Page 11 of Every Broken Thing

“Okay.”

The frown on his face belied the accepting word, and I fled the kitchen before he questioned me further. If I stayed, I might break down and tell him everything, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Our relationship was weird and strained, filled with too many unsaid words and unspoken feelings, but I still cared about his opinion. He was my dad, after all, and it wasn’t his fault he was the way he was. Mom had left him gutted, and he never really got over it. He still loved her, wherever she was. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but at least he’d stuck around; he’d taken care of us the best he could without her.

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern of waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the ghost of unwanted hands tracing my goosebumped flesh. Then it was school and rehearsal. I kept closer to Kim than normal. She, whether knowing what I needed or not, walked with me to my truck every day after school. She was a good friend like that.

To keep my body busy and my mind full, I stayed late at rehearsal, even if I wasn’t needed. I ran lines with cast members and volunteered to help Ms. Acker with odd jobs. I worked more hours at the library, where I restocked shelves with returned books and movies. I had a feeling Dad suspected something was off.

Normally when he was home, we made small talk and then existed alongside each other before he left again. But now, I made a point to actively spend time with him. I even cooked, or tried, but since my skills in the kitchen were good for boxed macaroni and cheese and scrambled eggs, I mostly failed. Dad humored me, and we sat together at the table for mealtimes, reminiscent of when Will lived with us. I sat in the living room to do homework while he read the paper, and I even stooped so low as to watch sports with him.

He asked me on more than one occasion if I was okay, if there was something wrong, but I reassured him I was fine. I was tired from rehearsal or hadn’t slept well due to stress over the stage production. All lies. I didn’t think he believed me.

Most important of all, I steered clear of Eric Boyt. I avoided him whenever possible, but anytime we did cross paths, he glared. He lost the bandage tape, and the bruising faded, but his glower increased as time went by. Not wanting to make things worse, I kept my mouth shut and my head down, hoping my silence bought me safety.

Unfortunately, Ben was a harder person to avoid. He must have been part bloodhound because somehow he always knewwhen I would be at my locker. For some stupid reason, it was now his life’s mission to be my friend or something. He stopped by my locker daily to say hello and exchange pleasantries, and whenever possible, he claimed the seat beside me in sociology class.

I, on the other hand, pretended he was a figment of my imagination. Apparently, he was just as stubborn as I was because it didn’t deter him. Sometimes he talked to me, but more often than not he simply stood beside me quietly as I swapped textbooks. He partnered with me on worksheet assignments even when I downright refused to speak to him. He never seemed to tire of leaning against my locker, commenting about the weather as I sulked.

I didn’t like him. At least, I didn’twantto like him. But he also must have been part golden retriever because no matter how much of an asshole I was, he would just smile and fall into step beside me, not a care in the world.

At first, Ben didn’t talk much. He was just a silent, protective presence who made small talk every now and then. But the longer he stuck to me like a tick, the more I learned about him. He’d drop little nuggets of knowledge in passing, like how he was indeed a diver, not a swimmer. How, over the summer, he’d moved to Indiana from California to live with his aunt and uncle. He never said why, and I refused to ask since that would give the impression that I gave a shit. Which I most certainly did not!

He was smart and modest, polite and considerate. And nice, nauseatingly nice.He pissed me off, mostly because I wasn’t any of those things, but also because it was genuine. He was sincerely kind, which was annoying as all hell.

So like any well-adjusted teenager, I responded to his offer of friendship with insecure rudeness and snarky insults. Sure, he was a nice guy, but every time our eyes locked, it reminded me of what he’d saved me from, what he’d witnessed. And friendshipwas dangerous because trust always hurt in the end. I’d learned that lesson well enough.

But no matter how hard I pushed him away, either by exaggerated cruelty or apathetic indifference, he didn’t take the hint. Slowly but surely, Ben burrowed under my skin and settled there like a well-meaning parasite.

I’d heard once about a parasitic fungus that targeted insects and took over the host from within. The zombie parasite, they’d called it. I felt like Ben was a strain of that. He was in my system now, and he was gradually taking me over, softening me to his charm against my will.

It was the only explanation for why I wanted to touch his hair to see if it was as soft as I imagined it was. Or why I enjoyed watching the way his mouth moved when he talked. Or why I liked the way his face looked. All the time. But I liked it best when he blushed.

Yeah, definitely a zombie parasite. It was the only logical explanation, really.

By the time November rolled around, I had successfully managed to avoid Eric Boyt for an entire month, but my luck was bound to run out eventually. As I headed toward Ms. Acker’s room after school, backpack slung over my shoulder, I ran a hand through my newly cut hair, the movement stuttering when I heard familiar voices. Flanked on either side by his posse, Boyt lumbered down the corridor in my direction, and I froze mid-stride, panic clawing at my chest.

They couldn’t hurt me out in the open, not really, but that didn’t mean he would ignore me. He would push me around, maybe throw a punch or two, and then hurry along before he got caught.

Before Boyt had… justbefore, I was more than ready to insult them between punches. Now? I wanted nothing more than toturn around and flee in the opposite direction. But Ms. Acker’s room was right there. I just had to get past them.

“Well, well, well,” Eric drawled as the distance between us lessened, and I locked my knees to hide their shaking as I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Look who we have here, boys.”

I adopted a blank expression, refusing to react.

“You know,” he said, “I owe you a little something for busting up my pretty face.”

I shrugged, acting like he didn’t scare me, even though he did. “I figured it was an improvement, but you don’t have to thank me.”

Eric’s buddies, three in total, rolled their muscles menacingly behind him, and I almost laughed at the display. My scoff cut short as Eric lunged, taking me by surprise as his hands fisted in my shirt. My brain rattled when my back met the wall. My stomach churned and skin crawled as I smelled his now-familiar cologne. I swallowed bile, and fought against the memory threatening to drag me under.

“I’d watch that smart mouth of yours, bitch, before I find a better use for it.”

A rather hysterical and inconvenient laugh bubbled past my lips. “You begging me to suck your cock now, Boyt? Because I’ll be honest, I’m really not interested.”

His fist smashed into my gut, forcing the air from my lungs. I wheezed as pain crackled through my torso, and I groaned through clenched teeth.

“Looks like you need another lesson in respect,” he said, and I was back in the bathroom. Oh God, I was back there, and the faucet wasdrip, drip, dripping,and everything was cucumber melon.

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