𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

...🏀...

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing. The numbness had settled in deep, like a thick fog in my mind that I couldn't shake. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. It was easier this way—easier than facing the memories that kept rushing back faster than I could push them down. Andrew's voice. His hands. The pain.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it was useless. I could still feel him. Still hear the harsh sound of his voice. The dull ache of every bruise he'd inflicted, the ones no one would ever know was there but me. My mind kept replaying it, over and over, like a movie I was trapped in, and there was no way to turn it off.

The alarm on my nightstand buzzed, snapping me out of the loop, at least for a second. I reached over without thinking, fumbling for the button, and pressed it until the sound stopped. Silence filled the room again, and I sank back into the bed, pulling the covers tighter around me.

Across the room, I could see Leila still asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully. She was the only reason I hadn't completely unraveled. But even her presence wasn't enough to pull me out of this hole today.

Not when everything felt so heavy.

A knock at the door. I didn't move; I just stared at the ceiling again, willing whoever it was to go away.

"Mylah?" My mom's voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. The door creaked open, and I could hear her footsteps as she entered the room. "Are you going to school today?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't even bring myself to look at her. I could feel the weight of her eyes on me, but still, I didn't move.

"Mylah," she said again, this time closer. The bed dipped as she sat beside me, her hand gently reaching out to rub my back. "You can't stay in bed forever."

I finally turned my head to look at her, my voice coming out flat. "Watch me."

She sighed, the sound heavy with concern. Her hand kept moving in slow, soothing circles on my back, but I could feel the frustration beneath her calm. "I know it's hard, honey, but you can't let this—"

"I'm not letting anything," I interrupted, the words sharper than I intended. "I just...I just can't today, okay?"

Her hand stilled for a moment, and then she leaned in closer, her voice softer now. "You're stronger than this, Mylah. You've been through so much already, and you're still here."

I bit down on my lip hard, trying to keep the flood of emotions at bay.

I didn't feel strong. I felt broken, shattered into pieces I couldn't even begin to put back together.

"I'm tired, Mom," I whispered, barely able to keep my voice steady. "I'm tired of pretending everything is fine when it's not. I can't keep doing this."

She sighed again, this time with a hint of sadness in it, and I could feel the weight of her worry. "You don't have to pretend," she said. "But you do have to get up, Mylah. For Leila. For yourself."

I glanced over at the crib, my heart squeezing at the sight of my daughter, so small and innocent, completely unaware of the storm of the world around her. She deserved better. Better than this broken version of me. But I didn't know how to be that person for her right now.

"I don't know how to do this," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

My mom's hand gently moved to my shoulder, her touch steady and comforting. "One step at a time, honey. You don't have to have all the answers right now."

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and find something, anything, to hold onto. The numbness was still there, but beneath it, I could feel the edges of something else—something that hurt too much to face.

But maybe my mom was right. Maybe one step was all I could manage today.

"I'll think about it," I muttered, turning my head back to the ceiling, not wanting to face the heaviness in her eyes anymore.

Her hand squeezed my shoulder gently before she stood up. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The door clicked shut softly behind her, and the silence returned.

...🏀...

"I can't believe this is almost our last time walking to class together," Brooke said, her voice laced with exaggerated drama as she looped her arm through mine.

I laughed, shaking my head as we strolled through the courtyard. "Aww, don't get all weepy on me now."

Brooke let out a sigh, her tone shifting. "I can't believe I'm getting sentimental about walking to class," she added with a huff.

I tugged her closer, pulling her into a quick side hug. "Someone's feeling nostalgic today."

"Well, yeah, it's junior year. The end of an era. I feel like somebody needs to yell out 'dead girl walking!'" Brooke stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto a guy with curly hair and glasses staring a little too long in her direction. "Band geek staring!"

"Brooke," I sighed, shaking my head. "Be nice."

"What? It's true," she said, glancing back at me with a mischievous grin.

I gave her a pointed look, letting her know I wasn't amused. "Tone it down."

Brooke rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Fine, fine." She glanced around the courtyard, her excitement growing. "You know, maybe I should ask my mom about living with Peyton. That would solve all my problems."

I raised an eyebrow, tugging her arm gently. "Do you think she'll actually let you?"

Brooke shrugged a little too casually. "Why not? It's such a good idea. I mean, Peyton and I would have so much fun." She practically bounced on her feet. "I'm going to call her right now!"

"What's wrong with your phone?" I asked, laughing.

Brooke's face scrunched up. "Uh... my parents put me on that 'pay as you go' plan, and... I haven't paid." Her voice trailed off with a guilty look.

I sighed, pulling out my phone from my jeans pocket and handing it to her. "Here, use mine."

