//TW: Self-hatred, self-harm, domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse, mentions of sexual assault, and mentions of suicide/death\\

Thomas

Broken.

The state of being fractured, or damaged, or no longer in working order.

And there is no better word to describe myself.

Four years with someone who constantly told me he loved me, and that he would go insane if he lost me, even as he hurt me every chance that he got. That's all it had taken.

Four years, and everything that seemed to matter lost its importance. Everybody who seemed to care faded away. Everything that I loved, ripped right out of my hands by the person I trusted more than life itself. My life before had become a dream, a hazy, distant dream lost to time, its details slowly more and more obscured as the days dragged on. Who was I, without James? What was I without the things he did to me?

"I'm the only one that loves you," he hissed into my ear, sending shivers down my spine as he set the knife down on the bedside table. His lips nipped against mine, almost as an apology for the things he had just done to me. But all I could taste was the blood welling in my mouth. All I could feel was the icy cold shock of his skin. And all I could know, buzzing through my head, was the fear he had wrought and the pain he had inflicted.

James drew away from me. "Never forget that, Tommy." The word slid of his tongue so possessive, so demanding. It struck the air as two rotten, maggot-infested syllables, ringing through my ear like the dying notes of funeral bells.

He turned and slammed the door behind him, just loud enough to make a whimper coerce itself from my throat. Darkness reemerged in his absence, almost taunting me and the blood trickling down my wrists. I struggled against the overwhelming urge sucking whatever last bits of life remained in my veins, before surrendering to the needle pricks of tears stinging my eyes.

I wished I could hate him.

I've never been as afraid of someone as I was around him. I could always hear his words, constantly barbed, inches away from digging into my skin, even when he wasn't around. The mere thought of him burned the corners of my eyes with tears and chilled the back of my spine.

He was supposed to love me.

He tells me all the time how much he loves me, how much he needs me, how he's the only one who'd ever be able to love me. He needs me, and I need him, just as I need air. I can never leave him, and even if I wanted to, even if I tried, he'd always find me again.

I wished I could hate him, but no matter what he did, he still had a tiny glowing cord wrapped around my heart, keeping us connected forever.

The ghost of the melody I had been singing still whispered into my ears, intent on finding me wherever I went. It grabbed at the back of my mind, trying to pull me back to its warmth, but there was simply no warmth to be found. Just the freezing, oppressive darkness of the tiny, empty room.

It wasn't James's fault for what he had done. He had simple rules, rules anybody could follow, and I had still broken them by singing that tiny little song. I forgot where I had first heard it, what it had meant to me years ago, why the carcass of such an minuscule thing still stuck with me. But it's not like it mattered, anyway.

It was just a song.

Tears ran down my cheeks, burning as they fell. I shoved my non-bleeding hand over my mouth, stifling the sobbing that threatened to spill out into the air so he couldn't hear. A teardrop splashed against my wrist, my blood pooling up where the knife had slashed across skin. A mixture of new and old scars ran up and down my arm, each one with a story that haunted every dream I had, every moment I closed my eyes.

I deserved them.

I deserved every bit of pain I received. I needed it. Because even though it burned, it kept me grounded. It kept me here. It reminded me that deep inside, there was still a part of me that was alive. Dying, but somehow still alive.

I rubbed my thumb across my wrist, the pain sparking inside of me like a fire. It raged and it destroyed, leaving nothing in its wake but a hollow, empty feeling that always pursued after James finally found whatever pleasure or release he sought in hurting me. Somehow, I pushed myself to my feet and tiptoed over to the door, listening. Satisfied he had either left or returned to his own room, I quietly opened the door and slid into the bathroom neighboring the tiny room that had become the only place where I could release the tight grip I had on my emotions and be who I truly was. Weak. Vulnerable.

I dropped to the toilet and vomited until there was nothing left to vomit. Nothing left to be purged, to be forgotten. Except, of course, for the rotting, sinking feeling that never went away. My mouth burned with the acidic coating left over, but it was so much more than just a foul taste in my mouth.

Despite my weak, shaking legs, I pushed myself to my feet and gripped onto the sink just to keep me up. The person who stared back at me when I gazed into the mirror was not the person I knew. I brushed my fingers against the many bruises on my face, wondering just how much concealer I would need to hide the darkening marks tomorrow. They would disappear eventually, but everything did.

