Shattered

Chapter 52

This chapter took a lot to write.

Whenever I would cry to my mother about my troubles, she always used to tell me that even when the sky looks dark, there are always stars shining.

Her own way of saying there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

Growing up, she seemed 'normal' to me, but when I think back to my memories, I notice her peculiar words and actions. Most of my oddities came from her.

I missed her.

Her dark hair and bright eyes, always smiling, even when she cried. She never wanted me to see her upset.

I would never amount to anything close to her, and it's for the best that I have not fallen on the same path she did, towards motherhood. I wasn't suited for that. Take care of a kid? I need to learn to take care of myself first. There are many steps ahead of me on that path.

And as I say that, I have every intention to play with fire as well.

Life's a lottery, I guess.

In this place, I had nothing to lose.

Over the past hour, Nyx had encouraged me to go along with my plan, a part of me still skeptical. Chandler had to stay oblivious. I couldn't crack under him. It's not like he's exempt from thinking with the wrong head, I had seen him do it before. The issue was getting myself to think without rationality. I'm not very in-tune with my "primal" instincts.

"I can't do it," I groaned and tapped my head to the white wall adjacent to her desk, which she sat at. Her nails clicked against her keyboard at a pace unimaginable to me. I had long nails very few times in my life, but when I did, functioning was damn near impossible, so I couldn't comprehend how she did it with nails that length.

"Yes, you can," Nyx countered, not turning her eyes away from the screen.

"I'm not 'sexy', he's going to catch on within two fucking seconds."

I groaned again, turning myself to stand up straight, and crossed my arms with a frown.

Nyx did look this time, pushing her glasses up her nose as she scowled at me.

"And who said you're not sexy? You?" she demanded; eyes narrowed.

Her stare burned, nearly as bad as Chandler's.

"I'm the color of a powdered donut, I'm short, and I'm not skinny."

Yeah, maybe I was a little insecure.

A pen came flying my way, knocking me straight in the throat.

I choked on air, damn near gasping for my life.

"Oh please, you are skinny. So what you don't have a thigh gap and a flat stomach? You don't need that, some meat on the stomach is good, it protects your organs."

I gave her a pointed look, knowing words like that were harder to digest from someone who did have that. The only exception is that she didn't have a gap between her thighs either, but there still wasn't a whole lot there. She had such long legs, and her body seemed toned, like she probably worked out.

Even if I did have some insecurities, it always gave me peace to remember that I was nowhere near the sickly thin I was as a teenager, the result of depressive episodes where I wouldn't eat, and although I still had similar episodes, I could snap out enough to eat. I refused to ever look at myself like that again, bones jutting out in places they shouldn't