She snatched the phone out of my hand with a squeal of excitement, dashing down the hall before I could say anything else. I shook my head, laughing as she disappeared around the corner.

A warm hand slipped into mine, and I turned to see Nathan standing there, his blue eyes soft as they met mine. "Why is Brooke running like a madwoman?" he asked, his lips quirking into a smile.

I shrugged, pulling him toward the courtyard. "She's calling her mom, trying to convince her to let her live with Peyton instead of having to move."

"That's good, right?" he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah," I said, though there was a 'but' hanging in the air, waiting to be spoken.

Nathan's gaze didn't miss it. "But?" he prompted, his tone gentle as always, patient.

We stopped by one of the picnic tables, the wind tugging at the ends of my hair. I crossed my arms, glancing off in the distance. "Brooke's mom doesn't like Peyton. She never has."

We both watched from afar as Brooke stood near the school building, her voice raised as she argued with her mom on the phone. "Mom, I wanna stay with Peyton! I don't wanna leave school right now."

I sighed, shaking my head slightly. "Which I guess isn't going so well," I muttered, feeling for her.

Nathan gave me a sideways glance, a quiet understanding settling between us. "You didn't come to school yesterday," he said softly, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

I glanced at him, then down at the ground. "Yeah, I just needed a day," I replied, the weight of everything I hadn't said hanging between us.

"Okay," he said simply, his tone free of judgment.

That's what I like about Nathan—he never pushed. He just...let me be, let me process. And somehow, that was enough.

Before I could say more, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, sinking into the warmth of his embrace. My arms instinctively wrapped around him, holding him tight as if he were the one thing keeping me grounded in the chaos of it all.

For a moment, everything else faded—the tension with Brooke's mom, the lingering shadows of Andrew, even the feud between our families. It was just Nathan and me, standing together in the courtyard, wrapped in the comfort of knowing we had each other no matter what.

And that, for now, was enough.

...🏀...

I climbed into my bed, lying on my side, staring at the cloudy skies through her balcony doors. The soft hum of the ceiling fan above me was the only noise breaking the silence of the room. My body felt heavy like every ounce of energy had drained out of me, leaving me numb. I pulled the covers tighter around myself, hoping they'd somehow shield me from everything swirling in my head.

The door creaked open behind me. I didn't move; I just stayed perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. The bed dipped slightly as my dad sat down beside me. His presence filled the room, but I kept my eyes closed, hoping he'd leave. I wasn't ready for this conversation, whatever it was going to be.

"I know you're not asleep," his deep voice rumbled quietly.

I didn't answer.

He let the silence linger between us for a moment before speaking again. "You didn't come down for dinner."

I turned over slowly, meeting his gaze. His face was concerned, and his brow furrowed that way, which always made me feel like a little girl again as if I had somehow disappointed him. "I'm not hungry," I mumbled, snuggling further into my covers.

He gave me that look—one that said he wasn't buying it. But he didn't push, not yet. "Mylah, you haven't been yourself lately. You're quiet. You stay in your room. You barely talk to anyone."

I stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on the swirling patterns of the fan above, anything to keep from meeting his eyes.

"I know something's going on," he continued, his voice soft but firm. "Is it Nathan?"

I shook my head before I could stop myself. "No, it's not Nathan."

He sighed, shifting slightly on the bed. "Then what is it? Is it Andrew? Your mom mentioned that he might be back in town."

My heart jumped into my throat, my body tensing at the mention of his name. I bit down on my lip, trying to push the memories back—the ones I'd spent so much time trying to bury. I didn't want to talk about Andrew, but my dad wasn't going to let this go.

"Mylah," he said, his voice more serious now, "What did he do to you?"

I froze.

My throat felt tight like the words were stuck there, refusing to come out. Fear crept back in, the same fear that always did when I thought about telling anyone the truth, especially my dad.

"If I tell you..." I began, my voice cracking. "You'll look at me differently, Dad."

He was silent for a moment, processing what I had said. Then he shifted closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. "Mylah, nothing you tell me is going to make me look at you any differently. You're my daughter."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing with a thousand different ways this conversation could go, but his words broke something in me. "He...he raped me," I whispered, my voice trembling.

My dad didn't speak right away, and the silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever. I forced myself to look at him, expecting anger or disappointment in his eyes, but all I saw was hurt.

Hurt for me.

His arms wrapped around me before I could say anything else, pulling me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered against my hair, his voice thick with emotion.

I closed my eyes, the tears I'd held back for so long finally spilling over. "Because...I didn't think you'd believe me."

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression more serious than I'd ever seen it. "I believe you, Mylah. I believe you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't see it sooner."

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything finally lifting off my chest as I buried my face in his shoulder.

He believes me.