Forcing my breathing under control before he heard me and decided to hurt me even more, I washed away the blood. But even as the last drop escaped down the drain, I could still feel it, sticking to my arms like thick, heavy chains keeping me tethered to him and this awful place. I clutched onto the side of the porcelain sink, eyes shut tight so I didn't have to look at my reflection, and continued gasping in order to catch my breath and quell the sobs ripping themselves from my chest.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I still remember the first time James hurt me. It wasn't so different from this time, really. You'd have thought I would have learned.

I had been singing back then too, though the song was nothing more than a distant memory, barely within my reach. Whatever it had been, though, I remember that I loved it at the time. Now, I'm sure that if I remembered it ever again, I'd want nothing more than to purge it from my mind. It was ruined, defiled, nothing more than broken pieces.

But it wasn't his fault. He had a hard day. And I wasn't helping. I was angry, but I don't remember what had made me so mad. I was angry, and I was singing, and he finally snapped.

I cried long after he beat me that first time, but nobody came. I cried for what must have been hours, shocked and confused and bleeding, and nobody cared. But I never left him, even when after he promised he'd never do it again, and that he was sorry, and he loved me more than life itself, he ended up hurting me the same exact week. God, that feels like eons ago, but it was only four years. Four, long, tortuous years.

I guess I was lucky back then though. Because then, I only had to worry about pleasing him. About following his rules and doing what he said, and he wouldn't hurt me. He would never touch me if I didn't want him to. Not in that way. He respected me and my boundaries in that regard.

Well, at first, at least.

And soon, I lost even that.

Physically, mentally, sexually, he hurt me.

He broke me.

And long ago, I thought that one day I'd be able to escape him.

High school had ended silently, and I finally thought I was going to be free from him. I had so many plans worked out, so many different routes to take. Virginia, Georgia, California, anywhere but here. As long as it got me away from him, I didn't care.

But the universe had different plans. Fate played its game, a cruel puppeteer with an iron-like grip on my strings.

And just when I thought I was finally going to be free from him, he wrapped his hand around my wrist, shattered my wings, and promised he'd keep me to himself for the rest of time. I don't know how, but he even managed to get us in the same dorm room, without anybody else to worry about.

All of my dreams ripped straight from my hands. And how long did I have left before James request I drop out of college altogether?

University of Columbia. Dorm 476. A place nobody could find me, if they even bothered to look. A place I called my home, but it seemed more like a prison than anything else.

My home is with James. It always has been, and it always will be. He is not to blame for anything that he might have done, for he wouldn't have done it if not for me. James loves me, and I love him.

And what else is there to say?

I splashed some water in my face, turned off the lights, and returned to my room. I closed the door as softly as I could, careful that he wouldn't hear me. And as stupid and ineffective as it might have been, I locked the door. James always found a way in no matter how hard I tried to keep him out, but I locked the door anyway, and prayed that would be enough.

And I pulled the blanket over me tight enough so that just maybe it could protect me from the very real monster waiting for me when I woke up.

~•~

James was going on about something as we entered our classroom, the night before forgotten entirely. No apology, no follow up. Nothing. Not that either of those would have done much good. Nothing ever changed. I responded in all the ways he wanted me to, keeping my head low and my voice quiet. So that I could be his and only his, just the way he liked me. Smiling easily, as if everything that had come before vanished into thin air like whispers on the breeze, he pressed a quick kiss to my lips and took his seat in the front of the class.

Professor Washington smiled to me as I passed, and I did my best to return it. He was the closest thing I had to a friend left. Not that it mattered, but I guess it was nice to have just that one person who'd notice if I disappeared.

Or was it terrible to be such a burden to somebody? Maybe the best way to go is to silently trickle away, nobody noticing, nobody caring.

Maybe all I had to do was become a comet. Fleeting, momentary. There one moment, and gone the next, leaving only a flash of light to signify my existence. And even that only lasted for a few seconds, and the world eventually moved on.

