Bent, But Not Broken

Prologue

 On my eleventh birthday, which I had been spending alone, as I did every year, I received a letter. It wasn't addressed to me, nor to my parents. It wasn't even addressed to our house. I'd found it on our doorstep, and seeing as its destination was two states away, I took it and relayed to the sender, Thorn, that his letter had made its way to my home instead of its original destination. I signed the letter Storm. I hadn't been expecting it, but a week later, I received a reply.

Storm, it read.

Thank you for letting me know. I was told most would not be so kind. I am grateful that you were the one to find it.

Thorn.

That had been it, a simple letter, thanking me. That was how it began. I would reply, and he would reply, and then, he asked if we could be penpals. I was excited. He could become my very first friend. Our letters became longer and longer, and there was always a letter sent out the very day we received one. I learned everything about him, and he of me.

But one day, he stopped replying. I waited a week, and then two, and I never got the reply. I had been thirteen at the time. By fourteen, I gave up hope of ever speaking to him again, and ever hoping to have another friend.

Perhaps it was silly, but he added the finishing blow. My parents had never been there when I really needed them to be; I lost faith in them. Thorn had been there, and he left me. I was a fool, when I moved for the twenty-somethingeth time on my fourteenth birthday. I wrote to Thorn, telling him of our change of address in case he ever wanted to send another letter. All I received in reply was a simple letter from him, telling me I needn't worry, because he would never send one again. From the day I realized I would never speak to Thorn again, I stopped trusting people. They would only hurt me again, so why bother.

Two years later, as I turned sixteen, we moved again; to the one place I never wanted to go in my life. Where Thorn lived.

And that's when everything turned bad.