My teacher immediately noticed my swollen, tear reddened eyes as she swept a loose strand of my hair away from my face.

"I... My." I sighed heavily and tried again.

"My... Friend and I. Well we used to hang out at this park a lot as kids."

I lifted my head and discovered her eyes had darkened. Her forehead taught with concern. She nodded giving me permission to go on so I continued with my story.

"Her name was Michelle. We were extremely close until she.." I took a deep breath in and felt a comforting hand placed on my back. "Until two years ago when she killed herself..."

It was silent for a fair amount of time. Yet, it didn't feel awkward. I turned back around and gazed into the distance as the wind rustled through the flowers. My teacher gritted her teeth together as a wave of grief washed over her.

"I am so sorry...." Her voice was just above a shaky whisper.

Nothing else really needed to be said as the women in her mid-twenties gently glided her hand over my back. Although something like that usually wouldn't be very affective, something about the way Mrs. Watson went about it seemed to ease my nerves a little bit.