Broken

by Dean Murray

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Dean Murray

I kept trying to find moments to steal away so I
could finish reading it...

I read this book in two sittings, that should tell
you something...

Mr. Murray winds a story in such a way that I thought
I was there...

I planned to read for a couple of hours...I literally
could not stop as planned...

...[I] couldn't put it down...[I] found myself
reading it in every spare moment...

Chapter 1

Stepping back out into the relentless desert
sun, I once again wished we were still back in Minnesota, or at
least that we were done moving. Then again I may as well have been
wishing that mom had decided on somewhere other than Utah, or that
we'd had some long-lost relative die and leave us a small fortune,
or even better that Dad and Cindi...

The thought was much too dangerous to
complete. My breathing had already sped up, and my balance
degenerated so quickly it was a small miracle I made it over to the
U-Haul before I keeled over. I'd hated the battered vehicle that
had spent the last two days carrying us west across I-80. It was
hard to keep up the feeling though when it was the only thing
protecting me from a concussion.

Half of the horizon was green and beautiful,
not land of the thousand lakes beautiful, but still not bad. I of
course ended up on the wrong side of the truck; barren dirt and
rocks, only occasionally relieved by scrubby plant life, as far as
the eye could see.

I still didn't buy into my mom's oft-repeated
claim. I'd told her before that Utah would be a lousy place to try
and make her way as a photographer. Only, very sick, masochistic
people buy calendars with this kind of crap on it. Sane people take
pictures of furry little animals romping around green landscapes
and sell those.

That helped a little, my breathing was
starting to slow back down, but that was too related to the other
reasons we'd moved. I wasn't mentally back in safe territory still.
I sought refuge in something even more mundane. Namely the fact
that tomorrow I would have to go enroll in school and try to blend
in with a bunch of small-town Juniors who've all probably known
each other since they could walk.

Going to a new school after missing the first
month of classes was a prospect likely to generate anxiety in the
most outgoing of teenagers, and I was far from that, but it was a
different kind of worry. As I mapped out all of the things that
could, and probably would, go wrong, I could feel my heart slowly
settle back down out of my throat.

If I were pretty or athletic I'd probably
manage to fit right in. It always seemed like the kids that moved
in partway through the year usually had some kind of instant-in
with the cool crowd, but that probably won't happen for me.

It wasn't that I didn't want to make friends;
I just wasn't very good at it. My equilibrium seemed to have
returned, so I took a few unsteady steps around to the back of the
truck. If I didn't return with a box soon Mom would rush out
expecting the worst. Unless she got caught up visualizing some new
project, in which case it would be hours before she thought to come
check on me.

We'd moved the beds and most of the other
heavy items in earlier, which helped explain my exhaustion, but
that didn't make the pile of remaining items in the back of the
truck any less foreboding. I decided to take the easy way out, and
picked up a couple of blanket-wrapped mirrors.

I didn't unwrap either of them. That was
dangerous too. The face that'd look back out of the glass looked
almost more like hers than mine. Shoulder-length blond hair, and
blue eyes still seemed to be all the rage, but mine were ruined by
pale skin that burned instead of tanning, and a build that had
retained its baby fat long after most of the other girls had
started slimming down.

Those extra inches had evaporated recently,
but of course it couldn't be a cause for celebration. When mom
surfaced enough to notice how much weight I'd lost, she worried I
was developing an eating disorder. She couldn't seem to understand
that I hated the new me more than she did. Cindi was the skinny
one. I'd tried to make myself eat enough to fill back out, but I'd
had a hard time remembering meals lately. It was easier to just
cinch my pants up a little and avoid mirrors. Even when I did
remember, the calories in didn't seem quite able to keep up with
the calories my body routinely burned up. I guess panic attacks are
harder on your system than most people realize.

My body had already started spiraling down to
an attack again; but before I could get too wobbly, I made it
inside the house. Mom met me at the bottom of the creaking stairs
with a big smile on her tired face. "The view from the rooms as the
sun starts to set is even better than I thought it would be. Coming
here was the best idea we've ever had."

Normally mom's enthusiasm was fairly
catching. You expect that kind of energy in a child; when it comes
from an adult it's hard not to react in kind. It didn't manage to
infect me this time, but it did help focus me on the here and now.
I figured I owed her for that, so I tried to suppress my generally
ungracious nature. I even let her lead me up the creaky stairs to
show me the 'amazing view' for the third time.

Mom pulled the mirrors out of my hands as
soon as I reached the larger bedroom, and nudged me towards the
window. "Admit it, Adri, we didn't get sunsets like this very often
in Minnesota."

"Adriana", I corrected automatically, trying
to avoid thinking about where my nickname had come from. The sunset
was beautiful, just starting to turn the sky pink as a prelude to
the glorious oranges that would no-doubt follow. It was the kind of
thing that mom was always trying to capture with her camera, but
which never seemed to turn out quite as good as the real thing. The
sunset wasn't what captured my interest though, it was the
greenery. Mom's room looked out to the West, the gorgeous side that
reminded me of the place and people that would always be home. Mom
carting me off to the middle of nowhere wasn't going to change
that.

