The Broken Pieces (#1)

The Start

My name is Alice and currently, I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror with hot steam swirling around me from my morning shower.

I'm not sure how long I've been standing here, looking at my reflection as my eyes shift towards the deep purple underneath them. I bring my hand up to lightly touch the surface of them. The green orbs staring back at me are intense and watery, consumed with sadness.

I look so aged, the worst part, I'm only seventeen.

I can tell I've been glaring at my imperfections too long, considering the amount of water pooling around my feet. I throw the towel I had wrapped around myself down onto the ground and get dressed. The clothes I picked weren't thought out, but it didn't exactly matter considering what I was planning on doing.

I hastily throw my hair up into a ponytail, picking up a fallen brown strand with wrinkled hands, eyeing the faded purple that decorates the end.

My dad hated the color, and I dyed it anyways just to spite him.

I dread having to see any of them right now. They all abuse me. Whether it's emotionally or not, it's still awful. My dad is the worst, Ethan, my brother, is a close second. My mom tries her best to stay out of it, she never stands up for us.

But regardless, they all argue constantly and over the most ridiculous topics you could come up with.

Just the other night, they argued over whether the salsa was expired or not. The number had been smudged and they asked me for my opinion, a rarity. I expressed exactly how I felt about their debate and they sent me to my room with a red cheek.

I had flipped them off.

As I travel back to my room, my only safe space, I hear the heavy footsteps of my nineteen-year-old brother walk towards my room. I immediately stop in my tracks and wait for him to pass.

A few minutes later, I hear him open the door to his room and shut it. I relax the fists I didn't realize I had made and I exhaled the breath I didn't know I held.

I'm planning on running away.

They wouldn't care. My schoolmates wouldn't notice, due to my almost nonexistent social life. The only one that would realize I'm gone is my little sister, Rosemary. What a sweetheart, that kid is. She's everything I strive to be and she's only eight years old.

I didn't want to leave her, but I knew I had to. For my own safety. I couldn't risk taking her with me, I wasn't strong enough for her yet and I needed to get help before I took her on as my own. She never got involved with the fighting, except for one incident where she ended up on the floor, tears of shock in her small eyes. She had been looking up at my father, who had struck her.

That was the last straw for me and I stood up to him, screaming at the top of my lungs and threatening his life.

He didn't take that well, because that's is when he broke my arm.

That was a long time ago, but still fresh.

How could they notice my absence with how much fighting they're doing? I had taken some money the night before, to prepare for the day ahead. I could still feel the slick leather of my mother's wallet as I ran my fingers over it. I could still feel the bulge of the bills in my pocket, as I quietly climbed the stairs back to my bed. It had been so silent. So peaceful as everyone snored in the comfort of their beds.

Sometimes, I wonder why they treat me that way. I lay awake at night, with dried tears resting on my red cheeks, staring at the blank ceiling. I listen to the crickets that sit outside my window and pondered the question constantly.