Page 11 of Broken

“Then buckle up buttercup, it’s time to party.” I down the rest of my drink and give him a shit eating grin at the Princess Bride reference. His parents had high hopes for him. I mean, I guess when your dad is a famous minor league baseball player, yes minor league, he never made the step up. Then I guess certain things are expected of you. And when your kid turns out to be extra smart, and not athletic at all, it tends to dampen the plans you made for him before he was ever born.

He follows me to the kitchen as I pour myself another cup of Jack and Coke. When I hand him one, he looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Either drink up, or leave. You can’t be my party pal and be sober.” When he tips the cup back, I smile and use my fingers to tilt the cup up more, not letting him pull it away. “One down.” I say as he pulls the cup away from his lips.

“That was awful.” He says, making a face. Awe, the poor kid doesn’t even know.

“Again.” I tell him, mixing another drink.

“I’ll drink this one slowly, thanks.” He says, taking it from me. I drink mine in one quick swig and make my third. I’ve been drinking nearly every weekend for the last six months, so it takes a little more to get me buzzing. Well, unless someone adds special ingredients to it that I’m not aware of. Fucking Knox.

“Wanna dance?” I ask, pulling my bottom lip through my teeth as I lift my eyebrows in excitement.

“Would it be totally nerdy of me to say, I don't know how to dance.”

“No one here knows how to dance, that’s not the point. It’s about having fun and letting go.” I take his hand and lead him through the crowd, getting a few gasps. They’re probably gasping at the fact that Mr. Goody-two-shoes is out partying with the rebellious Katherine Winston.

When I get him to the dance floor, the crowd gives us room, watching us carefully. I loop one arm up over his shoulder, push in close and start dancing with him. He’s like a baby deer, wobbly on his feet as he tries to find his way. It’s cute and extra adorable to watch him struggle.

The song switches, who the fuck plays slow songs at a party. A few of us boo the guy playing music from the couch in the corner but he just nods for us to get on the dance floor. I have no idea what the song is, but the second the lyrics start, West is singing, pulling me close as he slowly dances right smack in the middle of the crowd.

My heart is racing and now I’m the deer, unsure of what to do with my limbs as he sways back and forth. I look up at him, catching him staring down at me with a look that tells me that this night isn’t what he planned. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to drink, he didn’t want to dance. Yet, here he is, doing them all with me.

Why?

I need to know why he’s acting like this, why he’s being so different from before. Why did he push me away? I wanted to be his friend, I wanted to like him. He ruined it. Not me. There are feelings boiling over and suddenly the entire room feels like it's on fire, licking at my skin, warning me to leave before I get burned.

Stepping away from him, I shake my head, “I- I gotta go.” I drop my drink and take off, pushing through the crowd until I get to the door, feeling the cool night air releasing everything I was just feeling. Closing my eyes I stand there, leaning against the pillar and just calmly stand there, letting my heart chill the fuck out. I can not be having feelings for this asshole. He fucked you over, your mother hates you because of him.

My mother hates me.

Because of him.

Each breath I pull into my lungs is like someone dumping ice buckets over my head, cooling and shocking the system back to reality. “Katherine.” His voice is demanding as he walks up behind me, pressing his body to mine. I can feel his cheek as he leans down, placing his chin on my shoulder.

“I hate you.” I whisper as I try to keep my feelings at bay.

“Why is that exactly?”

“You ruined me, made her hate me, made them all laugh at me.” I state, pulling away from him as I start walking home. When I’m halfway home, I look back to see if he’s behind me, he's not. So I tuck my arms against my chest and push myself to walk faster. When I get to our little hole in hell, I see his car is already in his driveway. Looking up I see his bedroom window is lit up.

Good. I think to myself, he can stay there. Leave me alone. That’s all I wanted, right? To be left alone.

Opening my front door, I drop the keys into the little bowl on the table next to the shoe rack by the door. I shut and lock the front door, turning the front porch light off and sighing. Tonight did not go according to plan, I wanted to get wasted and just let loose, then come home and forget all of it. I knew Knox wouldn’t be there so I was sure nothing would happen to me. Well, until West showed up and sucked all the fun out.

He made things too serious, I wanted to let loose and he looked at me in a way that dug out feelings I didn’t want to have. Every time he does something to me, my mother blames me for being irresponsible. But, West ruined my dress. West poured water under my seat. West, made everyone think I was having my period. All of which embarrassed my mother, which made her yell at me. None of which were my fault.

Sometimes, I think she wished she had two boys as twins, instead of one of each. I’ve seen the other mothers in her circle doting on their daughters, taking them shopping, letting them be themselves. Instead my mother tried to control me and I did everything she asked me to do until that night.

The night I was arrested for speeding. The night my friend was drunk. The night Knox shoved his dick down my throat and then stabbed me. No one cared to hear my story, so I didn’t tell them.

However, it’s too late to tell them that I was speeding to get home, to find my parents and tell them everything. I was being responsible, well, minus the speeding. But, when the cop asked me why I was bleeding, I told him that it was an accident.

An accident.

I couldn’t take it back.

So when my parents picked me up, I listened to them tell me how disappointed they were in me, and went shopping the next weekend for clothes that matched how I felt on the inside. Now, I embrace it. I’m not the same girl who grew up in the pink room.

Flicking my bedroom light on, all the fucking pink is mocking me, reminding me of who she wants me to be. Who I can never be again.

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