All the Shattered Pieces

by B. Celeste

  Wetting my lips, I heft out a heavy sigh and consider my answer. “Those things just seem mundane to me. What impact would they have on them? It doesn’t seem like enough to do anything vital.”

  Dr. Brown considers that. “Look at it from your mother’s point of view. You haven’t asked her for any help before, so even the tiniest thing will be bigger to her than you think. By asking her to help you find a place or asking she and her husband to help you move, would mean the world to her. I’m almost positive of that.”

  I sink back into my seat, staring out the window and watching the wind blow the leaves on the trees. “You’re not wrong,” I murmur.

  “What do you want from your mother?”

  Another question.

  Rubbing my lips together, I answer as honestly as I can. “I don’t know. I want us to be normal. Whatever the hell that is.”

  “Everybody’s version of normal is different. The relationship you have with your mother was strained for years. Has it gotten better since the last time I saw you?”

  Despite the reason I’m here, I nod. If anything, today proves how much she loves me. And Henry’s conversation with me days ago hits deep because I know he’s right.

  Mom doesn’t deserve to face the same loss he has. And she won’t. I’ll make damn sure of that. “I didn’t use the pills to cause anybody harm. Me or her. But I did.”

  My acknowledgement makes him look pleasantly surprised. “Even if your intentions were innocent, the people who care about you will worry regardless. Your mother loves you, and I think you wanting to have a relationship with her is a great thing. It means you’re taking the steps to make something of yourself. Build connections. Dare I say, move forward.”

  But not move on.

  “So, what are you going to do?” he asks.

  This time, the question doesn’t irritate me. Much. “I guess I’m going to ask if she wants to help me out.”

  Dr. Brown smiles.

  I don’t.

  But I don’t scowl either.

  Chapter Ten

  Henry tapes up one of the boxes that Mom passes him after filling it with folded clothes from my closet. The only thing left are a few pairs of shoes and some folders and boxes stuffed on the top shelf.

  Mom gets on her tiptoes and reaches for one of the boxes, losing her grip on the worn cardboard. I try catching it before it collides with the hardwood, but I’m too late.

  I hear the glass on impact.

  Watch the shards fly from the opening.

  Henry instantly moves Cam away, so she doesn’t step on it.

  But me?

  I drop to my knees, ignoring the sharp slices of pain as the broken glass cuts into my skin. I open the box and stare at the broken jar inside, quickly collecting the pieces of paper scattered and not caring about the glass with the handfuls I gather.

  “Kaiden,” Henry says in warning, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “You’re bleeding. Let them go.”

  Let them go.

  My eyes go to the droplets soaking into some of the paper in my hand, then down at droplets on the floor.

  Mom carefully squats down, lifting my chin up to meet her worried gaze. “Oh, baby…”

  Tears sting my eyes, blurring her image in front of me. I go to clench what’s resting in my palms, but Henry stops me from causing more damage.

  When I look down again, I see the destroyed Post Its. Images stained. Words slowly soaking in red. Glass woven into the last gift given to me by Emery.

  That’s when the first tear falls.

  Then the second.

  Until a stream floods my face, and the papers scattered across the floor are coated with more than blood.

  I’m being pulled up by small hands, guided away from the mess by large ones, and wrapped in two sets of arms.

  “Let it out, baby,” Mom whispers, hugging me harder than she ever has.

  I cry.

  Silently.

  Desperately.

  Clenching onto Mom’s shirt.

  When Henry puts an arm around my shoulders, I don’t pull away.

  I haven’t cried in a long time.

  It’s been building.

  Building.

  Building.

  And the dam finally broke.

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry swept up the pieces, carefully sorting out glass from the paper. A somber look remained on his face the entire time as Mom held onto me through my breakdown.

  And when the tears subsided, so did a piece of the pressure that I thought was woven into my being permanently.

  Hours later, each room is empty save for the dust and faded marks on the floors from where furniture has rested for years.

  Mom holds my hand.

  Henry holds my shoulder.

  A box is passed to me.

  Glancing down, I take in the carefully placed papers with pictures and wording covered in water stains and blood droplets.

  On the top is a picture of a mouse.

  Untouched but faded.

  The nickname striking recognition deep inside of me until I have to close my eyes and look away.

  “She’d be so proud of you,” Henry tells me in that gruff voice of his. It’s slightly cracked, holding back the emotion that surfaced in the time they were with me today.

  Mom pecks my cheek. “She would.” Her hand lifts mine, examining the little cuts she cleaned up as soon as she could. My knees have it worse. They’ll probably scar over, which seems fitting.

  The girl who brought me to my knees the first time scarred them from doing it a second.

  She left a mark.

  On me.

  On her family.

  On everybody.

  A laugh bubbles up, escaping before I can hold it back and startling Mom and Henry. Their concerned stares pin me to my spot as I shake my head and study the apartment.

  It’s a clean slate for me now that I’m letting this place go. Maryland. Moving on.

  “Kaiden?” Mom asks carefully.

  I take a deep breath, repeating that to myself silently.