There was a huge tree on the far edge of the
yard. It was a species I didn't recognize, but it seemed to call to
me. For a second it seemed I could hear a familiar voice whispering
in my ear. "Come on Adri. Cindi's already climbed up to the second
set of branches. You can do it, but you don't have to do it all by
yourself, let me help you." My vision was growing blurry. I tried
to wrench my thoughts back to safe territory, but it was too late,
dad's face was already filling up my vision. Cindi and I looked
nothing like mom. She was all dark, wavy hair, olive skin and at
five-three hadn't been able to kiss dad unless he bent down. Dad
was the one that gave us the blond hair and a shot at maybe hitting
an average height. I could see his handsome face smiling at me now,
trying to coax me up into the tree with Cindi. The vision lasted
only as long as it took me to hit the floor.

I could always judge how long I'd been out by
my mom's expression when I came too. That and whether or not I'd
seriously injured myself on the way down. She looked concerned, but
not desperate yet. Her cell phone was in her hand, but not yet
flipped open. It probably hadn't been more than eight or nine
minutes.

"Adri, what just happened?"

She knew already, the psychiatrist had some
fancy name for it complete with a whole list of symptoms and
psychobabble garbage. It all boiled down to the idea that the more
mom could get me to talk about it, the sooner I'd shake off the
fainting spells. Yeah right. Talking didn't make anything better;
it just let him rack up a bunch of fees while I was passed out on
his couch.

"I'm fine mom. I just got a little dizzy." I
didn't want to talk to her. What I really wanted to do was enjoy
the short immunity fainting usually granted me. For a minute or so
I could think about dad and Cindi with impunity.

I think mom had figured that out though.
Nothing I'd tried recently had been equal to the task of getting
her to leave me alone, or at least in silence, right after an
episode. She was probably worried I'd go back to how I was
immediately after it all happened. I lost a couple of weeks there,
alternately triggering a panic attack, and then thinking about dad
or Cindi until the immunity wore off and another attack ensued.

Mom had flipped out. I'm not sure what
brought me out of that black hole. I think maybe it was when I
looked out the window one day and realized I'd somehow missed fall.
Fall had always been dad's favorite time. Cindi's had been
spring-she hadn't minded the mud.

My immunity was wearing off; the racing heart
was a sure sign. I focused back in on what mom was saying.

"...you were doing so well. Don't worry; this
is just a little setback. You'll see. Being in a different
environment will do wonders for us both."

I knew the rest of mom's speech by heart,
there was no reason to listen. Next she'd run through all of the
famous, marginally well-known, or even really obscure photographers
who got their start in the west. It didn't really matter.

I waited the requisite fifteen minutes and
then went back out to the U-haul and got another box. Mom followed
me out this time. I guess she was worried again.

Even worries about school wouldn't cushion me
now that I'd had an attack today. There was nothing left but to
wrap myself in numbness as I traveled back and forth between the
truck and the house in a slow-moving haze.

The truck was the smallest one they rented,
and we hadn't come even close to filling it up, but it was still
dark by the time we finished. Mom looked at the mass of boxes,
groaned dramatically, and then went to the fridge and broke out the
sandwiches we'd purchased when we stopped in town for
directions.

An hour later our beds were made, and I had
an outfit laid out for school the next day. The clothes weren't
mine. They'd nearly triggered a full scale blowup. Mom thought I
just wanted new clothes. I knew we couldn't afford a new wardrobe
just because I was temporarily skinny. I didn't mind wearing my old
stuff, I just didn't want to wear Cin...wear her clothes. My near
attack ended the conversation, albeit with my old clothes still
packed away in some anonymous box.

Mom's enthusiasm couldn't be damped for long
though. It had fully returned by the time she turned my light off.
"Have a good night Adri...anna. You'll see, tomorrow will be like
the start of a whole new life."

I kept the tears back until the door was
shut, and then they came in a hot rush that left me depleted and
sore. It was like mom had already forgotten about the other half of
our family.

Chapter 2

The sound of my alarm pulled me from an
uneasy sleep, full of dreams where I was running in terror from
some unseen horror. I couldn't decide whether I was happy to be
free of them, or mad I had to get up.

My radio hadn't been in any of the boxes we'd
unpacked last night, so I knew I'd have to get ready in silence. I
forced myself out of bed regardless. Mom wouldn't be in to wake me
up; she might not even be home.

It still wasn't light by the time I finished
showering. The fact that my body was, at least partly, still on
Minnesota time should have helped, but the morning was just as
unbearable as normal.

Fighting back a yawn, I flipped on my bedroom
light and examined the half-dozen boxes that might contain my
clothes. I debated searching through them all, but it would just
mean another fight if I did find them.

With a sigh of resignation I walked over to
the chair where I'd left my selections from the night before, and
pulled the faded jeans up my frail-looking legs. I finished up with
a tank top, covered by a light blue blouse. All Cindi's stuff.
Thoughts of her were just as dangerous as they'd been last night,
but maybe I was getting a little better. Feeling like a traitor, I
headed my skittering thoughts off before they could start affecting
me physically, and focused on the next step in getting ready.

There was a lot more at stake this morning
than last night. If I fell apart now I might not make it to school,
and then I'd have all kinds of trouble calming mom back down when
she returned from wherever she'd gone. My hair hung as limp and
straight as always. No amount of styling ever seemed to make it
look any better, just more contrived. Makeup was the same way. A
touch here or there made me look marginally better, but I sincerely
envied the girls who were skilled enough to transform their faces
into something breathtaking after a session in the bathroom. Mom
wasn't any help. Most days she didn't even put on mascara.