Broken Bad Boy novel Chapter 6

PERCIE

Fourteen months ago.

My life was doomed the moment I walked out of the house where I grew up. I just lost everyone I loved. I lost my home, Emma, my family, friends, and even myself. I knew I was still alive because I could still feel the excruciating pain when I thought of them. 

My old life two months ago was near perfect, and everything went according to plan until that incident had drastically changed my life.

I loathed myself. But I guessed I deserved to feel every agonizing pain I felt right now.

When I arrived at my grandparent’s house, they were already waiting for me. I could see the pain in their eyes. 

I cried until I gave up, but the pain was still there. It was even worse. 

I couldn’t eat. The food was upsetting my stomach. 

I couldn’t sleep. The nightmare was constantly visiting me the moment I closed my eyes. 

I kept myself awake, listening to our favorite songs over and over again until my ears gave up. 

I avoided them getting into me, afraid that if they got closer, I would lose them too. 

I stayed in my room for two weeks. They brought food for me every meal. The first week, I almost collapsed. I couldn’t stomach what I put into my mouth. 

I was too weak to get up. 

My vision blurred. My world spun. 

I started shivering and sweating at the same time. At that moment, I wanted to die, but at the same time, I had a promise to keep. That was how I realized that I still had one reason left to live—Emma and the promise I made.

The second week, I had no news about Emma. That depressed me too much. My parents never contacted me when I left that day. Grandpa told me that Emma wasn’t transferred to the rehab center. She got an infection last week before her scheduled transfer. She had to take some antibiotics until she’d be free from infection. 

That news broke my heart again. I took the courage to text Chloe that she might have news about Emma since they were close friends. Unfortunately, she didn’t tell me much other than the news that I already knew. 

The third week came, I was hopeless and miserable, and it was killing me slowly. I never showered, never shaved, never brushed my teeth, and never changed clothes. I barely ate, just to keep myself from staying alive. I guessed I wasn’t ready to die after all. It still scared me shitless.

Finally, I used the bathroom. I stripped my clothes off and stepped into the cold running water. I was shivering. I wasn’t numb after all. I felt the icy water pricking my skin. My teeth started to grit. I held as strong as I could to stop from chattering. 

I reached for the razor that I placed in the soap dish with my trembling hand. I ran my thumb against the blade to test if it was sharp enough—it stung, it hurt, it bled. My skin split open. Blood started running through the water. 

I shut my eyes closed, blocking every horrible memory I had as I placed the blade on my wrist above my pulse. I pressed and deepened the sharp edge into my skin. 

I held my breath. My heart beat faster. I could feel my pulse against the thing that could end my miserable life while I shut the agonizing pain from my now bleeding wrist. Warm liquid continued running through my wrist. Then I thought of Emma.