Broken - Crimson Rose (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

death? Heaven? No, hell for me. Plus, suicide is a sin, so that will get me a ticket to hell even if I don't belong there. Maybe there's nothing after death. Just like before I was born. I wish my mother didn't bring me to earth in the beginning. It would make matters easier, to everyone, to me, to Lucifer, to my family and to my poor therapist who has to listen to my boring stories for fifty minutes every Thursday afternoon. I wanted to tell my mother I would prefer not seeing him, but the truth is I need and want to see him. I can't keep myself from wondering, how's his life at home. Has he got children and a wife? Does he have pets of his own? How much money does he make every month? And after seeing all these depressed people at work, is he happy himself? I would NEVER be a therapist when I grow up. Maybe a virtuoso, but no, not after what happened to Lucifer. I've been playing the violin since I was in second grade. That makes 6 years. I know I don't play amazingly good, but it's a passion for me...was a passion for me. I sometimes found myself making up tunes, without even noticing. I play waltz, operas, classics and gams. Finger trainings, string trainings. I was never looking for perfection, but the more practice, the better. Everyday I played at least for two hours. Now I need to fill in two full hours with something. Anything.


15th of April

My mom figured out I'm not sick. Uh oh. But this doesn't mean I'm going back to school. Instead I'm having an early session with my therapist. He looks tired. After all he had a whole other day to call 'BeccaFree', but I messed that up for him. In an exasperated voice he asked me 'Becca, tell me, why did your mom force us to cancel another patients meeting? What did you do?'. I wasn't planing on pushing his limits, so I told him without any need of struggling 'I'm not eating. And what I eat, I throw up.' he raised his eyebrows as if saying "oh no, not this!", but instead he asked me in a very caring way 'Is it that you feel sick or is there something else to it?' there's a pause, but he is patient. 'No, it was the girls. The girls from bale.'. He jotted that down. Then he asked me, I can feel the guilt in his voice since it was his idea on I should do a sport 'What's that they have and you don't?' no, it should have been the other way around. The question should have been "Whats that you have and you don't?", then I would answer "body fat". So I told him 'They all are so thin and pretty. Athletic. And they can do all the moves ten times easier and better than me.'. He seemed frustrated, even angry 'Becca, look at me, everyone is different. If they are good at dance moves, you are good with the violin. Being thin doesn't help you in life unless you will be a bitch that fucks men for the money.' I never heard him reply in such a way, but I felt grateful. Although I knew he was right, I protested 'I don't play the violin anymore. I told you.'. So he said one word that changed it all 'Why?'. When I went back home, I touched the case of my violin. Then the zipper of the case. I opened it up. And touched the wood. How beautiful my violin is. After a basic one, when I was in 6th grade I got an expensive handmade one for my birthday. I remember how much in love I was, and still am with it. Though I also remember how sad I was to leave my student use violin. It was not so great or special. Wrong, it was both great and special to me. But this one... It's amazing. I unattached the stripes holding it in the case, and placed it between my chin and shoulder. I felt dizzy. I put it softly back in it's place, took out the bow. I tightened the loose horse hair strings. I spread the resin so there is a thick layer of dust on it. I picked the violin again, and started to play it. I felt alive. But then, I felt as if betraying Lucifer. I dropped her. And it smashed. And I knew it never would be repaired again. Just like my broken heart.


17th of April

After I broke my violin, I left her on the floor and went to bed. And I'm still in bed. I've been too sick to get out. My forehead is burning with fever. My mom seems to be happy about this since she can feed me soup and I can't resist. Yesterday, when she came to wake me up for school, she saw my violin. She shook me shouting 'What's the matter with you?' but stopped once she felt how hot I was. She ran to bring me a temperature. That's when I had a good look at her, broken on the floor. For the first time instead of joy, I saw sorrow in her. And I closed my eyes, as if afraid that looking at her might turn me into stone. I felt my mothers cool hands on my warm body. A minute later I heard a gasp. 'See? When you don't eat this is what you get.' I had no energy to fight back. After that I spent my day sleeping and seeing nightmares. I saw myself playing her, but instead of her voice, every time I slid the bow across her, a sound like painful meows came. The more I heard of it, the harder I played, and the harder I played, the meow cut threw my skin, on my arm, until all of the blood was out of me, and I was a pile of skin on the floor, as if I was only filled with blood inside.
Today I was able to watch TV, but I only looked at the screen blankly. My mom sat next to me, singing a lullaby she did when I was small, but that just made me want to slap her since I had sorted out how to play it on my violin. La fa la si do mi re mi fa sol la sol fa mi la fa mi re do si la... She saw how sad I was. She told me 'We'll buy you a new one. Your birthday is only a week away.' but no, I can't touch another violin except her. We shared three years, that makes 1095 days. That makes one fifth of my life.


