Broken by Christa Cervone Read Free Book Online Page B

text message from Nicole:
    Nicole--
    So. . . How was your
football star? Did he score a touchdown?
    Me--
    Not funny!!!!
    Nicole--
    Aww. . . Come on, it’s a
little funny.
    I tossed my phone down, rolled over
and closed my eyes. I became aware of what felt like a photograph
on my bed. I grabbed the object, opened my eyes and lifted it to my
face. It was a picture of Garrett and me at my junior prom. I
realized my entire bed was covered with pictures, letters and
cards. “What the. . .” Everything started rushing back. After Adam
stormed out, my self-destructive behavior had continued. I’d
grabbed some vodka from the cupboard and kept drinking. I’d
searched under my bed for the box that contained all of my memories
of Garrett. Every card, note, picture, even the heart he made for
our first Valentine’s Day was stored in there. This was all I had
of him now and of course, my broken heart.
    The next picture I lifted up was
Garrett and me kissing. He had his acoustic guitar in his hand. The
picture was taken one night when a bunch of us had partied at Wales
Park.
    All the guys had built a
fire, and the girls had brought stuff to make S’mores. It was a
pretty October evening and all of us were wrapped in blankets,
sitting close to the fire to keep warm.
    Garrett had thought it
would be fun to bring his acoustic guitar. He said we could sing
around the campfire like he had done at camp when he was a kid. We
were all having a great time. We sang corny 80’s songs and drank
cheap beer. Once we had finished singing “ Living on a Prayer ,” Garrett got
very serious and everyone quieted down. He stood up and said, “I
want to dedicate this song to the love of my life.” He strummed the
guitar and started to sing, “ Leila, you've
got me on my knees. Leila, I'm begging, darling please,
Leila .” I looked up at him and smiled from
ear to ear. Since the first day we’d met, he’d always sung that
song to me. He said he didn’t care if my name was spelled
differently from the song it was still my song.
    I was sitting on my bed
with my knees pulled up to my chest and my head resting on my
knees. My mind was racing. What the fuck was I doing? Why do I keep
doing this? This is not
helping.
    My cell phone buzzed again and snapped
me from my thoughts. I could feel tears falling down my cheeks
again.
    The text was from Nicole:
    Nicole--
    I’m coming over. You are
in need of another invention.
    Me--
    I’m Fine! You don’t need
to come over.
    Nicole--
    Too late. I’m at your
door, let me in.
    I quickly made my way to the door,
remembering the last time she threatened an intervention and how
she almost kicked my door in. As I opened the door, Nicole was
standing against the door jam with her arms across her chest. It
seriously was a déjà vu.
    “ Well, good morning or
should I say good afternoon.” I could tell by the tone of her voice
she was not impressed with my behavior.
    She pushed her way through my door and
headed for the couch. “Sooo. . . How was Mr. Football star . . .
Was he everything you had hoped for? When are you going to realize
that what you’re doing to yourself is not helping, it is only
making it worse?”
    I looked at her and let out a big sigh.
“I know, I know. . .”
    My stomach began to growl, and I
realized I hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
    “ Can we finish this
downstairs at Danny’s? I’m starving.”
    Nicole looked at me, her eyes scanning
my body up and down. “Yes, we can but you better get your ass in
the shower first because you look like shit.”
    After a long hot shower, I was feeling
better. I threw some comfortable sweats on and we headed
downstairs. Danny, who was standing behind the bar, gave me a
smile. “How was your night last night, Kid?” He laughed.
    “ Ha, ha, ha, very funny,
Danny,” I said sarcastically with a fake smile on my
face.
    Nicole and I grabbed the booth in the
corner. We each took a menu and looked it over. There was an
awkward silence