His Broken Mate

Chapter One

Picture of AnnaSophia Robb as Carter to the side.

Song is Little Do You Know by Alex and Sierra... I think it goes really well with the ending of the chapter

-Unedited

Carter Kelly's P.O.V

I feel like we all have these kind of days. The kind where getting out of bed doesn't feel like an option. The kind where the last thing you want to do is eat. The kind where your head hurts to much because of all your thoughts. The kind where all your tears have been used up so all you can do stare blankly into space while your heart feels like it's breaking into a million pieces. These kind of days have taken up most of mine.

It's gotten to a point where music is the only thing that can distract me. I just lay on my bed and stare up at the white ceiling with my head phones on and the volume all the way up, letting the lyrics cloud up my mind.

Hudson brings me food up if she's home and I sometimes nibble on it. Hudson's my older sister. She's been my guardian since she was nineteen. I'd say she handled a depressed eleven-year-old pretty well, considering I'm still alive. Granted I didn't start cutting until I was fifteen. Girls are cruel, I still have the image of my locker covered in insults written about me in sharpie. It's like they thought I didn't already know all my flaws.

Because I did and I still do. Every, single one.

Most the time I'm alone. Hudson works everyday from eight-thirty to ten except she has off on Thursdays and I've never been good with talking to new people. I know you're thinking I'm just like every other teenager obsessed with the internet and I won't know how to deal with the real world because I stay inside a listen to music too loud and I'll end up deaf. Because believe me, I get that a lot.

I have social anxiety. For those who don't know what this hell on earth is, let me explain.

Social anxiety is hesitating before knocking on a door because you need a moment to muster up the courage, leaving the super market because you couldn't find what you wanted and asking for help isn't an option, feeling your heart nearly palliate while dialing a number because your mom made you, rehearsing your response in your head before raising your hand in class to make sure you don't screw it up, staying silent when you're eating with a group at lunch because you know anything thing you say can be ridiculed, feeling uncomfortable in public because you know everyone's staring at you and judging you and secretly hating you because you screw everything up.

And if you're one of the real lucky ones, you get panic attacks or anxiety attacks. I'll explain these little shits.

You get an intense feeling of fear, doom, forebode, or gloom. You'll have a sudden urgency to escape, run away, or get out. You feel like you're going to lose control over your thoughts, actions, and words. The best ones are where you feel nauseous or actually vomit. Usually, you'll feel like you're going to pass out. Trembling, shakiness, weakness, difficulty breathing, pounding or racing heart, hot or cold flashes, chest pain, numbness, and lightheadedness are typical. You'll have irrational thoughts and a number of other physical, physiological, and emotional symptoms. When I get them they're at least five minuets, if I'm lucky.

I hope you completely dropped that whole antisocial and lazy assumption by now, because this stuff happens all the time to me. More often since he died.

Who?

Only the reason why I haven't taken a couple of capsules of pills, that's who.

His name was Sam.

But he's the last thing I want to talk about right now. I mean, how else am I supposed to deal with my best friend dying? That's not exactly something you can get used to. I saw the guy every day and now he's just gone and I can't do anything about it. Ugh, 'Gone' is the saddest word in the language, any language.