BROKEN ANGEL
“Silence makes me want to scream.
Screaming makes me angry.
Anger makes me feel lonely.
Loneliness makes me want to fell in love.
But love leads to a broken heart,
and a broken heart screams until there’s only silence.”
Melody Manful
I spent Saturday with Tristan, talking about places we’d been and things we’d seen. Later that day, we joined my friends for pizza. Sarah went on and on about her Tristan likes me theory, and although I kept telling her Tristan and I were just friends, she didn’t believe it.
When I came home, my mother asked me about Tristan, too, and thanks to Sarah, who kept texting me about him, my mother had something to base her suspicions on. I told her like I told Sarah, that Tristan was just a friend, but she didn’t believe it. She kept telling me how I lit up when I talked about Tristan. I couldn’t tell either Sarah or my mother what was in my heart, so I decided to let them carry on with their theory.
Sunday was all about my mother and me. We spent the entire day together. We cooked, watched a movie, and read some news about us on the gossip sites and laughed at the ridiculous rumors. It took some time, but it finally seemed as if the deaths of my father and Felix were now fading aches, and my mother and I were a functioning family again.
When Monday morning arrived, I felt all right. I hadn’t thought of Gideon once during the whole weekend, so I knew I could put him and his angel world out of my mind—possibly forever.
“Napoleon not only—” Mr. Bernard started, but he was distracted by the class door creaking open.
I didn’t have to look at the door to know who stood behind it, because my heart started pounding. Even though he had been far from my mind, my body still reacted wildly to his close proximity.
“Mr. Chase,” Mr. Bernard said, looking at his watch, “you’re late.”
I wished a million other people stood at that door other than Gideon.
“Traffic,” Gideon answered. I refused to look at the door and see him.
“See me after class,” Mr. Bernard said, and then he continued teaching.
I didn’t move my eyes away from my desk during classes that morning. I forced myself to think about anything but Gideon. When the bell rung for lunch, I started packing my books and supplies to get ready for the next class.
“Gideon,” I heard Jake calling, “man, where have you been?” he asked. “We missed you.”
“I took a sick day,” Gideon responded.
“It was more like a sick week,” Sarah said, and still I refused to look at them.
I could feel Tristan, who was sitting beside me, looking at me. I knew he wanted to say something from the way he stared, but he didn’t.
“Lunch time! People, are you coming?” Danny asked.
Tristan stood and walked over to my friends. I was sure they were gathered together with Gideon. I kept my eyes focused on my hands as I finished packing my bag.
“Abby, you coming?” Jake asked from beside me.
I looked at him. “Hmm…actually, I’m not feeling so well. I’m going to call Ben to come take me home,” I said and took out my phone and dialed Ben.
“You’re sick?” Sarah asked. She put her hand on my forehead as if trying to measure my temperature. “But, you were fine before.”
“And now I’m sick,” I pulled my school bag over my shoulder. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” With my head bowed, I rushed out of the classroom.
When I stepped outside, Tristan was already there.
“You don’t have to leave. He won’t hurt you. I won’t allow him to,” he assured me.
Answering him would mean talking about Gideon, which I didn’t want to do, so I said nothing and stared at my feet. Tristan walked with me outside and stood beside me until Ben pulled up to the curb. Tristan waved as the limo drove away with me tucked safely inside.
When I entered my room, Tristan was there, too. He didn’t say a word, and I said nothing in return. To make myself busy, I decided to do some of the homework I’d missed from the days I wasn’t in school.
I reached into my bag, and when I saw my history book, memories of Gideon came rushing into my head. I remembered the first time he addressed me and how annoyed and scared I was of him.
I found myself smiling at that memory, and when I realized what I was doing, I became angry with myself. I threw the book across the room. It hit a portrait of my mother and me, knocking it down. I crossed the room to pick it up.
The frame was cracked. I placed it back on my night table, beside the rose Gideon gave me. Thanks to Tristan, the rose was still as beautiful as it was the day it was given to me.
When I saw the rose, I became angrier. I was angry at Gideon for making me trust him and at the way he hurt me. I grabbed my bedside clock, clutching it tightly in my fingers.
“Abigail, stop!” Tristan shouted, taking the clock away from me. When I looked around me, everything that had been on my table was on the floor, and the glass covering a picture frame of my parents and me was shattered.
“Just leave me alone!” I reached for the vase holding the rose and dropped it on the floor. The vase shattered into a handful of pieces, and then I reached for the perfect rose. With frenzied fingers, I started tearing it into pieces.
“Abigail!” Tristan pushed me away from the pieces of the rose and vase on the floor. “Calm down,” he said, looking straight into my eyes. “You’re fine.”
“No, I’m not!” I shouted, pushing away from him. “I’m not fine. I hate myself!”
“You hate yourself?” His voice was full of surprise.
“Yes, I hate myself.” My heart beat like a violent drum inside me. “I ruin everything. I just can’t get anything right. I killed my father. And it’s because of me that those innocent people were killed the day of the concert. Gideon was trying to kill me and—”
“You didn’t hurt those people,” Tristan said quietly.
But everything happening around me seemed to be my fault. If I hadn’t sneaked out to that concert, those people would still be alive. If I hadn’t shouted in the car, my father would still be alive.
“Because Gideon said he killed them?” I asked, annoyed. Shivers ran through my body at the mention of his name. “Then why do I feel like this? I’m supposed to hate him. Believe me, I’ve tried to hate him, but…I can’t.”
“But I thought you said—”
I cut him off. “I know what I said at the graveyard.” I remembered the pain from that terrible storm after I called Gideon a killer and a murderer and said I never wanted to see him again because I hated him.
“Then why are you—?”
I couldn’t let him finish. “I don’t hate him, Tristan!” I shouted, finally letting go of the terrible secret that seemed to burn a hole in my chest. I wanted to hate Gideon—I thought I did—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. All the anger I felt was for me, not for him. “I tried to hate him and pretend that he didn’t exist. I tried to tell myself to forget him, that he’s a monster.” With every word I said, I inched closer and closer to the point of no return. “I did everything I could, but I don’t hate Gideon…I’m in love with him.”