Broken

Author's note:  My best friend asked me to write a story about her and so I did.  She's a complicated girl with a lot of problems in her life.  She has such low self worth that she lets herself be pulled into this bad relationship over and over again.  She is a broken person and this piece is about her.  I can't promise that the story will make sense to anyone but her, but you can give it a shot.  Ultimately though, this is a story about my best friend for my best friend. 





You never considered yourself a complicated girl.    In fact you always thought you were pretty fucking straightforward.  There are rules you live and love by, rules that are not to be broken.  They aren’t anything any other person wouldn’t expect from their lover, but you like to lay it out on the table, let them know exactly what they are getting into.  This is who I am, love me or fuck off.  It a motto you stick to always. 

There was no room for gray in your life and you refuse to tolerate it.  How many times does a person have to get burned before they realize that all this shit is just a cycle?  Better to cut the whole damned arm off then just taking it piece by piece.  If you don’t, the poison will filter through your blood stream until everything had been corrupted, tainted.  You’ve gone down that path and it’s ugly and beaten.  Too well worn for your taste.  It was a place you never wanted to visit again and yet time after time you find yourself at the threshold once more.  You’re just so fucking tired of being depressed, tired of being broken.  You’re ready to be fixed.

But then how do you fix something that was never put together right in the first place?  You can’t remember a time when you felt normal, felt whole.  There are certain places, certain things and certain people that give you that sense of normalcy you crave.  But the feelings fade and once they’re gone you’re empty again.  Worthless.  No, not worthless, just broken.  And you tell him that.  You tell him that you’re broken and you can’t do this anymore.  He doesn’t quite get the picture.

“I want to fix you.”  The words are sincere even through the shitty phone connection.  You’ve long since learned to sort his lies from his truths.  You wonder why there have to be more lies than truths when it comes to Jared though.  Does he even know?

“Fix me how?” you ask bittery.  It seemed like everything coming out of you is angry lately.  Every word, every syllable is infused with raw emotion that is ignited at the simplest of things.  You try to think back and you can’t even really remember the last time you were truly happy.  It bothers you that you can’t.

“Winter…” his voice trails off and he’s begging to end the conversation.  He usually knows the perfect thing to say to make you come back to him.  Sweet words that make everything feel right.  Right now he’s too drunk to think straight though and he’s probably banking on the idea that maybe you’re just drunk enough to go along with it.

“Don’t fucking start that shit,” you shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you.  This is too hard.  You have never been complicated, so why couldn’t he just follow the God damned rules? 

“I love you, Winter.”  And there are those words.  Those words you love.  Those words you hate.  You want to bite your tongue off before you repeat them back, but you know they’re true.  You’ve never loved anyone quite the way you loved him and those feelings haven’t changed.

“I love you too,” you reply, keeping your cool head, anger fueling you, keeping you awake at this God awful hour of the morning.  “But I’m not coming over.”

“Please,” he begs.  And his voice is so fucking small you almost reach for your keys.  But something stops you.  This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, this doesn’t follow the guidelines or any of your rules.  On the outside you want to say fuck the rules because really, you made them, you can break them if you want to.  But on the inside it tears you up.  The sex is good but can that really be all that it is between the two of you?  You were willing to give it a try but he goes back and forth between loving you one minute and it being all physical the next.  You can’t take the bounciness and that steels you some.

“This is getting old,” you tell him firmly.  “I love you too, but I’m not in love with you anymore.”  He is silent on the other end like someone had just slapped him.  Quietly brooding, trying to come up with his next thought.  You don’t imagine it’s easy because he’s long passed being drunk.  You idly wonder if he’ll even remember this phone call or will you have to have this conversation with him again when he’s sober. 

His words roll of his tongue easier than you would have though.  It disturbs you a little but you push that away.  “You’ll always love me, Winter.  And you’ll always come back.”  You want to blame it on the alcohol but his voice is so crystal clear you find it difficult.  Maybe he’s not as drunk as you thought he was.  Or maybe even in his inebriated state he still manages to find the exact words that cut through you like a lightning bolt.

“Good night, Jared.”  You flip your phone off and stare at the wall ahead of you.  Was that goodbye?  You doubt it.  You doubt if you and Jared will ever have a real goodbye.  Because despite your rules, despite the barriers you put up to protect yourself, he always finds a way to tear them down.  Tear you down.  And you always beg him for more.