The Broken Hearts Club

I Feel Nothing

    Poems. They ask us to write freakin' poems. What is this, the 13th century? It wasn't going to 'make me feel better', all it did was make me not want to go back even more now. I grabbed a sticky note, wrote "don't go back", and stuck it to my wall of many notes. Sighing, I leaned back against my closet wall. I didn't need to go to that stupid club. It was simply pointless because I wasn't broken. It was one break up, I'm positive I can handle myself. My eyes drifted over to her picture. It was pinned right in the middle of the mess. Jessica. She had short brown hair with hot pink streaks running through it, or at least she did when we were together. By now Jess probably had gotten rid of her piercings and covered up her tattoo for that rich snob. Traded in her leather boots for high heels. I shook my head. It didn't matter now. I felt nothing.
   "Joseph," Mom called out as she entered my room and opened the closet door, "I don't know why you suffocate yourself in here, it's such a beautiful day you should be out playing with your friends."
   "Mom, listen to yourself," I said, not looking at her, "I'm nearly 18, I don't 'play with my friends'."
   "Well whatever it is you do, go do it," she said, starting to clean my room the way every mom does, "I think I'll turn this into my art studio once you move out."
   I rolled my eyes, finally looking at her, "Did you only come in here to mentally redecorate my room?"
   She laughed, holding out a notebook that she had brought with her, "This is my old poem book from high school, I thought it might inspire you." I grabbed the book and flipped through it some, stopping at a poem entitled Tears of Blood, "To be fair it was when I went through my emo phase so I'm sure you can relate."
    "Just because someone likes black doesn't mean they are emo, mom," I sighed, tossing the notebook beside me.
   "Joseph, you painted your whole room black."
   "To create an ambiance," I told her, "it helps me think and doesn't burn my eyes out like that yellow did."
   "Yellow used to be your favorite color," She said slightly nudging me with her foot.
    I pushed her foot away, "Emphasis on 'used to be'."
    I wasn't looking at her but I could tell she was frowning, I hated when she did, "Why don't you come down and spend time with your sisters, they need help with their homework."
    Mom walked out of my room. Leaving me alone to my own thoughts again. Leaving me to stare at her picture once more. I shook my head, one day Jess'd realize the mistake she made.
    I left my closet and made my way down the stairs to the kitchen where Jade and Gem, my two younger sisters who are also twins, sat at the bar. Instead of having paper in front of them, they both had two tablets. One projected a hologram of what I assumed was showing the respiratory system, and the other laid on the counter as one blonde headed girl laid her head beside it.

    I rested my head beside Gem's, "Rough day at work, huh?"
    When she didn't respond, Jade answered, "Abigail Charles stole our lunch again."
    Gem finally spoke up, "I don't want to do my homework so I don't have to go back."
    "If you don't study then you can't go to NASA and become an astronaut," I told her.
    "Jade says homeschool is always an option." She replied. I looked over at Jade and shushed her.
    "That is true, but wouldn't it be fun to go to lunch tomorrow and prove to Abigail that a bully isn't going to bring you down?" I picked Gem up and spun her around, she giggled happily, "And I'll tell you what, if you finish your homework, I'll take you both out after dinner."
    They both nodded happily, and Jade said, "Besides, Abigail looks like a toad anyway."
   The girls both giggled with each other. Jade was the stronger, more opinionated twin while Gem was more sensitive and quiet. They evened each other out.
   Dad entered the kitchen a few seconds later, tie loosened and brief case in hand, "Hey kids."
   Jade and Gem jumped from their stools and ran over to him, both giving him a hug, "Dad, question of the day; What is the name of the tiny air sacs in your lungs?"
   "Hmm, let me think, could it be the Alveoli?" He asked, his index finger and thumb against his face in a thinking expression.
   "Correct, you get a gold star!" Jade slapped a sticker on his cheek. Mom entered just in time for the next question, "Mom, 4th president of the United States go!"
   "Oh, James Monroe?" She said.
   "You are wrong, the correct answer is Jaaaames Madison!!" Jade made cheering noises you'd hear on a TV program, "But you were only one off so you too get a gold star."
    Mom and Dad started having questions of the day when I was in 3rd grade. I'd have to ask them a question I had learned that day and see if they'd get it correct. Then the twins came along and it continued on. It was their way of knowing we payed attention that day.
    "What about you Jo, learn anything today?" Dad asked me, as he now completely took off his tie and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
   "I learned that mom was an emo in high school, and that the therapy group you sent me to is useless." I told him with a sarcastic grin.
    Both mom and dad looked at me with those parental disapproving looks. "We are just asking you to try it," Dad said, taking a big swig of his beer.
   "Honey, you're going to ruin your appetite before dinner," Mom had took his beer away, "And plus Joseph, you have no choice, until you are 18 next month then you have to do as we say."
    I rolled my eyes, "Dad they want me to write a poem."
   Dad laughed, taking back his beer, "Your mom used to write the cringiest poems back in our day." Mom smacked him on the back of his head and took the beer once more. "I mean, the most in depth and meaningful poems."
   "Dang right they were," she said, "I gave him my old notebook for inspiration."
   "I understand that poems are supposed to be a form of art to express ourselves with, but-" My sentence was cut off by dad.
   "No buts, the only but is yours at that therap- I mean club."
   Mom slapped him on the back of his head once more, "Go get cleaned up so we can eat dinner."
   Dad surrendered, sneakily grabbed his beer from mom and ran away.
   I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and made a note, "buts are for sitting, not for talking." Later once I got a chance I would write it down on a sticky note and add it to my wall. I felt my phone buzz with a new notification. It was a new text from my friend Marcus.