Brokenhearted Girl (Continuing & Editing)

Brokenhearted Girl (Continuing & Editing)

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WpMetadataReadOngoing9h 9m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Apr 4, 2019
"Anyway I want to show you this." he handed me a small piece of paper. I turned it over and it was a photograph. The same one I had with my dad, mum, baby me and toddler Aaron. "I have this photo." I said quietly. I ran my fingers over my dad. He looked happy, and alive. I wish he could still be here. With me now when I found out I have a brother. "So these are our biological parents. My parents now are foster ones. I can't believe your mum left you. She started neglecting me when you were born." he said in a mere whisper. I looked up to find his eyes soft, not angry like I'd thought they'd be. "I'm sorry." I whispered as I let a single salty tear run down my cheek. All her life Christie has had everything taken away from her. Her father died when she was 7 and her mother left her when she was 11. She's a shy girl who hides in the shadows, she's built her walls so high that no one can climb them. Everyday for years she's been picked on at school. She's not your typical nerd or geek, she hates everybody and doesn't talk to anyone. But what happens when she finds out she has a long lost brother?
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#147
unloved
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“Hey faggot!” I winced at the sound of the one and only star quarter back. He wasn't wrong, I was gay, but that word was just so offensive. I hated that I came out, hated the fact more than you could ever guess. It had cost me all but three of my friends, most of my freedom and every second that had been left of my childhood. When I loudly and discourteously turned down the prettiest girl in the whole school she screamed at me “what, are you gay?!” to which I decided to truthfully reply “yeah, got a problem with that?!” At the time I felt triumphant, giddy even and shouted at the top of my lungs 'I'm gay!' it had felt so good...but it wasn't worth the price I had to pay...not a week later I went from one of the top five popular guys to having three friends, had the shit beaten out of me at least once a week and went from relatively care-free to being the man of the house, a mom when mom couldn't be there, the cook the cleaner and the surrogate father three days later after I killed my father. I may have not been holding a smoking gun or bloody knife, but it was my fault he died all the same, even if the cops didn't see it.

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