So I don't own anything. Sorry for the OOCness.

This is kind of based something I saw on Wattpad. Anybody heard of Saving Elliot (ugh my heart)? Yeah, you could tell I was inspired.

Chapter 6

Heartbreaker's Strings

Piper

I couldn't believe I almost told him. Stupid. Stupid. This was why you put up a force field around yourself, Piper, so you can't let anyone in. My music blasted into my ear as we jogged back, the beat thumping into my head. I purposely chose not to say anything, personally because I felt like there was nothing to say after warning somebody you might fuck up their heart. There was something in his eyes, akin to the sounds of porcelain shards shattering, like I broke all the strings inside of him- but no, that wasn't the case. I was trying to prevent that from happening by giving a fair warning. The first thing I'll notice from Sparky was how violently blue his eyes were, electrifyingly terrifying by the way they seemed able to burn your skin more than any passing remark but when his smile spilt open his face and those eyes became friendly.

Yes, I was afraid I might've cut some strings inside of him. But it was better than being utterly unrepairable.

Relief flooded back into Jason's expression when he saw the familiar rise of the campus buildings. His cheeks were puffy red, panting out like a dog in heat, but I turned away almost immediately in aloofness so he wouldn't catch me looking.

Finally, we sprinted the last hundred metres into the school's courtyard, entering the open fence chainlink. Coach Hedge yelled at us upon our arrival, screaming we were "a bunch of slowpoke cupcakes". He said the word cupcake so often I was beginning to suspect a possible fetish.

And it was then the realization dawned on me that it had been thirty minutes since I had my last cigarette.

I walked over to my hidden spot, the bench behind my dorm where Mr Brunner wouldn't catch me while I was taking a drag personally because I was mentally ill-prepared for a battle of wits or another detention. Then there was a spark, a fizz of a red black flame, the smell of smoke and then I was heaving through corrupted lungs, the nicotine stale in my mouth, the cherry tip guiding me.

The last time I came here was with Jason. I folded my legs and looked around, remembering the tingle travelling up my spine when we first kissed, our lips colliding. It was such a good kiss; a kiss that melt between us, the kind of kiss that told me every other kiss I had was wrong.

I thought of how we would look to other people- a blond, pale boy and a dark-skinned girl. What an unlikely pair. The boy who wants to be a saint and the girl who paid her dues in sins.

For the past few days, it was no secret I was avoiding him. And I knew he knew it too. He had that kicked puppy expression, mouth drooping every time I turned the opposite direction in the halls. I wished he understood I didn't want to hurt him- everything I touch, their strings snap. Like scissors over a sewing seam, like something heavy on something fragile.

I'm like a hurricane that forgot how to breathe. But that's okay because I filled my lungs with other things, such as gravel, wine, cigarette smoke, shards of broken hearts.

"Everything you touch, they break. You're a heartbreaker, Piper Mclean, and that's all you'll ever be." I can't remember who told me that because all the people whose heart I've broken...their voices kind of blend into one. I was surprisingly unhurt by that statement and I wore the title with pride- clearly with wine-stained lips and hardened eyes- because it was the only title I had.

Victim: Isaac Yurok. When: Sixth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

The first pair of strings I've ever broke was in sixth grade. His name was Isaac, he was my first kiss, I was twelve years old and had no idea what was going on. Isaac was my next door neighbour in Oklahoma; we grew up together, riding bikes to the nearby pond to feed the ducks. It was like a daily ritual that almost everyday we would bring two pieces of bread to the bridge and toss chunks of it while discussing general topics.

Isaac's ancestry was Native American as well so naturally we were bound to get along- he wasn't a Cherokee though. He was part of the Hupa tribe. Isaac was like every other twelve year old boy, with their interests never extending far from football and video games, so it kind of a shock when he asked me:

"Hey, Pipes?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever kissed somebody?"

I was kind of baffled so it took me a while to answer. "You mean, besides my dad?"

