Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

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The reappearance of Charlie did nothing to curb my bad mood for the next couple of weeks although I had only seen him in passing twice more as he left my dad's poker nights the following Wednesdays. Seaton continued to mutely drive me to and from school – with small incidents of yelling - and Suki returned to our bookstore meetings. But now the two girls continue to bug me to see then on the weekend for a movie or something.

They just don't get it.

Not that I expect them to, of course. I haven't told them anything that could make them 'get' it, and I won't. Ever. But at least they seem to like me. That's saying something, too, since I know I'm not the most charismatic guy to be around. I'll take company where I can get it, even if I don't know why they chose me. Friends on the other hand, just aren't feasible. Suki and Linda aren't friends. They really aren't. They're... just there, which is more than enough.

For weeks I've been walking on these crutches and I swear if my armpits were capable, they'd stab me to get revenge for the agony I've put them through. They throb like hell and my hands ache from supporting myself. Crutches suck.

Finally, the eighth week was upon me and Seaton drove me to the hospital. I quietly read and old magazine until the doctor called us in. After being ushered into a room, I sit on the strangely comfortable flat bed and wince as the paper scrunches underneath my weight. Hopefully I'll get the cast off and then I'll be fine. All the bruises are already healed from the pizza box incident and the gashes on my back have started healing, although I'm sure they'll leave even more scars. Not that that's very important. I've got a lot of them.

"Ah, Jayden, you broken your ankle..." He flips through the papers on his clipboard and then grins at me, "A group of street kids, eh? Tough luck."

"Yes, sir," I nod and wait as he removes the cast and checks everything out.

I wade through the questions of 'Does this hurt?' and 'What about this?' for several minutes until the doctor is finally satisfied that my ankle is healed. He lets us go and I walk out, and my armpits are practically singing 'Halleluiah' in loud, off-tune, high-pitched voices. I climb into his car and the seat squishes beneath me.

He doesn't have to drive me to school anymore.

That's good.

At least, it should be.

"How'd you really break your ankle?" He asks me suddenly and I train my face to keep still, showing no surprise.

"Street kids. Beaten up," I say as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. I thought I'd already established this...

"I know that's the lie you told," He scoffed, running his free hand through his hair nonchalantly. His other hand if caressing the steering wheel in a light but firm grip at his dark brown eyes are set on the road. "I want the truth."

"I was beaten up," I repeat, not letting the annoyance show in my voice. Why can't this guy leave it alone? It isn't any of his business!

"Yeah, but not by a bunch of street kids," He snorts, "What a story. And that other time you told me and the landlord two different stories. He may be a crazy bastard, but he's not an idiot. He knows what you told him."

"It was an –"

"Accident," He spits it out like a bad word, "Right."

"Just stop," I say sharply and then cover my mouth with both hands. Damn it all! I knew something would slip out. The car swerves just a bit –he's apparently surprised. I said something I wasn't supposed to say. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's going to hit me. I just know it. I deserve it too for being such an idiot. He's going to pull over and -