Broken

Chapter 2

"Tell me what happened." My mother orders, kneeling down in front of me. I shuffle in my uncomfortable seat on the sofa and take a deep breath.

"Nothing, I hit my knee on the wall outside and it hurt. I'm fine."

"17 year old girls don't cry when they bump their knees. Tell me what happened Rhianne." She doesn't sound mad, she sounds more concerned than anything.

"Well some do." I cross my arms and avoid eye contact with my mom. If I look at her, I know I'll crack and I'll break down.

A loud sigh escapes her lips.

"Okay."

I give her a small smile and stand from my seat. I walk to my room where I quietly shut the door then flop onto my bed in hysteric tears.

Daddy's little punching bag. Daughter-Of-A-Woman-Beater. Ugly. Nerd. Bitch. Freak.

All the names the bitch called today rush through my mind, forcing more tears to soak into my duvet. I slowly lift my head, desperately trying to stop my sobs. I climb off my bed and take a seat at my desk.

I shouldn't let these names get to me but I should. Fat used to be on the list until I stopped eating as much. I still don't eat much now, but at least I'm not fat anymore.

I fucking hate Jasmine McCray. She's made me feel like shit about myself all the way through High School and she's still going at it halfway through senior year. I hate the girl, I hate her more than anyone. Apart from my dad. In fact, I hate them both as much as each other.

I peer into the mirror through my puffy eyes and see my mascara has smudged down my pale face.

Time to do what I do best.

I reach out for the handle of my drawer and pull it open gently, careful not to let the loud squeak it makes make too much noise. I lift up the pile of books and run my hand over the wood beneath them until my fingers run over a cold, smooth piece of metal. I pick it up between my fingertips and bring it out of the drawer.

A let out a shaky breath before pulling my left sleeve up. I scowl at the many red, white and pink lines I have formed across my wrist but they don't put me off what I'm about to do.

My trembling hand rises, sharp blade between my fingers and I harshly press it to one of the few clear spots on my left wrist. I push it down until I see blood spilling around the blade and them I slowly drag it along, making a long, deep cut. I do this again, and again, and again until I can't see through the tears glossing over my eyes.

I pull a tissue from the box on my desk and press it to my skin. Once the bleeding slows, I wipe the blade clean and put it back where I found it.

Fucking Jasmine, I think, Fucking dad, fucking life.

I pull my sleeve back down, clean my makeup up and leave my room with the fakest smile I've ever made plastered all over my miserable face.

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"It's warm today, take your jumper off!" Kyle smiles. I shake my head, hair whipping into my face. I love Kyle's convertible but not when it's windy and the roof is down. The drive to school seems ten times longer when his roof is down.

"Come on!" I can tell he's winking, even though his eyes are hidden by his raybans. I would take my jumper off, but I can't.

"I'm cold." I lie.

"Okay, we're here anyway." He huffs playfully. I flash him a victorious smile and pull my hair over my shoulder. All the people stood in the parking lot stare as we cruise past them, not at Kyle but at me. I'm used to this. I'm too used to this.

"Ignore them." Kyle says. He knows how self concious I am, I love it when he looks out for me.

He parks the bright red car and we both climb out, briskly walking into the main building down the halls in search for our lockers.

"What do you have first period?" Kyle opens his locker, shoving his gym bag inside. The inside of the blue metal door is covered in magazine cut outs of footballs and players, along with photos of him and the football team and us two. It's a picture we took together when we were 5, we stole his moms camera from her handbag and took a load of pictures on it and well, they all got printed and we kept them.

I have another one of them in my locker but it's the only picture or any piece of decoration really.

"Um, Biology. Double period."

"You sit next to the new kid, right?"

"Yeah."

"He tried out for the football team."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he's good. Made the team."

"Wow." I can't imagine Harry playing any kind of sport, let alone football. He seems too...plain?

Suddenly, the loud shrill of the bell sounds through the hallway and I say my goodbyes to Kyle before walking to Biology. The halls begin the fill with the busy buzz of students on their way to first period, or the janitors closet to make out with someone. I've seen kids get excluded for that too many times.

When I enter my Biology classroom Harry is already sat in his seat. I swiftly move to my table, avoiding drawing too much attention to myself. He smiles at me as I sit down.

"Hi."

"Hey."

He's wearing a short sleeved black tee and a blue and red bandana today but the same tight black jeans and boots he was wearing yesterday. Something on his arm catches my eye and I can't help but stare.

"How come you have tattoos? There are like, no tattoo parlours that do underage service in Washington." I say, confused. I've tried so hard to get a tattoo at every single tattoo parlour within a thirty mile radius of my home, none of them would let me get anything done.

"I'm not underage." He chuckles, pulling his sleeve up further to reveal the rest of the ship I had seen inked on his arm.

"What?"

"I'm 18."

"But-"

"I got held back a year." He smirks.

"Oh." I blush and get my things from my bag.

"It's hot today, how come you're wearing that jumper?" He furrows his eyebrows, taking in my appearance. He asks such awkward questions.

"I-"

"Morning class!" Professor White walks in, saving me from answering the dangerous question.