  Moving on.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  For once, I think I mean it.

  “Come on, then,” she urges, smoothing her hand over my back and guiding me to the front door. “Dr. Brown will be happy to know you did this. We can tell him about it during your next telehealth call.”

  Swallowing, I pull out my keys and stare at the door that Henry closes behind us before inserting it into the deadbolt and clicking the lock into place.

  New beginnings.

  It’s a foreign concept for me.

  Bold.

  Big.

  But if Emery could do it—leaving behind her mother, grandmother, and childhood memories to come stay with Henry, me, and Mom all those years ago—then I could do it now.

  Start to heal.

  Slowly.

  Painfully.

  I whisper, “I’ll be okay.”

  Eventually.

  Bonus Scene #1: Chapter Four

  The following bonus content contains scenes told in Kaiden’s point of view from Underneath the Sycamore Tree.

  For Christ’s sake. She’s crying. Normally I can ignore that shit, but there’s something alarming about the defeated arch to her shoulders as she palms her eyelids to contain the streams of tears rolling down her cheeks.

  I took her to my spot—my thinking spot. My quiet place. The sycamore tree at the cemetery is the one place in Exeter I can go without being bothered by life. Bringing her here was supposed to be a temporary olive branch.

  Despite the reservations I’ve had about the quiet blonde, I figured she needed this after how the dinner went.

  “You need to breathe, Mouse.”

  I position myself against the bark, squirming uncomfortably as she cracks her eyes open.

  “Why do you look mad?” she sniffles.

  I grumble, “Don’t do well with crying.”

  We’re quiet as she nudges the
grass with the tip of her shoe. She watches me with contemplation as if debating her options before walking over and sitting beside me. Resting her chin on her bent knees, she blows out a heavy breath, expelling the bullshit that led us here.

  “Your father is an asshole,” I tell her. When she’s silent in return, not bothering to refute me, I itch the column of my throat and think about what I’d said at the restaurant. “Sorry about … shit, you know.”

  If I’d known about her sister, I never would have said what I did. I’m an asshole, but even I have my limits.

  Emery pauses a moment, her lips twitching before going back to neutral. They’re unreadable. I don’t like that. “She was my best friend,” she says out of the blue.

  My jaw ticks. How am I supposed to respond to that? Do I should ask Emery about her sister. Do I tell her I’m sorry? It wouldn’t matter anyway. She’d still be dead regardless of whatever I come up with.

  I remain silent beside her.

  My stepsister takes a small breath before whispering, “Did my dad really not say anything?”

  I clear my throat. “No.”

  She simply nods.

  Henry really is an asshole. How could he not say anything to me about Emery’s twin? About the loss they both shared? Why the fuck did he think he had to hide that?

  My fingers tighten into fists in my lap, realizing just how fucked Emery’s dynamic is with him. It’s no wonder she looks so uncomfortable at the house. I sure as hell haven’t made it any better for her.

  To my surprise, Emery says, “I found out he was remarried through a friend of the family. This older woman was gossiping at the grocery store when I went to pick up paper plates.” She lets out an empty laugh. “Weird that I remember what I was getting, huh? I was in the aisle trying to choose between the off brand or name brand with little blue flowers on the edges of both. Then I heard Mrs. Wallaby tell someone in the next aisle that she heard about Dad getting married to a ‘pretty young woman with a son of her own.’ She said it must be nice to get a fresh start and new chance at a family.”

  I press my lips together, unable to trust myself from commenting. I’m not sure how I’d react if I were in her shoes. Probably as pissed as I am for Henry not indulging me on his previous life before he butted into mine.

  I eventually shift in my spot, visibly uncomfortable by the direction of our conversation. “I don’t usually come here to talk.”

  Emery’s lips part then quickly close again. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but the slight widening of her eyes is comical. “Oh.”

  Her flushed cheeks tell me exactly what she’s assuming I mean by that. I can’t blame her mind for going there. I have a reputation at school. Girls flirt with me and I don’t stop them. People talk—whether that shit is true or not, I let everyone believe what they want. Her included.

  It’s easier that way.

  I chuckle at her obvious embarrassment, swiping at my wavering lips. “I come here to think.”

  After a while, she settles against the tree and squeezes her arms tighter around her legs. I notice the way she studies our surroundings. Flowers in full bloom, but not for much longer. Leaves turning to autumn colors. Clear sky. Light breeze. It’s a beautiful night to share with the broken human beside me.

  We’re one of the same, Mouse and me.

  It’s a few moments of listening to the crickets play us their song when Emery makes small talk about people at school. Things that I couldn’t care less about talking about. Truthfully, all I want to do is sit here. With her. With nature. With my thoughts.

  When’s the last time I actually wanted to spend time with anybody?

  My eyes find their way to her profile. She’s lost in thought, unknowing of my interest. That’s probably a good thing. Something tells me that she wouldn’t know what to do with it if she knew how much of my attention she’s really captured in the short time she’s been here.

  I draw one leg up and ask, “Which paper plates did you buy?”

  A relieved laugh bubbles from her.