Dressed in a gray scarf and magenta hoodie to hide the scars and bruises that snaked their way up my arms and neck, I sat down in the same chair I've been sitting in since August, the one that's almost directly in the middle of the room.

American History, my first class on Fridays. I've always loved history, but I always thought I'd enjoy it a bit more if James wasn't here with me, watching for every mistake I made.

I pulled out a small piece of notebook paper and continued the mockingbird sketch I had been working on before class begins. There was always something so calming about sketching, like its the last thing I can have for myself. James doesn't seem to mind it as much as the other things I used to do to keep myself from watching my own blood stain the ground, just for the sake of it. Plus, there was such a freeing element to it. Mockingbirds were always my favorite, so complex and gentle and...wild. It was almost like I could just steal their wings for myself and fly far away.

Besides me, a groan sprung through the air, and my body betrayed me by flinching at the sudden nearness of the noise as I automatically braced myself for a strike that would never come. I dared to look up, only to see Alexander Hamilton running his hands through his hair. He looked tired, but from what, I couldn't tell. I knew him, from high school, as distant a memory as that is. It was petty, but there was nothing to our relationship besides bickering and fighting, though it often felt like he was the last connection I had to the life I lived before, whether he knew it or not. He hated me and I hated him.

And what else is there to say?

Not paying me an ounce of attention, he slumped into his seat and threw his bag on the floor, the sound making me jump the second it landed. The drawing stirred as the bag went soaring past and slipped off my desk, flying just as free as a mockingbird deserved, even if it was only for a few seconds. The wind of the fan above caught it and sent it spiraling towards the ground. I held my breath as it landed at Alexander's feet.

No, I thought, over and over again. I glanced over at James, but he wasn't looking at me. I prayed that Alexander wouldn't notice. That he would ignore me and everything could stay as it should be.

No such luck.

"Oh! Sorry. I'm sorry," he said, reaching down to retrieve the drawing. He offered it to me, and I mumbled a quick thanks as I accepted it. I don't know what I expected, but I just wanted this all to be over.

Just an hour. All you have to get through is an hour.

And then I could go back to my dorm and stay there for the weekend and do nothing. As horrible as it seems, I don't mind the solitude.

But he didn't know when to quit.

"Did you draw that?" he asked, his voice completely devoid of hatred and filled instead with curiosity. I suppose he hadn't really even talked to me much since junior year, when all that mattered between us was being right, but every time he looked at me, I anticipated him to snap. To sneer. To look at me and hate me just like everybody else in the world should, except, of course, for James.

But he didn't seem to hate me. And I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I nodded in response to his question, avoiding his gaze. I gripped the small slip of paper tighter, as though it could protect me. Was James watching? Could he see us talking? He hated it when I talked to other people, especially other boys.

"Like, from memory?" Alexander persisted, a tinge of excitement touching his voice, though I couldn't figure out why.

I swallowed, nodding again, and tried my best not to panic. Was this a joke or something? A test?

"It's really good," he said, and those three words completely caught me off guard. They tore my breath away from me, sending a shockwave of something electric and wild and incomprehensible coursing through my blood.

"R-really?" I asked after a moment, finally finding my voice. He nodded earnestly, somehow managing to coerce a smile out of me. "Oh. Well, uh, thank you."

"No problem," he said, smiling.

It wasn't something that mattered to him. Just a few words he tossed out simply because he genuinely meant it. It wasn't a big deal to him, but to me? To me it was everything, like he had complimented me in the most beautiful way, like he had spilled out some secret he tried to hide from the world to me and to me alone. Either that, or it was a long time since I last heard someone saying they liked something I did.

Alexander opened his mouth, ready to say more, but Professor Washington stole the moment away from me, the one nice thing I managed to find in the wreckage of the night before. He cleared his throat, demanded everybody's attention, and began the lecture right on time.

I forced my breathing under control, slipping the piece of paper into my bag and pulling out my notes. At the front of the room, I was just barely aware of James staring at me, and I shriveled under his constant, pressing glare. I smoothed my hands against the desk and took a deep breath of the still, warm air.

It was hot. Too hot. And the walls were too crowded, pressing closer and closer and choking the breath from my lungs.

Relax, I reminded myself, doing my best to take a few deep breaths and find a steady balance.

