Kiss of Broken Glass by Madeleine Kuderick Read Free Book Online Page B

to be here?
             It doesn’t matter where I am. The whole world sucks.
    3. What would you do if we let you out?
             I’ll give you one guess.
    Of course, I don’t say what I’m thinking.
    That’s the thing about lies.
    Once you get good at them,
    they feel more natural than the truth,
    almost as automatic as breathing,
    and sometimes when I’m feeling
    low and lost like now,
    I can’t even tell the difference.

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Some Friend I Am
    It was Skylar in the lobby
    making all that commotion,
    because she came back
    with fresh gauze on her arm
    and two curvy, red lines
    bleeding through the cloth like smiles.
    Here’s the problem with that.
    It’s not that I think any less of her
    even though my heart cringes a little
    because I know she wanted to stay clean.
    It’s not that the butterfly’s dead
    even though she named it for me
    and thinking of myself as a dead insect
    sort of sucks.
    It’s not even that I’m worried
    about what’ll happen to Skylar next
    even though the Pomeranian
    is talking to her waaaay too long.
    The problem is this:
    I can’t be there for her
    even though I want to,
    because those two tiny lines
    are a huge freaking trigger
    and they’re making me
    double over and sweat
    until all I can think about
    is ripping apart my own cuts
    with my shaky bare hands.
    How screwed up is that?

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I Hate It When People Say
    If cutting’s so bad, you should just quit.
    Yeah, right.
    Like I can snap my fingers
    and make my blades disappear.
    They have absolutely no idea
    how freaking hard it is to stop.
    Why don’t you just quit breathing?
    That’s what I want to say.
    Let’s see how that works out for you.

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Roger Must Have Some Kind of Radar
    Because he taps me on the shoulder and leads
    me to his office, which is barely big enough
    for a goldfish, by the way.
    I’m still feeling triggered and edgy
    and I expect him to say a bunch of
    touchy-feely crap like:
    Tell me what you’re feeling now.
    Or
    Does Skylar’s arm make you upset?
    Or
    What kind of memories does this bring up for you?
    The last thing I expect is for him to lean over,
    open his desk drawer and pull out a jelly jar.
    But that’s exactly what he does.
    Only there isn’t jelly in it anymore.
    It’s filled with water and glitter,
    kind of like a snow globe
    but way more beautiful,
    because the flecks are thick and gold
    and mesmerizing in the weirdest way.
    Roger calls it a calming jar.
    He gives it a little shake and hands it to me,
    and while I’m watching the liquid swirl
    and the glitter blink like a billion stars,
    the strangest thing starts to happen.
    I feel my breathing steady and my pulse slow down,
    and a trail of goose bumps tiptoe up my arms,
    just like when I was little, and Mom traced letters
    on my back with her finger.
    I wish I could take the jar to my room and shake it
    for like the next 26 hours until I get out of here.
    But there’s no chance of that, on account of the glass.
    So I watch it for as long as I can in Roger’s office,
    until the blanket of gold folds on itself one last time,
    and the glitter settles to the bottom like star dust.
    Roger tells me he’ll give me the recipe,
    to make a calming jar of my own at home,
    because sometimes, he says, all you need is a distraction.

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Things to Do Instead of Cutting
    Roger wants to use afternoon group
    for a mega-brainstorming session.
    We’re gonna go through everyone’s problems.
    Starting with cutting.
    He comes up with a few ideas