Page 5 of Breaker

I broke the vase on purpose, and it was like he knew I did.

Sometimes I get mad and break things. I don’t know why. Nanny says there’s a monster living in my chest who makes me break rules and talk back, and it’s my job to tame him. Funny because I looked and looked and don’t know how a monster got in my chest. There’s no way for him to get in my body besides through my mouth. I know I would have remembered him crawling down my throat. But maybe she’s right. Sometimes I just feel bad inside and don’t really know why.

Sometimes I think he got into my chest because of the endless blue Father saved me from. The place myotetssaid he found me. The bad room where it was cold as ice. Because whenever I think about the endless blue, I get that bad feeling in the center of my chest and can’t breathe. Like the monster issqueezing my insides, and that scares me even more. Like maybe the monster’s going to kill me one day. And all I can picture is a blue monster with black claws and rotted sharp teeth sitting inside me, trying to get out and do bad things.

My otetstold me that my real father, the man who made me, was a monster, so maybe that’s why I have the badness in me.

“Stop wiggling,gentilegarcon!“ Nanny whisper-shouts. “Mr. Byrns is expecting you to act like a good boy, not a monster.”

Fisting my hands at my sides, I keep still as a statue like thesoldatsI saw in the school last month. The tour father gave me was just us walking across the front yard and into his office. He let me look at the books in his library while he talked with Commander Maxim. That’s when the gross feeling started. When I was alone, and it was quiet and all I could hear was my breathing. I didn’t like it. I tapped my chest over and over, trying to make noise, like I did in the blue room before Father came for me, but it didn’t help. So, I tapped the vase. I liked the idea of it breaking open the way my chest felt like it needed to. So, I pushed it over.

Or the monster did.

That’s when Father came in and he whipped my bottom. He said good soldiers didn’t give in to temptations like I just did. When I told him I felt like I needed to break it to make myself breathe better, he saidsoldatscontrol those feelings. I felt bad then, but then Father told me if I work hard, and train even harder, I will be a good soldier. Maybe even the best because I’ve had him as myotetslonger than my brothers.

I haven’t met my brothers yet, but I will today.

The sound of a car door slamming outside makes Nanny jump. She pats my cheek and rushes to the little window overthe kitchen sink, leaning over the dirty pans and dishes from breakfast to look outside.

Her fingers tighten on the sink edge for a minute like she’s really excited, and then she fluffs her hair. Nanny always gets so nervous when Father comes to visit. She messes with her hair and pinches her cheeks. I want to tell her she’s pretty and that Father will still like her even if she doesn’t pinch her cheeks to make them pink, but the last time I did her whole face turned red and she told me to be quiet about things I didn’t understand.

“Put your dishes in the sink,gentilegarcon,“ she tells me, straightening the hem of her yellow dress with blue flowers all over it. Nanny glances toward the foyer. “And be sure to answer all Mr. Byrns’ questions respectfully.”

“Yes, Nanny,” I say as the doorbell chimes. Then I hear the front door open and close. Nanny scurries out of the kitchen. I open my mouth to tell her not to run, but I clamp it shut and turn to my plate.

Before I can pick it up and put it in the sink, I hear myotetsbehind me.

“Gentile garcon,“ he coos. Forgetting I’m not supposed to run inside, I turn and sprint to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, but he doesn’t get cross. He just peels me off and sets me back. Father leans down, hands on his thighs and smiles. “Are you ready for your first day at the school?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him, my belly feeling all squiggly like happy caterpillars are dancing inside me when he nods his approval, and I see Nanny smile behind him. “I’m ready to learn to be a goodsoldat.”

Father touches my hair as he stands upright, still smiling. “You’re a good boy,” he says. “And to be a good soldier means you have to leave your past behind. Do you understand?”

I don’t. But I nod and grin, because I like it when Father smiles at me. He always does if I smile first. He says my smileis infectious, which I think means he’s catching my smile like a stomach bug.

“Emilia, get the scissors and the clippers.”

I don’t know why Nanny starts crying, but she does. “Do you have to?” she asks, wiping her eyes. “His hair is so pretty.”

Father casts her that mean look he gets when someone doesn’t listen, making me wonder if he’s got a monster, too. “Emilia, get the scissors.”

“Yes, sir,” she says and scurries away.

Father points to the center of the kitchen. “Stand there, son.”

“Yes, sir,” I say and do my best to keep still when Nanny returns and hands him scissors, then sets the clippers on the table. Father grips one of my curls and pulls it straight. The sound of metal slicing through my lock makes my stomach sick. Like when I sneak extra cookies and then my belly groans and churns.

Father takes another lock and pulls it straight, then cuts again.

That bad feeling returns, not in my stomach, but in my chest. The monster. I want to kick Father’s shin to make him stop cutting my locks off because I like my hair. No one else in the village has hair like mine. Nanny uses oils that smell like almonds and smokey wood, along with a comb at night to keep my locks clean and untangled. Now father is chopping them away, and it makes my chest feel tight and angry. The monster in me wants to break free and break the scissors.

So, I do.

I grab the scissors and drop them to the ground, using my new boots to smash them, but they’re metal and don’t break. Nanny gasps. When I look up, I see Father’s ice eyes watching me in a way that makes my legs feel like running and me feel like hiding.

Instead of taking the belt to my bottom like he did when I broke the vase, Father picks up the scissors without a word and cuts my hair again.

“Do you remember the story of the day I rescued you?”

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