Here's to the Broken Kids | Part One | Chapter One (my last kp story)
Posted September 10th, 2018 by Zelda
in a perpetual predicament
A/N: If you're an oldie, there's a slight chance you recognize this story. HTTBK used to be on Kidpub a long time ago under this very same name. I took it down more than once to restart it, but this is going to be the last time I start over. In fact, this is the last story I'm posting to Kidpub, period. At the end of this story, whenever that may be, I'll be done. I'll still come on to comment and hang out on the W/B, and maybe add to the NES, but after this there's not going to be anymore stories or weird poems from me.
CC or just comments in general are greatly appreciated. I'm not looking for feedback on this story so much as I'm looking to communicate with you all and give you a story that you'll enjoy and remember. So if you don't have anything constructive to say, that's fine. Tell me who you're favourite character is, or what you think will happen next! I really just want to talk with you guys this time around.
Uh, yeah so, thanks for clicking on this story, and I sincerely hope you like what you read!
made from broken parts,
broken from the start.
Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Wall
October 11, 2014
Her name was Xena Delray. She was fifteen, her hair had once been soft brown curls that reached almost to her waist but now it was short and gnarled, with a sloppy ombre of dark roots, bleached blonde, and neon green. Her hazel brown eyes had permanent dark bags under them, and her already sharp features were made harsh by her exhaustion. She rarely went out without long sleeves of some sort on, and when she did she always wore what seemed like hundreds of bracelets to disguise her messy arms.
She went to school, but she already knew she wasn’t going to graduate with the rest of her classmates. Barely a month in and she was failing math and english and didn’t have the will or the energy to pull her grades out of the gutter.
Her world began the slow process of changing forever on a rainy day in October, while she sat in the only class she actually liked; Visual Art.
She dragged the pencil lightly over the canvas, sketching the outline to what she planned to turn into a watercolor. She’d been experimenting with paints lately; acrylic wasn’t great, but oil was okay and she always had liked the subtlety of watercolor. The class teacher was an obvious fan of charcoal drawings and tended to favor them, but Xena was a painter at heart and pulled good grades with them.
She was lost in her drawing when the classroom door swung open and banged shut. She ignored the noise, the doors in Rosewood High were prone to slamming when the windows were open, and the art room windows were always open to prevent people from accidently suffocating on the fumes of paint and stain remover. A group of girls chatting in the far corner suddenly started to whisper, and the teacher spoke up, and still Xena ignored it all. She didn’t care what was happening, she didn’t want topay attention, and she didn’t need to as long as she was being left alone.
Someone sat in a desk near hers—a late-comer to the class, there were a few of those on any given day, a lot of people skipped to grab a coffee from Tim Hortons or smoke in the Seniors’ parking lot. Then the someone leaned over and tapped her arm.
She jumped a little, her pencil skittering over the canvas leaving behind a wobbly line. Annoyed and the tiniest bit anxious, she turned to see who had bumped her. Across the aisle was boy with olive skin, dark curls, and a waiting smile.
“Hi, I’m Samuel,” he said, he had a Newfie accent.
“Uh, okay. I’m Xena, I guess,” Xena shrugged her shoulders up to her ears and left them there. She didn’t really like being talked to, or looked at, or paid attention to in general. People didn’t make habits of being nice to her for very long, she weirded them out.
“That’s a really cool name, have you always had it?” he propped his elbow on the desk and shifted until he sat criss-cross applesauce on the seat. The girls in the corner had returned to their original volume, and a crisp breeze from the open windows rustled stacks of paper throughout the room. Xena tapped her fingers on her canvas nervously.
“Okay, ‘cause you know some people change their names and I was just wondering if you had. Xena’s a pretty unusual name, no offence. Not that I should be one to talk, I have a brother named Esau and you can imagine the questions he gets from strangers.”
She couldn’t but she nodded anyways in hopes that it would end the conversation.
“Anyways, I’m new here and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to be friends?”
Xena’s fingers stopped drumming. She took a closer look at the boy across from her, examining him with the eye of an artist. She noted the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows, the worn knees of his jeans, the way one corner of his full lips was slightly higher than the other, and how his bluegrey eyes made her think of storm clouds.
“No,” the answer dropped off her lips like a rock into water. She didn’t want friends. Well, she did, but she wasn’t prepared for them. She was bad at being a friend, she was bad at being a functioning human and she was too afraid to start re-learning it all now. If Samuel reacted, she didn’t see it, she turned back to her sketch too fast and picked up her eraser to fix the wobbly line through the center tree.
Thankfully, Samuel didn’t bother her again for the rest of the class, and when the bell rang she ducked her head and hurried out as fast as she could. It wasn’t until she reached her locker on the second floor that she finally realized she might have offended him. She sighed, resting her forehead against the cool locker door. Around her, other students hustled to their next classes, locker doors slammed, locks clicked, the smell of hotdogs wafted up from the cafeteria. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings or anything.
When the hall was devoid of other people, she opened her locker and reached for her backpack. From a small outer pocket she pulled a small blue prescription bottle half full of little orange ovals. She took a Neurontin pill and stuffed the bottled back into the pocket. If she hurried she would get to ELA right as the bell rang and Matt wouldn’t get a chance to corner her.
Three more years, she thought, swallowing against the aftertaste of the pill. All she had to survive was three more years at Rosewood, then she could run away to somewhere where Matt couldn’t find her and nobody cared if she couldn’t look them in the eye without stuttering.
That, or she could kill herself and get it all over with fast.
She grimaced at the idea when it popped into her head. Those kinds of thoughts happened a lot, between the Neurontin, the lithium, and bi-monthly psych visits to Dr. Otha Klay, she had an okay control over them. But they still bothered her.
Three more years, she told herself again as she hurried down the stairs. Three. More. Years.
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