Chapter One: I'm Already Broken

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Yo yo yo everyone! Just wanted to say a few things before you get started... again. Y/N means your name, pretty self explanatory but I feel like I need to include it. Another warning, this is going to be very mature and I don't want anyone to get mad over it since this first chapter gets right to the point of "your" life. It could also be very triggering because self harm and child abuse is involved and I apologize in advance. I want this story to feel real at the beginning. Please read with caution. And again, I'm sorry for any triggering topics that are to come.

Your POV:

I lay in bed not wanting to get up because I know I'll be disappointed just like in the past. It's my birthday. I'm engulfed in the darkness of the early morning. The deep blue sky starts to shine through my blinds as it nears six A.M. I sigh as I think about the night before.

"Another year... 16 years of this living Hell hole I live in. In just two years I can actually run away and be free".

My alarm goes off as it hits six A.M. I wanted to smack it off but I just gently press the off button since it wouldn't change anything. I look at my wrists that had what was fresh cuts from last night which started to slightly scab over. The fact that I self harm doesn't stun me any more. I've been doing it since I've been 12.

"What to wear..." I sighed.

Today doesn't feel special at all but I should at least act like it...

I ruffle through my closet to find something long sleeved to hide my cuts, but also light since it is a bit warm. I pull out a classy black cardigan, a white and blue striped loose tank top, and high waisted black skinny jeans. I throw the clothes on and tie my tank into a knot in the front since it was a bit too basic.

Cute... Hopefully someone will notice I tried to look nice...

There's no excitement in my face. Almost as if I didn't have any emotion, which is the total opposite because there's a volcano of them about to erupt inside me. I walk to my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Afterwards I look at myself.


I decide to make a little braid in my hair.

It is my birthday and I should be "happy" and look "happy" or some shit like that.

I grab some makeup and stuff it deep into my backpack. I put on a pair of black, worn out combat boots since it's all my parents cared to provide for me.

Why do I even bother going to school?

It's around 6:20 A.M. and I walk out my room to go to the kitchen. I walk through the living room to see my dad passed out on the couch with about seven beer bottles laying around him. Walking through the living room, my mom's door is open revealing herself asleep on the floor holding a flask and an empty pill bottle.

"Of course..." I sigh as I continue walking.

I decide to make toast and place two slices of bread in the toaster. I pour myself some almond milk to drink while I wait for my food. After about eight minutes the toast pops out with a loud ding.

"SHUT THAT THING UP" my mom yells at the unexpected sound.

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP LADY" my dad yells back at her.

My mom storms out of her room stomping into the kitchen to face me.


I examine her anger. Heavy breathing with the stench of alcohol from her breath. Eyes wide in rage with bags under them. She stares me down waiting for a reply from me.



My mom turns to face the direction my dad is.

"YOU IMPREGNATED ME WITH THIS THING SO YOU SHUT UP" she screams turning back to me.

I stay silent with a blank facial expression.

Are you kidding me...

My mom shoots daggers at me with her eyes then slaps me. The sound of her hand across my face seemed louder than when she was yelling.


She shakes her hand a bit while I cup the area she hit with my hand. I stare her in the eyes with hatred.

"... Fuck you".

And with that I toss my backpack over one shoulder, grab the two pieces of toasted bread, and turn on my heel to the door. I slam the door with all my anger powered strength and run down the street.

... Normal morning...

I eat the two pieces of toasted bread then pull a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out my backpack. I stick the cig between my lips and light it up covering the flame from the wind until I have fully lit the tip. Reaching for my backpack pocket, I shove the pack and lighter back into it. I take a nice and long inhale from my cig and then puff it out.

I'm too broken to get worse or better...

My face blank from what appears to be non existent emotion. I still can't decide if I'm sad or angry with life. Or if I really am broken... I take another puff and continue to walk to school.

Ok hello. That was ruff, I know. Hey that rhymes haha. Sorry, I shouldn't be joking after a stressful first chapter. I promise you that "your" life will get better. While I was writing this I thought to myself that I need a happy story to make after this... meaning I'm most likely going to write a happier and not as "real" version once I finish this story. I also wanted to let you guys know, if you're dealing with self harm, child abuse, suicidal thoughts, etc. there are phone numbers for you to call where people want to help you out. You can rant to them and those people will do everything they can to help reduce your problem. You really aren't alone :)
Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Self harm hotline: 1-800-366-8288
There's a few numbers to call if you're dealing with any of them, there are many more online so don't be afraid to search it up and call them. You're amazing :)

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