Broken

• Chapter 1 •

- CLEMENTINE -

I groan as my alarm goes off.

Isn't one of the perks of being home-schooled supposed to be that you don't have to wake up ridiculously early for school? Nope, not according to Mr. Knobhead. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise! He says.

I snort. What a load of bullshit. I go to bed early because I'm lifeless, wake up early because I am forced to, and I still hate broccoli, math, and my bank account.

Okay, to be fair, my bank account is okay. I've been saving up for years with my job at the car shop, for when I move out and go to Columbia. Hopefully. And my allowance isn't bad. Ugh, so what one of those things is true? I've been working my ass off for this money, it has nothing to do with waking up early.

I sigh. Who am I even fighting with? I mentally curse my inability to be up before the sun sets as I slip into the shower and torture myself with freezing water. Wake up, Clementine.

An intense smell of pancakes fills my nostrils as soon as I step out of my bathroom and pull a pair of jeans and sweater on. My stomach grumbles like an angry giant, but my eyebrows knit together in apprehension. I live alone. Who the hell broke in and decided to make pancakes?

I pick up a bat and shuffle to the kitchen, jumping back in surprise when I see who it is.

"Morning, sweetie."

"Hi, mom... What are you doing here?"

She smiles brightly. "I just landed from LA and I wanted to surprise you," she says as she pulls me into her arms.

I hug her back tightly, her familiar scent lingers in the air and brings back warm feelings. "I missed you," I tell her softly.

"I've missed you, too," she says with a light squeeze.

"So, I have news! But ugh, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll tell you at dinner tonight," she tells me.

I frown. "Dinner? Out? Like, me and you? Together, in public?" I'm so confused.

She nods, "Well, it's a private restaurant. And your dad coming too, of course," she smiles.

My heart leaps. "What's the occasion?" I ask suspiciously, last time we had a family dinner out in public was after my eighth-grade-graduation. Which to her defense, she did attend... Over Skype. Still.

My dad was there. Brandon's the best, but even he was in disguise. It's not like I blame them, I know they're doing it to protect me. After everything happened, mom became paranoid. He changed her, and I'm not surprised. He changed me, too. But he affected my mother the most.

She left for a while after everything happened. Needing to find peace or some shit. And I understand it, he did shit that took a major toll on her. It was just me and Brandon for a long time. Then she came back, and ever since, she has been doing everything in her power to hide me.

The main idea is, if ever he were to come back, he wouldn't know what I look like, and I'll have a shot at a normal life. Or something like that.

So, they've set me up in an apartment ten minutes from their house after my eighth-grade graduation. I lived with Nina—who was practically my grandmother, even though we weren't related—until I turned sixteen, she passed away. It was hard, but time has turned pain into memory.

Most eighth graders would just hope for a new phone or something for their birthday... Not a damn apartment. But I suppose it's easier. Besides, Brandon is here almost every day. He can't stay away from his baby girl.

"I told you, I'll tell you tonight," she tells me with a smirk.

Agh, what is it? Why won't she just say? I hate waiting. And surprises. Are they going to ship me off to Switzerland? I wouldn't be surprised with the outcome of our last family dinner out.

I shrug it off and ask about her latest trip, she has been gone to LA for God knows what. Probably another movie deal, or to talk to her manager, or something. I barely know her whereabouts anymore. She explains that she saw Benji and Emoni, and that they send me their love.

I smile at this, Benji and Emoni are my favorite adults. I've missed them terribly over the years. They visited during Christmas, but it's been a while now.

Summer's almost over, and I'm starting senior year in a few weeks. Well, senior year inside the apartment... But that's the same thing, right? Mr. Knobhead—ahem, Knobhad—insists on starting some material already to get me prepared, but nothing is graded yet.

One more year, Clementine. One more year of waking up at six, one more year of home-schooling until eternal freedom.