Some Broken Things

Chapter 1

The knife is light in my hand as I bring it down, piercing the skin and cleaving the flesh in two. I lift it up and it slices through the air again.

I throw the diced meat into a pan and turn on the stove. Dropping the knife into the sink, I rinse off my hands and dry them with a towel.

"What's for dinner?" Asks Trixie, my sister, from behind me.

"Chicken alfredo." I say.

"Again?" She complains. "But we had that on Friday!"

"Do you want to make dinner?" I snap, turning to face her. Her white hair is plastered to her pale forehead from the steaming hot shower she just took. Water drips onto the floor, the only sound in the kitchen. I sigh, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you—"

"It's fine." She says sharply. Turning her ruby eyes to the floor, she slinks back upstairs to our room and closes the door. I drag a hand over my face.

She's been moody ever since her last boyfriend, Leland, broke up with her.

If only I could leash my temper like John taught me, or walk away like Nick taught me.

,,Just then, they walk through the front door. "Hey, kiddo!" John calls. I look over to my dads, who are standing in the doorway. John sets down his briefcase and Nick hangs up his coat. John then strides over to wrap me up in a hug. I force a smile, mumbling my hellos.

"What's with the long face?" Asks Nick. I look over to him, and give him a knowing glance. "Ah. Got in another fight?" I nod. Grabbing some plates from the cupboard, I call up to Trixie saying dinner is ready. When I don't get a response, Nick goes upstairs. She stomps down the stairs a moment later with him in tow. John starts setting the table and I turn off the burner and remove a second pot from the heat. The steam rising from the pasta carries up and fills the kitchen with the smell of cheese. A moment later the oven timer goes off and I uncover the first pan, letting the scent of chicken mix with the alfredo. Next I remove the nearly forgotten little pot in the corner from its burner and dump the peas into a bowl.

I take everyone's plates and heap them with steaming cheese covered pasta, then add a piece of chicken to each serving, spooning peas onto the dishes and filling up the gaps between the foods.

John takes a deep breath and smiles. "Thanks for making dinner, honey." He says. "We didn't mean to work late again but the kids earned a party and Nick stayed late to help me set up."

"It's okay John, I didn't have anything to do anyways." I say.

"What about schoolwork?" He asks.

"Finished it an hour ago."

"Alright." He says, still skeptical. But a small smile works its way onto his face.

We eat in silence for most of the meal. I keep stealing glances at Trixie, but she keeps her gaze fixed on her food, which she eats with extra gusto. I turn my attention back to my own dinner and push it around on my plate.

"What, you don't even like your own cooking?" Asks Nick.

I sigh. "No, it's not that it's just...." I trail off. What is it? I don't even know. Something just feels off; like something bad is going to happen. When I try to explain this to my family, they just laugh and shake their heads. Well, my parents laugh. Trixie just glares at her chicken like she wants to stab it with her stake knife.

"Like what?" Nick teases. "You gonna get an A minus on your test tomorrow?" Oh, so he wants to play that game. I smile deviously. And just like that, my worries about tomorrow go shooting out of my head as I fit a pea onto my spoon and draw it back. I rotate in my chair so I'm facing Nick, and inch my finger to the edge. If my eyes are gleaming and brightly as I think, I must look absolutely crazy.

"Oh no, no, no!" He exclaims, wagging a finger in my direction. "You don't wanna go there."

"Ah, but don't I?" I say, grinning. I lift my finger off the spoon and it goes flying forwards, shooting through the air like an arrow and hitting him right on the tip of his nose.

"Oh, you're on!" He yells, loading his spoon with peas and bending it backwards. He flings them towards me, but I dodge them, laughing and grabbing more peas. I'm about to let 'em fly when something crashes to the floor. I whirl around in my chair and see that one of the pictures lining the staircase has fallen off its nail.

"I'll get it!" I say. Rushing over to the picture, I grab the broom from the closet and lean it against the wall next to me. I lift up the frame and find that the family picture is ripped in half, me and Trixie on one side, John and Nick on the other. Suppressing a shiver, I place the pieces face up and start to pick up the larger pieces of glass. I jerk back with a hiss of pain as one of them slips out of my hand, leaving a dark smear of blood along my palm. Before I can close my fist over the wound, two drops slide off my hand and land on one of the picture halves. The side with John and Nick. This time, the chill creeps up my spine as dread spreads through my body, flooding me with poisonous thoughts about tomorrow.

"You okay?" John hollers. His voice sounds distant and fuzzy, like he's underwater. Or I am.

"Yeah." I say. My voice sounds weak and shaky even to my own ears. I clear my throat. "Yeah!" I repeat, louder and stronger now. "Just a little cut." I try to hide the shaking in my hands by gripping them together behind my back and plastering on what I hope is an easy smile. Rinsing my hands off in the sink, I dry them and run upstairs to the bathroom. I rip open the cabinet above the sink and free the peroxide from its shelf. Then I grab the cotton balls and drench them with the cleaning solution. I cringe as they liquid soaks into my hand.

Once the stinging in my hand has eased, I screw the lid back onto the bottle and stuff it and the cotton balls back into their places. Inspecting the wound, I conclude that it's shallow, and should heal up nicely.

The gauze is next, wrapping it around my hand. I wrap in around once, twice, thrice, before tearing it with my teeth and securing it with a metal clip.

With the cut cleaned, I head back downstairs to finish picking up the glass. I sweep it all up into the pan and dump it into the garbage. The picture goes in next, and I try to ignore the blood soaked half picture of my parents. I dismiss it simply as a coincidence and attempt to forget about it.

They all look up as I plop back down in my seat and sigh, massaging my temples. A steadily growing headache has been an unwelcome visitor in my head since that uneasy feeling about tomorrow. I purse my lips.

As if he could read my thoughts, John says, "I'll get you a cold pack for your head once we finish dinner." I only nod in response, my eyes closed. Dinner flashes by in a blur of talking and smiles, and I wash the dishes. I feel like a robot as I dip blue flower-patterned plate after blue flower-patterned plate in the water, yellow rubber gloves squeaking against the plastic. Like I'm simply doing the steps while my mind wanders elsewhere. My thoughts keep circling back to tomorrow, and I can't shake the feeling of something happening, no matter how hard I try.