Chapter 1: Broken Home
Emptiness. It was the only way I could describe this feeling inside of me. I couldn't feel anymore; nothing mattered. I was numb. Numb from the crying, numb from the fighting, numb from all the pain."You are just worthless, Trisha! You can't hold a job, you can't keep track of those kids, you just sit around and doing nothing, you are pathetic!" The words are harshly spit at my mother yet I am the one in pain from them. A silent tear takes a leap from eye and makes a trail down my cheek, wetting the dry track marks from before. I slide down the hallway way, my knees curling into my stomach. The screams and hurtful words muffle when I cover my ears, not wanting to hear it anymore. That is all that has been happening for the past two weeks. My sisters are never home because of it, and I am drowning in misery. The words, the hatred, the loss of love, it is all too much. I don't know why it started but it is making everyone miserable. All this pain is too torturous. I feel so broken inside and I don't know how to fix it. As I sit on the floor, everything eventually goes numb and silence finally ensues after a slam of what I can only assume is the front door. One of them has left. The fighting has stopped, for now. I wait for a few extra minutes before standing up and walking into the living area. My mother sits on the back of the couch, her face facing the floor, shaky breathes stuttering their way out of her mouth. Once she sees my feet shuffling into view, her head snaps up, fear and surprise filling her red, puffy eyes. Tears still stain her face and unshed tears threaten to still fall. "Oh! Zayn. How much did you hear?" I don't answer her with words. Instead, I give her a broken smile and head for the door, leaving like my father did. Just as I am about to walk into the street, I hear those unshed tears fall from my mother's mouth.
The bar atmosphere gives me a familiar comfort and fills me with a semblance of an emotion. The bar tend gives me a wave and shoves a glass full of whiskey my way. I smile to myself and shake my head. As I sip the drink, I wonder if the bar tender knowing my order comments how much I frequent this place or if it comments of my moral integrity. I snort at the thought and let the alcohol consume all my emotions and feelings. A few minutes goes by before the doors open behind me and everyone seems to freeze in motion I turn to find out why and everything in me stands on end. The young boy standing in the doorway is beautiful; He looks to be around my age with big beautiful brown eyes, floppy brown hair to match, cut short on all sides and kind of in his face. He is tall and lanky but kind of built from what I can tell. Everything about him is breath taking but his beauty isn't what makes me freeze. It is the crestfallen look painted on his face and the hint of bruises covering his face. After a few moments of staring, I break from my revere and put my eyes firmly back on my glass. After that, everything goes back to normal. The stranger makes his way to the other side of the bar and seems to keep to himself. He orders what looks like to be a scotch, and sips it quietly, his head bent into an all too familiar position. "So, young lad, where are you from?" I hear the bar tender ask the stranger. He mumbles a response but I am too far to hear. However, I found myself wanting to know where he is from, what he is like, his life story, his favorite things, his fears, everything. It is such a compelling feeling that I must keep myself from getting up from my seat and invading his personal space. Instead, I settle for taking subtle glances at him, silently wondering to myself.
I am too lost in my thoughts about the stranger that I don't notice he is gone until I hear a voice speak from behind me. "You know, staring at people is considered rude."