  Her head rests backward, her blonde hair stark contrast against the dark, aged bark. “I didn’t buy either.”

  We fall back into peaceful silence.

  She fell asleep. I don’t know how. There’s no way she can possibly be comfortable. What confuses me even more is how she barely stirs when I pick her up, cradling her too-light body against me as I carry her up the field and around the fence I helped her climb over earlier.

  If her scent had a label, it’d be summertime. Light and airy. Fresh. Innocent. An odd combo but perfect for her. It eases the tightness that’s been settled into my chest for a long time.

  We’re halfway home when she starts coming to in the backseat where I laid her down. She’s using her hands as a pillow, staring at me in confusion when I meet her gaze in the rearview mirror.

  Even sleepy, she’s cute.

  Never thought I’d admit that.

  Not sure how to feel about it.

  I grind my teeth at the weird feeling building, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. “We’re almost home.”

  She sits up groggily, looking exhausted still. I watch her carefully until she’s sitting upright, then return my eyes back on the road lit dimly by streetlights.

  “Have you eaten anything today?”

  There’s a brief pause. “Not since you saw me making something earlier.”

  I curse and pull into the driveway. After parking, I twist around to look at her. “You have to eat, Mouse. You’re too skinny as it is.”

  A dark look shadows over her features, and it’s one of the first times she’s shown me that I’ve struck a nerve. Is it weird I like it? Probably. It means she’s got a bark to her bite. That’s a good thing when dealing with somebody like me.

  “What has my father told you about me?”

  I offer her silence.

  She scoffs. “Let’s just go inside.”

  I sigh in exasperation, getting out and opening the door for her. “What? Do you have an eating disorder or some shit? You could be prettier if you just gained some fucking weight.”

  She slides out of the car and storms to the front door, walking in with me close behind her.

  I grip her wrist to stop her from storming off like a child throwing a tantrum. “Let go of me, Kaiden.”

  I do. “Go to the kitchen.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “Christ, Emery. I’ll make you dinner.”

  She blinks, seemingly as surprised as I am that I’d want to do that for her. “I’m sure they brought back the food they ordered. I’ll eat that.”

  I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t even like Mexican food.”

  “I ordered a salad.”

  “You need protein.”

  “I’m sure there are beans on it.”

  My fists clench frustrated that she won’t let me take care of her. Did Henry and her mother fuck her up that much that she feels the need to do everything on her own? “Just get your ass into the kitchen. I’ll make you eggs or something.” When her brows raise, I shake my head. “Don’t let it go to your head. I want an omelet, so I’ll make you something too. I won’t be your bitch boy again.”

  Despite my cool tone, she follows behind me as I flick the kitchen lights on. “What do you want?”

  “Scrambled is fine.”

  “You need more than scrambled eggs. Will you eat bacon if I make it? Toast? Cheese, for the little Mouse?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  I wait for an answer.

  “Fine. Yes, I’ll eat those too.”

  I smile victoriously.

  “Where are our parents?” she asks.

  “They know to leave me alone when I leave for a while,” I indulge.

  “They don’t know that about me.”

  I shrug, not glancing in her direction to gauge her reaction when I reply, “You were with me.”

  “How could they know that?�
�

  “Because I told them I’d get you.”

  Nothing but the butter sizzling in the pan fills the silence between us. I cook effortlessly because I’m used to this. Making things for myself. Anything so I don’t have to have family dinners with Cam and Henry.

  By the time I’m finished, I set a steaming plate full of eggs sprinkled with cheese, bacon, and a slice of buttered toast down in front of Emery and watch her stare. I stay quiet as I grab silverware and put it beside her plate.

  I busy myself with cleaning up my mess, hand Mouse a bottle of water from the fridge, and leave the room.

  If she notices I never made myself an omelet, she doesn’t say.

  The moment I close my bedroom door behind me I realize I want to take care of the girl I left behind in the kitchen.

  We’ll see if she’ll let me or tell me to screw off.

  Secretly, I hope it’s the second option.

  I smirk.

  BONUS SCENE #2: Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Emery walks into her room, I sit up with a scowl on my face. Cam texted me to let me know they’d taken her to the hospital. No explanation as to why. Barely any updates besides the “on our way home” message I got from Henry’s number not long ago.

  “Don’t start right now,” she tells me tiredly, not seeming surprised I’m in her room.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Definitely isn’t going to be the last even though I’m pissed off at the moment.

  I hold out my hand after she’s done toeing off her shoes and walking toward the mattress I’m draped on. “Give me your phone.”

  She stares at my extended palm. “Uh, why?”

  Is she fucking joking?

  Thankfully, she digs out her cell and places it into my palm, brows pinched in confusion like she generally doesn’t understand why I’d want it. I unlock it using the code I’ve seen her use hundreds of times when checking for texts from her mother—messages that I notice never appear no matter how hard she wills them to—and then pass it back to her after I finish putting my number in as her number one contact.

  “Use my fucking number,” I tell her, irritated I’ve been worried for hours since Cam’s original text and barely got anything from her now that she’s back.