Death Wish

Chapter 6: Broken Home

As I'm walking down the hallway, I feel an arm around my shoulders. I clench my hand into a fist and ram it into the offender's stomach. I have no friends to worry about hurting and have a pretty good idea of who it is, making this so much more satisfying. Hearing a grunt, I smile in satisfaction and leave him there, curled in the fetal position on the floor.

Later in art, I hear Lorenzo ask, "What was that for?"

Knowing exactly what he's talking about, I respond simply, "I don't like being touched. We're not friends so you can't act like we are and you sure can't sling your arm around my shoulder. Touch me again and I will hit you harder and in a place more painful than the gut. Now let's just work on the project. The faster it's finished, the less words shared between us."

He looks at me in shock and I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks because I'm usually not that harsh, but I guess he brings out the worst in me. The sting of the slap from yesterday is gone, but he left a mark. I refuse to cake powder on it so I cover my cheeks with my hair and look down at my notebook to brainstorm. I really like my idea of modeling gas or something not solid. Art always gets me excited. I inherited it from my dad who was amazing at drawing. He would always carry his sketch pad with him, ready to jot down ideas for a painting. He never went into art professionally, but I guess his idea of that was architecture. He would take the art and put it into the form of a building. I sniffle and wipe my nose. Even thinking about him is painful and peels the wound open. I look up as to play off my tears and settle my gaze on the supplies in the front of the room.

Not looking at Lorenzo, I said, "I think we should do something like modeling gas or something non-solid. And maybe use clay."

"Yeah, that's a great idea!"

I look at him funny because he's being so happy. Ignoring it, I walk up to the room and grab all the clay I can hold. We decide to make a depiction of smoke rising from a puddle on the ground. He's actually quite enjoyable to work with, constantly joking around and playing with the unused clay. I roll out the wisps of smoke and intertwine them. When two of them are woven by the end of class, it looks great. I mean not to brag, but ours is the best in the classroom. Everyone else is doing some sort of animal or a symbol. I smirk and look over at Brittany. She made half of a head, at least I think it is. Quite frankly, it looks terrible. Looking back at our smoke, I see Lorenzo doing something to it. I crane my head around it and see him glazing it over so it won't crack or fall apart. He finally did something useful. I shake my head of these happy thoughts and get back to work.

...

Once the bus drops me off, I don't turn left towards the run-down part of town, but rather move towards the nicer, more suburban side. I move toward the forest surrounding the lodging part of town and maneuver my way towards the place I was raised. I had no reservations about creeping into my broken home for the first time in a year because I knew my dad had left the house to me, forcing the house to stay off the market. Tiptoeing through the backyard, I pushed the loose brick by the door in and when it popped out, a shiny key lay in the center. Opening the door with the key, the smell of overly sweet orange hit me full force. I tried to keep the house clean by using the money I had to hire a housekeeper to clean, but I didn't want any frou-frou scents or candles. Barely keeping back a growl, I walk through the house, the paintings and pictures lining the walls as old friends and family greet me home after my long vacation. Moving through the house is second nature, so I let my feet guide me.

This was where my family lived for little over sixteen years. My parents bought it when I was born. This house was where my siblings grew up. Brietta would never get a boyfriend and fall in love and walk down the aisle and Kol would never go pro in soccer. He had a scholarship to his dream college and I ruined that for him. I lost two-thirds of myself. They weren't only my siblings, but we were triplets, taking on the world together. Never one without the other. I destroyed the bond of the trio. I'm the reason they died, the slice to the unbreakable triplet bond. Apparently it's not so unbreakable.

The pain I felt was unbearable. I let out a strangled scream. Everything and everyone my world revolved around was gone because of me.

Maybe Thibault was right. I would never ever be wanted or worth anyone's attention. People never hang out with me of their own accord. They always have an ulterior motive. They are just pity-filled for the girl who killed her family. Great. I'm a charity case.

I am pulled from my thoughts when I run into a wall. My father's study.

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A/N
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