Isaac laughed nervously. Even then, it was obvious that Isaac was going to be extremely good-looking. "Yeah."

"No."

He feigned interest at the algae gathering by the legs of the bridge. "Me too." There was a soft silence of birds quaking. The day was kind of beautiful: thin wisps of silky clouds float through the hollow turquoise sky as the sun bathed the whole world in it's radiant incandescent light.

"Do...you...wanna try?" Isaac wondered, looking at me anxiously.

"Uh..." I didn't really know what to say. "I guess?"

"Cool." Another awkward pause. "So should I...?"

"Um...okay..."

Isaac leaned over and I could see every detail of his face; those long lashes fluttering, the amber of his eyes ever so present, his big brown curls bouncing, the curve of his nose and a sense of panic swell in my chest but before I knew it, I felt his lips on mine.

It was...awkward.

There was no tongue, of course, but his lips just felt solid...so hard against mine. It lasted two seconds.

"Wow," he stared at me in this dazed way. Why was he saying 'wow'? It was not that spectacular.

The few days after the kiss, it was like there was this invisible string tied betwene us. Isaac became bsessed with me. I mean, he would follow me around school, he smiled at me more times than he usually did and there was once when I was walking down the hallway and he just walked up to me to hold my hand.

"What are you doing?" I flinched.

"Well, I'm holding your hand."

"Yeah, that's wrong."

"Why is it wrong?"

"Because you never hold my hand."

"Well, maybe I want to change that." I blinked at him. Was he serious?

"What do you mean you want to change that? We've been friends for nearly nine years and you've never held my hand."

"Because," he whispered so softly, gazing at me, "I...was hoping, well…" Spit it out, I thought, uncharacteristically annoyed. After all, he hadn't really done anything particularly wrong. "I was hoping we could be...together."

"We're always together after school, Isaac."

A flush came faintly on his cheeks. "I mean, like kissing...and stuff."

"Um, okay."

"Okay?

"Yeah, okay."

It was never going to last with Isaac. Isaac was incredibly boring. All he ever wanted to talk about was how he managed to score some impossibly high score on Minecraft or whatever, or how well he did in sports. He would always listen to the same mediocre punk-rock band who weren't even that good or that original, no matter how awesome it was he claimed. He always had the same brand of chips, watched the same type of movies and drank the same type of soft drink. I couldn't remember the last time I had an intelligent conversation with him and I couldn't even remember if we ever did had an intelligent conversation. Maybe it was best that we remained the friends who went to the pond together to feed the ducks.

"Hey, Isaac?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up from a game of Clash of Clans.

"I was thinking we should break up." There. I said it. Fast, to the point and straightforward. Like pulling off a bandaid.

"What?"

I sighed slowly. "Break up, dude. We should break up."

"But…" He faltered. There was no sound except for the buzzing of his iPhone. "I thought we were…"

"I don't know," I claimed lamely. "I'm kind of bored. Aren't you?" Because you're inadequately interesting.

He was injured, recoiling, eyes flashing. "No. Why?"

"Because...I don't know." I winced at my repetition. "I'm….just...I think we should break up, y'know?"

He clenched his teeth harshly, gritting them. "Fine." He stood up and left my house, slamming the front door behind him.

Let's just say we never fed the ducks together anymore.

Victim: Caleb Wintry. When: Summer of Sixth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

Caleb was a much better kisser. Well, better than Isaac anyway. But he wilted against Jason.

Victim: Sawyer Green. When: Seventh Grade Winter Break. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

Sawyer was a poet. He strung words together, connect them like jigsaw puzzles and left an impression of me, had me bubbling in amazement and fascination at his articulation and made me obsessed with dead poets. He was kind of a nerd and not my type, with his large glasses and big crooked nose. He would write these idealistic poems about me, something about my mahogany hair and whatnot, my monumental curves and painting me in lights of a goddess...though I was pretty sure he did the same for all the girls he ever romanced. He was probably the only teenager I've ever seen shamelessly used the word 'thou' but he was the reason why I started reading.

