Page 13 of A Thousand Broken Pieces

My brows furrowed. We were here to walk? I could see the outlines of the misty mountains from the window in the living room.

“We have everything you will need for hiking,” Mia said. “So we are giving you the rest of this evening to yourself. Dinner is at seven. Then it’san early start tomorrow. For now, get settled. Unpack. Hang out, get to know each other. And we’ll see you soon.”

Mia and Leo left the room, Leo’s concerned gaze fixed on me as he did so.

“Well, that was heavy,” Dylan said, earning a few awkward laughs from the others. I stared down at the journal in the fire. I had nothing to say to my brother, no feelings or life updates to share with him. He’d neglected to inform me of his, so I’m sure he would recognize the sentiment.

He’d given me, his little brother and best friend, no consideration when he’d made his choice. No communication. No signs. Just the seven scribbled words he’d rushed to write on the back of an old hockey ticket before he blew our world apart.

Instinctively, I reached down to my pocket and checked for my wallet. It was still there. And in the back zipped compartment was that goddamn ticket. And those words. Words I hadn’t looked at in months, burning my skin like they had been written in an eternal open flame. Impossible to extinguish, forever seared into being.

That ticket hidden in my wallet felt like it weighed a hundred tons. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It was the thing I hated most in the world, yet my most treasured object.

Getting to my feet, I didn’t even look back at the others as I ran for the front door. I rushed straight into a sheet of ice-cold rain. The wind slapped at my face, a thousand palms across my cheeks. I didn’t have my jacket, but right now, the elements attacking my body felt good. The stinging of my cheeks reminded me I was still here, alive, even if I wasn’t really living.

Just thinking of that room filled with broken kids like me, Savannah clutching the journal to her chest like it was her biggest fear made flesh, made me furious. Travis crying just at the thought of writing something down.

It was bullshit. All of it.

Reaching down, I picked up a rock and launched it into the lake with all my strength. Before it had even hit the surface, I had another in my hand, bigger this time, pushing my forearm to its breaking point. Allowing the pent-up rage to race up my throat, I roared into the quiet night as I threw more rocks into the lake.

A broken branch came next. Then more rocks. One after the other until my muscles burned and my voice grew hoarse.

When I was exhausted, the questions came. Questions I knew would never be answered. One in particular—why? Whydid he have to do it?Whydid he have to leave me here like this? This wasn’t who I used to be. But now … I didn’t know how to be anything else.

Breathless and tired, I was left with only the self-hatred that always came after an outburst. Hatred with myself for not seeing the signs. For not seeing he was struggling. Tears built in my eyes. I tipped my head back to the heavy flow of rain, letting my tears meld with the heavy droplets, disguising the pain.

On a deep breath, I blinked open my eyes. I always felt a brief spell of numbness after an emotional outburst. It gave me a few moments of peace. Just a few precious moments to not sear. To just feel nothing.

I shuffled to the very edge of the lake, my boots an inch deep in the freezing water, and stared out over it. It seemed endless. Still and ancient. Like it would have seen a million people just like me, lost and alone and here for some kind of redemption arc. Some last-ditch attempt to save them from themselves and the shit hand the world had dealt them.

The gray clouds and moody weather reflected my dark inner thoughts. Then I cast my attention to the peaks, and for the first time in a while, I actually looked forward to something. There was a flicker of a spark. Some heat from a long-forgotten ember, deep down in my subconscious.

I liked exercise. I was physically fit. For a long time, sport was going to be my life. I was going to go professional. I lived for the dopamine rush that came with playing with my team, with the addictiveness of competition. Of playing the game I once loved more than breathing. I thrived in the coldness—the ice rink being my best friend. The idea of being trapped in hostel rooms and forced to talk about my past and feelings sounded like hell. Being outside in nature and walking, just … walking …,thatI could do.

I stood out on the lake’s edge until I was drenched and shivering, and the chill of the harsh wind began to rattle my bones. I turned to go back to the house, taking the long, winding path that skirted around the back of the garden. Just as I was about to leave the surrounding forest’s tree line, I caughtsight of someone sitting on the elevated rocky ledge that looked over another part of the huge lake.

Savannah.

I recognized her blond hair and petite frame. She was alone, huddled underneath a large umbrella, and she was holding something to her chest. For a moment, I thought it was the journal we’d just been given. But the notebook she held was larger and different in color.

I wondered what it was. For a second, I debated going over to her. I didn’t know for what. I had the sudden urge to just sit with her. She’d met my eyes in the living room. For a few minutes, it was like I’d ripped my chest open and she was seeing all my jagged scars.

Maybe she’d understand. Maybe she would be the one person who wouldn’t need to ask me probing questions because she knew what this living nightmare felt like. To have someone understand … to not have to explain what it felt like to be shattered so thoroughly, to understand that no words existed that could possibly ever explain this level of soul destruction. And to understand what it felt like to be alone with such devastating pain that, maybe, sometimes, made you wonder if it would be easy if you just ceased to exist too …

But then something inside stopped me, and the controlling, consuming darkness that kept me from doing so many things these days wrapped its arms around me, and I headed past where she sat and went straight into the house.

It reminded me I wasn’t here to make friends. I just had to get through this trip. Then I could go home. And as to anything that happened after that?

I didn’t even care.

Rolling Hills and Bobbing Boats

Savannah

IT SEEMED IMPOSSIBLE.

I stood at the bottom of Helvellyn Fell, surveying its massive size with my eyes. It stretched higher and higher up until its peaks disappeared in the low-hanging clouds. I couldn’t even see the top, and they expected us to climb this? The day was—thankfully—dry, but the ground was crisp underfoot as the winter frost kissed the blades of grass that blanketed the uneven ground.

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