a broken world

every morning she wakes up at 4 o'clock sharp — after all, who needs an alarm clock when the screaming is so loud? she crawls out of bed and makes her way to the bathroom as quietly as possible, tiptoeing past the shattered glass (the remnants of their last vase) and holding her breath against the stench of liquor and stale cigarettes.

no lights are on, of course. the bulbs are all broken or burned out, so she's gotten used to the dark. there's only two temperature settings in the moldy shower, cold and colder — why would he pay for a water heater after the last piece of shit one broke, after all.

she showers quickly, shivering under the freezing spray. as soon as she's done, she gets dressed and scurries back across the house to her room, still trying not to alert them that she's there. not that they'd hear her past their shouting and her mother's crying, anyway.

she closes the door to her room as silently as possible — which is not quiet at all, with one hinge missing and the other one in desperate need of oil or replacement. wincing at the noise, she tiptoed to her small, cracked mirror that hung crookedly on a single nail above her nightstand (which was only a rickety old wooden box she'd found on their lawn one day after school).

lighting a candle carefully, she began applying her makeup as fast as possible.  it was the only light source she had and soon it would be gone. she didn't know if she'd be able to scrounge up enough money to buy another any time soon, or if she'd be able to beg one off somebody.

sighing as she finished with her makeup, she blew the candle out and looked at her watch. (actually, it'd been some homeless guy's watch, but she traded it for three days worth of lunch money and a tasteless sandwich.) it was 5 minutes ahead and had a crack in the screen but it still worked so she held on to it.

sighing again, she noticed that the yelling had stopped but the loud sobbing hadn't. she heard something shatter and her shoulders slumped. more alcohol and glass to clean up later, when her mom was passed out in her bedroom and he was "working."

she shrugged on her jacket and swung her backpack onto her shoulder, grabbing her keychain and shoving it into her pocket as she climbed out the barely-there "window." (it was really just garbage bags and bits of hard plastic duct taped together haphazardly.) carefully replacing the hodgepodge of cheap plastic in it's place, she began to walk quickly and quietly out of the run down neighborhood she lived in, heading toward the east, where she could barely see tiny rays of sun struggling past the midnight blue that still covered the sky.

slowly the houses she passed went from run down shacks, to half-decent homes, to expensive apartments, and finally the upscale, expensive houses. turning into a development of newly built and half-finished homes she ran to the end of the street, to the only house older than 3 years.

she dropped her backpack off under the trees in the backyard and quickly scaled the side of the house, making it to her best friend's open window. clambering in, she found her friend already awake, waiting for her. his eyes were bloodshot and he had a bruise on his cheek. she sighed, crossing the room easily in the dim light (she always felt like she was in a monk's room when she was here) and sitting next to him. as she got closer, the less obvious damage became clear. his lips was cracked and had been bleeding it appeared. it was also starting to swell.

he tried to smile at her but winced at the pain. she just shook her head, taking his hand and pulling him into his bathroom (which was equally as clean as his bedroom and even more organized). by memory she knew where the rubbing alcohol and the first aid kit were. sitting him down on the counter she went to work, cleaning his lip and putting a "healing" balm on the cut. looking him over very carefully, she bandaged any injuries she found that needed attention.

once she was done she gave him the okay to move. he hopped off the counter, wincing slightly and hugged her. she hugged him back, holding her tears so he wouldn't see how much it hurt her to see him like this.

pulling back, she took his hand again and dragged him back into his room. she gave him a look and without a word her question came clearly. are you going to school? his answer came back just as silently, only through a look. no. go ahead.

she raised an eyebrow but shook her head, this time saying what she wanted to aloud. "no. i'm not leaving you alone." he shook his head, just like her, in return, his voice coming out raspy and quiet. he didn't speak much. he never had.

"you've skipped too much for me."

she just raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything more, but he knew what she was thinking. i'd do anything for you.

holding up a finger in a gesture of hold on a second, she climbed silently out of the window again and returned moments later with her backpack. he shook his head slightly, unsure of how she could do that, even if she had been climbing that wall for more than half her life to see him.

she smiled gently as she sat next to him again. he could see through the smile, though, and didn't return one. he was sure he'd forgotten how to smile, actually. slowly, hers faded and she just laid her head on his shoulder, entwining their hands and closing her eyes.

he closed his eyes, too, because he knew she was going to cry and he didn't want to see her cry. she thought to herself in the silence, waiting for him to break it if he wanted to because she never did. there was never awkward silences with them and she liked the quiet anyway, even if he didn't sometimes (most of the time).

for once, she realized, he was okay with the stillness too. she relaxed on his shoulder, leaning her body into his.

he opened his eyes again and saw the tears sliding down her cheeks and even though he didn't want to see it, he couldn't look away because she was beautiful.

and that was all he needed, and that was all she needed.

each others' hand to hold in their broken world.