We dated for six months.

It was a Tuesday when we broke up. The Smiths was playing softly on the stereo in the background and he was studying for the test, softly humming to the tune as I stared at the ceiling.

"Take me home tonight," he sung, tapping his foot lightly to the percussion, and he doesn't have that bad of a voice actually. Maybe if he worked on it, he could become famous or whatever. "Where's that music and there's people who are young and alive…"

"You sing nicely," I remembered saying after a few verses in.

He blushed faintly, roses colouring his cheeks. "Thanks, Piper. I've written a poem about you." I resisted the biting comment: You're always writing poems about me. He cleared his throat: "She's of wine-stained lips and broken shards/ Sometimes she's here but sometimes she's far/ With empty places and empty hearts/ She sees people for who they are."

"Wow." And I actually meant it. It was one of the few that I liked.

"Thanks."

"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die," he hummed, his lilt enchanting the room. He smiled at me, in that adorably angelic way, while his cheeks puffed out. "What you're thinking about?"

"Hmm?" I mumbled absently. "Oh, uh, nothing."

He leaned forward on his chair and gazed at me teasingly, then prodded me on my shoulder. "Come on, tell me!"

"I was..uh...thinking about breaking up."

Beat.

The realization of my words dawned on him and the happiness completely vanished from his face. Every trace of it.

"What?"

"I want to break up."

He looked inexplicably sad- no, not sad. Utterly crushed. I tried to feel sad too but I couldn't. What was wrong with me? It was like Isaac all over again, the memories bitter and ripe in my mind, but worse, because Sawyer was a sweetheart. It was like killing Bambi.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely.

"Oh," he was so lost. "Okay."

I swallowed painfully. "Sawyer, I'm…"

"It's okay."

"I'll...uh...see you around."

I ran out of his room like it was on fire. The next time I saw him was at a local restaurant. It was six months later and he was in a band now. No longer geeky Sawyer with his journals of poems. He avoided eye contact with me as he said: "This song is about a girl who tore my heart open."

The drums kicked in first, then the guitar riff followed. And later, Sawyer's voice:

She's of wine-stained lips and broken shards

Sometimes she's here but sometimes she's so far

She wears an empty heart on her sleeve

Because she likes to snap those strings

The song eventually finished with a rousing applause. My father told me they were kind of spectacular and imagined them to be famous a few years down the road. I nodded along and feigned specific interest at my shoes. He asked me if I knew who the girl was in the song and I replied that I had no idea.

Victim: Lance Whitecross. When: Summer in California before Eighth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

Her father was never around anymore. And Lance provided a suitable, kissable distraction.

Victim: David Markell. Victim: Jamie Alridge. Victim: Chris Kamps. Victim: Angelo Locatelli. When: Eighth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

I only remembered sporadic bursts of my love life in eighth grade and they came flooding back in strangest details, small tiny favourites of all the boys' strings I'd ever snapped:

David.

He was half Irish and half Asian.

He was an actual redhead.

His favourite colour was maroon.

He loved ice cream, possibly more than he ever loved me.

And he kissed gently, not rough like the way I want it to be.

Jamie.

He was a New Yorker.

He loved baseball.

His number was 809-234-7554.

And he always smelled of pine aftershave.

Chris.

He bought me my first cigarette carton.

He liked heavy metal.

His birthday was sometime in September.

He had an older brother literally named Talon.

Angelo.

Due to his heritage, he really really liked spaghetti.

He spoke Italian.

He was a great cook and made fantastic pesto.

He was my first time.

His favourite word was 'regime'.

Victim: Dylan Pierce. When: Ninth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

Funnily enough, Dylan was a manwhore, he sinned as much as I did and he went through girls as swiftly as I went through boys. He would play girls. He would pretend he cared about them so he could sleep with them and never call hem the next day. I guess I kind of did that too. But at least people knew what they were getting into when they want me.

