A Broken Mind Can't Be Fixed

Chapter 2

School is hell. I walk down the halls like I fucking own the building, but still, no one notices me.

I go through each of my classes without paying attention. I just draw silhouettes of birds on my notes. The teachers don't care. I doubt they notice me too.

During lunch I hear rumors about a new girl. For some reason, it spikes my interest. I guess I'm just hoping for it to be Violet. Wouldn't that be amazing? Violet, the girl of my dreams, standing before me? The thought alone slows my breathing.

I throw out my lunch and go to the library.

The library is usually empty at this time of the day. I sit down in my usual seat and pull my book out. It's  about birds of course, and it's explaing how their wings work.

I want to fly. I reallywant to fly.

Last week I read the story about the guy who made these wings so him and his son could escape from the tower they were trapped in. I want to have those wings. I want to fucking fly.

I take a sheet of paper out and began sketching a human body. Next, I draw the beautiful wings coming out the back. I spend a couple extra seconds creating the feathers.

The chair beside me is pulled out and a girl sits down. I cover up my drawing quickly.

"Why'd you do that? I've already seen it, silly. It's really good. I always wished I could draw." She has a southern accent, which confuses me. We're in the middle of California. But then I realize this must be the new girl. I've never seen her around before, and I think I would have noticed her. She has black, wavy hair and bright green eyes. Her cheeks are covered in faint freckles. She's gorgeous. I have no idea why she's talking to me.

I clear my throat (I haven't spoken one word all day) and answer her.

"I like birds. They can fly away when things get too crazy, you know?"

She smiles at me. "Birds only fly away from their problems. They never solve them." She gets up and walks over to the bookshelves. I go back to sketching. No one can change my opinion on birds.

After school, I go running. I run for a very long time. I keep on even when I feel light headed, because that's how much I don't want to go home. That's how fucking much.

I go home though. I have to complete homework that I don't want to do. 

The house is strangely quiet when I walk in. I head to the kitchen because my stomach is growling. There's a note on the countertop that says my dinner is in the microwave. Nice.

It also says that I could join the rest of the family in the living room where they're all watching a movie. I crumple the note up and toss it in the trash. I'd rather not.

-

I sit on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, my blades in front of me. I want to cut. I want to feel something.

I grab the blade and press it into my wrist. I'm filled with a sort of euphoria as it pierces my skin. Blood drips onto the white floor. The way the red stands out is so beautiful. It's the most tragic type of art.

-

I dedicate the rest of the night to making a blueprint for a set of wings. When I think of the completed set, my joy is like that of a child who's brought to a toy store and is told they can get whatever they like. In other words, I really want these wings to work out.

I started liking birds when my dad left. I guess I envied how he was able to fly away from his crazy family. I wanted so much to fly away with him. He came to me in dreams for the longest time. He always had wings. I was jealous.

My thoughts end up on the new girl. I think about what she said and despite my opinion, I do agree with her's. Dad flew away from his problems because he was too weak to solve them. Doesn't mean I like birds any less.

I hear foot steps pounding down the hallway and I quickly stuff my art under the bed and turn off my lamp.

Someone stops in front of my door, stays there for a moment, and walks away. I let out the breath I was holding in. I thought it was Mom coming for me in one of her drunken fits, ready to pull my hair out and hit me until I'm covered in bruises.

I fall asleep with tears on my cheeks and nails digging into my scarred wrists.

-

I wake up to Addy's voice.

"Tate, you've overslept and have like 15 minutes to get ready if you don't want to miss the bus."

I look at my alarm clock and want to kill myself. I do this every once and awhile; wake up to my alarm, turn it off, and fall back asleep. Today's one of those days. Shit.

"Thanks, Addy."

"I'll make you a bowl of cereal while you get dressed."

"Thanks."

-

The cereal is soggy and the milk is moldy. I go to school with an empty stomach.

-

During lunch period, I eat my food and go to the library. I always go to the library. It's a quiet place to read and draw, and it allows me to forget I have no friends in the crowded lunch room.

Knowing no one is going to speak me, I roll up my sleeve and expose the deep cut on my wrist. I don't really want to have it out in the open, but my sleeves are getting in the way of my drawing.

The screeching of the chair being pulled out beside me scares the shit out of me and I roll down my sleeves. I can't get a fucking break.

"Hey, I didn't get your name yesterday. Mine's Lydia." Her black hair somehow appears even darker today.

"I'm Tate." I really wish that instead of the new girl smiling at me, it was Violet. I close my eyes and start wishing.

"Hey, um, what are you doing?" I open my eyes to stare into her green ones. They're lit up in amusement.

I just stare at her. She blinks and shakes her head.

"I saw your wrist. Let me see."

My heart stops.

"Come on, I won't tell anyone."

Lydia grabs my arm and rolls up my sleeve. I don't stop her. Her finger runs over each scar that was carefully placed there.

"This one looks fresh. Tell me, do you still cut?" Her finger feels nice placed on the cut from last night.

"Uh, yeah, I kinda-"

"No, you don't. Tell me that you don't cut anymore." She cuts me off abruptly.

I stare at her in confusion.

"Tell me you don't cut anymore. Please." Her voice is begging me. I grab her hand.

"Not anymore," I say, and I mean it.

Lydia's face lights up in a smile. She's fucking beautiful.

She squeezes my hand and then the bell rings. She jumps up.

"See ya tomorrow, Tate."

I nod my head at her and she runs out the library. I gather my things up and hurry off to geometry class, and for the first time, I don't feel alone.