Broken: Emily's Story

22

Speak of the devil, Eric says quietly, looking up. He smiles. Hey Justin, he calls. He sounds tired.

Justin, his friend I always see him with, finds his way through the maze of tables to us. My heart starts beating faster. I don't know this person. I shouldn't be here.

I'm gonna go to the bathroom, I say, starting to get up. He grabs my arm. My arm flares with pain again. I wince. Don't, he says. I look at him with a pleading look. He shakes his head. Giving up, I sit back down. He lets go of my arm.

Justin sits at the table next to us. Hey, Eric, he says, though his gaze never leaves me. He looks pissed that I'm there, making me uncomfortable.

Justin, this is Emily Jackson. Emily, Justin Smith, Eric says. Justin nods. I just stare at him.

Eric, can I talk to you? Justin says, looking away to look at Eric. Eric sighs and looks at me apologetically. He gets up to sit at Justin's table. I try to pretend I'm not listening but I've always had good hearing.

What the hell are you doing? Justin asks. He sounds pissed.

Shopping at the mall with a friend, Eric says.

A friend? You ditched our game for emo freak over there? Justin says, purposefully speaking loudly at emo freak.

I wouldn't call her a freak, but yes, I did. What's wrong with that? He says.

What's wrong with that? It was one thing when you went out with her last year, but now? She's a freak and I honestly wouldn't put it past her to kill herself. You have no business going out with her, Justin says.

I get up quickly and run through the mall. I didn't hear what Eric said next. Or anything really. I somehow found myself out of the mall and running down the sidewalk that led to Eric's house. I run through his house and to his bathroom.

It's dark. I'm holding something and my arm is wet. I must have done it again.

Emily? Eric's voice cuts through the bathroom door. Go away, I yell. The door opens, light spilling into the room. I squint and hold my arm up to block the light.

Goddamn it, Emily, he says, seeing the state of my arm. I look at it.

Blood leaks out of new cuts on my arm. I look at the blade in my hand. The edge has been tinged red. I throw it in my box and put the box back in my hoody pocket.

Eric grabs the hand on the arm that isn't bleeding. He leads me back to his room.

He cleans my arm and puts the strange purple gauze on it. My arm throbs from the pain.

But he kisses me and I soon forget everything else.