The thing about Dylan was that we knew what we were when we first laid eyes on each other. It was at a party thrown by some bitch I didn't even like at my third or fourth private school- I couldn't remember. Dylan's eyes were grey and cloudy, probably because he was on his fifth beer, and though he was staggering and enunciating words like a severely brain-damaged three year old, it didn't take long for us to hook up on the backseat of his dad's Jeep. Sure, I was fifteen but I was well-versed in lust.

Dylan was hot, extremely hot with grey eyes and tousled sandy hair, and because of that I hooked up with him more times than I would care to admit but there was nothing really beyond that because frankly Dylan was kind of an obnoxious asshole who think he's all that. He was hot and that was the only reason I put up with him. But I'm materialistic like that: I see a face and not feelings.

This was how our break up went.

"Jesus," I arched my back, my body shaking in waves of pleasure. My head curled in the satisfaction that Dylan was by far the best fuck I've ever had and the further I've ever went, according to the base system. First, second, third base base base and home run baby. "God…"

Dylan smirked, "Good."

I rolled my eyes and we disentangled, falling back into the sheets. "Fucking amazing."

"So do you think we can do that again sometime?" He always asked that question after we were done.

"Maybe," I shrugged nonchalantly, reaching for a boot. "It depends." On how long it'll take me to get kicked out. Again.

"Well, uh…" he trailed off, looking at me with those grey eyes. "In case you change your mind." I didn't.

"Yeah."

"Cool."

I zipped up my jeans, slipped on my bra, then shirt and head out. I never saw Dylan again and I still haven't changed my mind.

Victim: Leo Valdez. When: Tenth Grade. Breaker: Piper Mclean.

"Those cigarettes are going to kill you one day, Beauty Queen," was what he said on the day we broke up and honestly, he said it so many times it was kind of insignificant but it was the only thing I could remember Leo ever since.

"So?" I shrugged. "Let it."

We were in his dorm, much to chagrin of the no opposite sex in a room rule, and he was working on some major engineering project or whatever, I didn't really care.

"They're not good for you," he continued, not looking as he sketched a circle on a blueprint.

"I'm not good for you, Leo," I reminded him, lips curving around my cigarette. "Never stopped you before."

He tilted his head up, then craned his neck to take a good look at me, soaking me up, digesting the fact that I was- for a fleeting moment- his. "True," he admitted wistfully and smiling sardonically, "I can't win with you, can I?"

"Nobody wins with me, Valdez."

They were silent for a while, except for the sound of Leo's pencil scratching his paper and the chatter of next door dorm mates talking. I've been at the Wilderness for six months and I've kind of liked it, or maybe it just grown on me. I kind of liked Leo because he was funny and maybe one of the few people who truly mattered. But of course, for the sake of keeping routine and upholding my heartbreaker reputation, I didn't think about it.

"So how come you're mad at Thalia?"

"How come you care?"

He blinked. "Well- because- I-" He gaped at me, like a fish out of water. "I love you." Every other girl would've framed the moment and put it on the wall because goddamn, he said it. He said those three words. But I just get pissed, y'know? I didn't want people to love me because I'll just destroy them. How do you know what is love anyway? There was no defining term. Leo was a sixteen year old boy. He didn't know love at all. And I did but I didn't have it.

"Well, I don't."

"You what?"

"Yeah, I don't love you," I exhaled, smoke jutting out out like clouds. "Can we break up?"

"What?" His confusion was giving way to hurt. "I thought we-"

"I'm not good for you, Leo."

"But-"

"I'm sorry."

"We both know you're not."

I smiled bitterly, way too bitterly for a sixteen year old. "Yeah."

"You're heartless, Piper Mclean. A heartless bitch."

I sighed. "Tell me somebody I don't know." I knew my cue in this play now so I showed myself the way out.

Out of all the breakups I've committed, Leo was the one I had with most clarity because it was the most recent and strangely potent, probably because it was the first time I was aware I didn't have a heart- or maybe I did, but I lost it when my Dad decided he didn't want have anything to do with me.