All I had to do was get through the dreaded week of finals, and then winter break would be here. And I could escape the prying gaze of other people, and maybe even James. But I doubted he trusted me enough to leave me alone.

I wrapped my gray scarf closer to my neck despite the warm temperature of the room closing in on me. I had only just noticed how loose it had been. Oh God. Had Alexander seen the bruises on my neck? Was that why he gave me that funny look? Was that why he decided to be so nice to me?

My phone vibrated against my foot. I withdrew it carefully and blinked at the letters staring up at me, their message simple and the hidden threat biting into me.

James: Why were you talking to him?

I blinked at the message, then locked my phone. When I glanced over at him, he wasn't watching me like he always was. I let out a soft breath of relief and relaxed. I could probably get away with not answering, at least for now.

You should leave him.

But you can't. Don't be so selfish. All he's ever done is look out for you and protect you, and you're horrible enough to want to rip that away from him?

The conflicting thoughts warred back and forth as they always did, an endless battle that never got me anywhere. It was impossible to ignore them, especially when they whispered through the back of my mind, such sweet temptations I would have given anything to fall into, followed by the crushing reality almost murmured by James's own voice.

You need James. You're nothing without him.

I tried my best to listen to Professor Washington drone on about the lecture, but the fresh memories of last night chose that time to remerge from the cage I had tried to lock them in. They came in abrupt, sharp bursts, and my arms burned with them in all the places the knife had found a haven in my skin.

Professor Washington asked a question, and of course, Alexander's hand shot up next to me so very quickly. I wasn't expecting it. I should have been more focused. I shouldn't have made such a stupid mistake.

Instinctively, I flinched.

I flinched away as his hand slammed into the air, my body overpowering my mind. I flinched, afraid of the stinging pain ripping through my face right after James's hand flung into the air like that. I flinched, and Alexander noticed. He shouldn't have noticed but he did, and for some reason, it was something that arrested his attention, something that plucked him out of his usual world.

He cast me a strange glance, one of confusion. His lips parted to pose the silent question, but I  looked elsewhere before he could mouth it. His hand fell to his side gently as Professor Washington called on somebody else to answer the question, giving me a moment to catch my breath and refocus on the lecture and the lecture only.

Professor Washington continued on. I wasn't sure how long it had been, but soon, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a light blue piece of paper flutter down towards my desk as Alexander raised his hand once more, this time much slower and much more controlled. It fell again as Washington picked somebody else to answer the question.

I reached forwards, hands shaking, and accepted the note. He kept his head down, pretending not to notice me, as he scratched furiously away at the sheet of notes in front of him. How he managed to move the pen that fast, I'll never know.

My eyes gently skimmed over the small sticky note, my heart quickening as I read it over and over again in my mind. Three simple words etched onto the page lightly, the dark blue ink blotting against the thin piece of paper.

Are you okay?

I blinked, reading it again and again, trying to make sense of the thousands of thoughts spinning through my mind. I clung onto the sticky note tightly, afraid that it would slip through my fingers and disappear into thin air if I wasn't careful enough.

I looked up, and I caught James watching me. My heart fell through my chest and landed at my feet as he turned away, shaking his head. I quickly dropped my gaze and stared down at my shaking, sweaty palms.

And yet, I couldn't help the tingle of the swarm of butterflies as they fluttered through my chest.

Don't get your hopes up. He'll forget you in moments. Nobody cares about you.

Apart from James.

I sighed, slipping the sticky note off of my desk and into my bag. I wanted to keep it for as long as I could, already knowing that I'd return to it day after day, burning the slope of the letters and the neat, tiny scrawl into my mind until James ripped it away from me.

It was funny, really.

One small and simple light blue slip of paper with three meaningless words that anybody could have written made my heart spread its wings and take flight, something it hadn't done in who knows how long.

But for the first time in a very long time, I felt a faint spark of hope ignite in the empty cavity where it had once existed, a thousand years ago. 

~•~

Edit: Okay, i love all of you so fucking much. Like seriously, I could never ask for better people in my life. Thank you for your support and encouragement in my editing decision. Hopefully, I won't let you down!!

So, what do you guys think so far? Is this cash money or do I still have a long way to go?