The Broken Ones

Chapter 2

Felix:

My lungs tightened, but I continued to breathe in the smoke. Cancer was always a factor, however, the emotions overpowered the smarter option to quit. Or I was just weak and couldn't handle it. My golden eyes wandered up to the darkening sky, my breath rippling through the cold air. The echoes of their booming voices continued to ring through my ears. It was murderous. I wanted to cry, to scream, maybe even die, but I was always held back. I always thought maybe there was a bigger purpose, and that killing myself is not the answer, but darkness weighed in. It always weighed in.

I brought the cigarette up to my chapped lips and inhaled the toxins, letting them wander my mouth then travel down to my lungs. Just then, I heard a voice. "That's not good for you."

I spun in the direction of the sound, my eyes landing on her. "Ah, Taylor Abby," I said. There she was in all her glory, her platinum blonde hair half tied up loosely on her head, her freckles barely popping up under her makeup on her button nose by the light of the sun. As always, she had on her Boston hoodie. "Come to join me?"

She adjusted her backpack and shrugged. "Figured you're better than Walter."

I ran a hand through my silky hair and gestured her over to me. I was slightly surprised how she wasn't even a little on edge, considering she was in an alleyway in the darkness of the night with a smoker. I guess that's one thing I've always liked about her. Her eternal brave spirit. Taylor walked beside me and slid down the brick wall. I crushed the end of my cigarette into the cement and threw it into the corner, sitting down next to her. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment as we watched the sun slowly fade behind the houses. "Cold?" I asked her.

She shook her head.

I breathed in a breath of air and let my head rest on the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her look at me. "How's the mustache going?" she asked.

I chuckled. "We both know that was just a dream. I can't grow a mustache. I'm Asian, not Italian."

"That's dumb. Being Asian doesn't mean you can't grow any facial hair."

I grinned and looked at her. Her cheeks were slightly pink against her pale skin, causing me to force myself to restrain from putting my arm around her as hard as it was. I knew she wouldn't enjoy that. "How are you, Taylor?" I asked.

She glanced down at the ground as she fiddled with a weed growing in a crack through the cement. She didn't speak for a while. "I'm okay," she finally said. "He hasn't hit me today."

I thought back to the first time I found out about the beatings. Eighth grade when I was standing in this exact alley, smoking, about this time, when I saw her. Her legs were wobbly, her arm limp, her face bruised and bloody, long gashes up and down her neck. The sight killed me. I never wanted it to happen again. Luckily, something that major didn't, but I knew he still hurt her. I wanted to help so badly, but she made me promise I wouldn't tell. I couldn't break that promise, as hard as it was. My mind was pulled back to the presence when I felt a chill run down my back. The sun was gone and the lights of the streetlamp sent an eerie glow throughout the streets. "I should get back," I said quietly.

Before I stood up, Taylor grabbed my hand, pulling me down to her once more. "Eager, are we?" I smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you gonna be at school tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

She nodded and I helped her up. I remember her always saying how my eyes were so big I could see right through people if I tried hard enough, and these were one of the moments I felt like I really could. She looked tired. Emotionally and physically. It pained me to watch her go, but I knew I had to. I just hoped he wouldn't hurt her.

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