19th of April

Something good about being sick is that I don't have to go to bale. Today I feel much better. So today I was able to eat dinner on the table. My dad whom goes to work before I wake up, and comes back late at night was able to eat dinner with us since on Sundays he comes back from work early. Even on Sundays he works till 6pm. Then he goes back to work on his laptop. This has been going on since I was 8. He barely talks to me, and that's okay with me, since I never like to talk too much anyways. I don't even remember how long it's been since we've talked. Two weeks? A month? Today at dinner he asked me 'How's it going?'. He doesn't know a thing. That I've almost been anorexic, that I broke my violin and that i've been in bed for the past four days. But even more than that he doesn't know how hard it is to answer his question. How's it going? It's been hell. Its not going okay. Instead I stared into my soup and said 'so and so'. Then he went on talking about politics, the new highway that was being built, basically about crap. Soon I felt so angry, I dropped my spoon and left the table. I went up to my room, I grabbed my gray backpack. I grabbed 5 underwear, 5 shirts, 3 pants and a bunch of socks. Nothing else that will burden me. I also reached out for my violin case, then remembered what had happened to it. I put on my sneakers. Ran downstairs, pulled the door behind my back, into the night. I didn't know where I was going but I walked and walked and walked. Then someone came running behind me, I thought it was my dad coming after me, saying sorry, but it wasn't. It was Dean, who was my crush. I underline WAS. I was confused. He held out a bra, one of those I packet in my backpack. 'Hey Becca, you dropped this right in front of my house. You know, if you wanna kiss me you can just talk to me. I hope you didn't think I would fall for this.'. No, not him I thought. I pulled the bra out of his hand and continued on my walk. I bet he didn't expect this. 'Hey Becca, I'm sorry, come on, why are you so sad?' he ran again going in front of me and talking to me while walking in reverse. He talked about school on Friday and how I missed to see Lucia calling our teacher mom. When he realized I couldn't have cared less he stopped, which made me stop, and pulled me close to him...and kissed me. First I let him, but then pushed him away. Why now? Why not when I really needed him? Why not before I started to cut myself? Now it's too late. And I started to run, and ran for how far away I don't know. I got to a bus stop. I lied down there. Soon, I heard a honk. It was my dad getting out of the car. I got up. I expected for him to hug me and say sorry. But do you know what he did? He slapped me. I dot care if it hurt on my face for three hours, because the thing is my heart will hurt...forever.


21t of April

I am the cause of it. I am the cause of my mom and dad having a fight which got concluded with my dad being...away. We don't know where he went. Last Sunday, after my dad slapped me my mom came into my room and saw my cheek all red. She cupped her hands over her mouth. I saw a tear sliding across her cheek. She ran downstairs. I heard shouting. I couldn't make out the sentences, but I heard words and phrases like 'almost anorexic' , 'cutting' , 'broke her violin' , 'god knows how her cat died'. Once again I sunk in my pillow and fell asleep crying. The next morning, which was yesterday, I woke up my mom stroking my hair and telling me it all was going to be alright. I closed my eyes trying to remember what happened the day before. Oh yeah, Dean kissed me, then my dad slapped me. I asked my mom 'Dad?' she kissed me on my forehead 'He told me to say sorry to you for him.' but the truth was, he didn't. He had picked his clothes, just like I have done, and left. I told faintly 'No, really mom, I know he didn't say that.' that's when she started to cry, again, and now it was me stroking her hair. Now it was me telling her it all was going to be alright. I don't mind lying. When she stopped crying she asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, so I said yes.