Break My Heart Myself Novels & Stories

Please, not like this. “Nothing’ll happen if I have a taste,” he sneered. “You’re already broken. I doubt your mate would take you back.” Something inside me snapped. Broken? No. I wasn’t broken—I was cracked open, bleeding, furious. And fury meant I was still alive. My heart pounded as my hands bled, cutting faster, faster, faster at the ropes. *He doesn’t get to define me. He doesn’t get to touch me. I belong to no one but myself.*

He even convinced the system to play the role of a fictitious first love to deepen the wound. To provoke me even more, the system chose an appearance similar to my eyes. The effect was significant. In the days that followed, it seemed like I was the only one suffering. But in reality, we were torturing each other. Still, there was something strange about me. My love was deep, but my hatred was shallow. So Freddie had no choice but to get rid of the camellia tree we had planted together, the symbol of our bond. When the petals fell, my Heartbreak Level soared to almost 90.

He says, worry bleeding through his voice. “I met someone, I fell for him faster than someone can fall off the side of a cliff and I hit rock bottom when he left. I broke his trust. I haven’t heard a word from him, and I just need time to pick myself up off the floor. That is all I can tell you.” I tell him and he sits back, staring at me.

Amber liquid spread across the white surface with glittering shards of glass, but I didn't even flinch. I simply stared. At him. At Ethan. Smiling in photographs that felt like knives driven straight into my chest. Something inside me cracked. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... Cracked. My knees gave out beneath me, and I collapsed onto the floor. For years, I had convinced myself that I had become someone who no longer cried. That weakness had died with the boy who had once believed love was enough to keep someone by his side. But tonight... Tonight that illusion shattered.

Over the last eight years, I've watched her come home with different men. Once, Anya stared at me with unusually solemn eyes despite being completely sloshed. "Shane, we belong to two different worlds. Don't fall for me," she slurred. I always thought Anya was a woman who had no idea what love was supposed to be like. Then, I found out a year ago that she had a first love who passed away from an illness. The young man Anya brought home last night actually resembled her dead love. Hence, I was not surprised to see him at breakfast with her.

“I’m a three-person, Daddy… I’m a three-person.” I hold him against me, forehead against his, feeling the echo of his pain ricochet through my own chest. I whisper to myself, over and over, a mantra that barely makes sense but feels true: I’m a three-person too. I’m a three-person too. By the time I set him down, I’m trembling from head to toe. My chest aches like I’ve been punched, my knees weak, my hands shaking. There’s no guidebook for this. No training. No one warned me that heartbreak could be contagious like this.

The mirror invites Perci to see his soul and the condition of his heart, to look past physical features. He sees nothing but a man in his 40's, single and broken. 'I wish I had not met you again.' He broke the mirror; it was the last mirror in his room because the rest is broken. A crack runs across the glass, finding the weaknesses that were once small. From a perfect mirror to something that is unrecognizable. He watches each fragment fly outward until they lie still yet vicious on the Marmol floor. Breaking glass has become his art and comfort. There is nothing more broken than his heart. Those fragments are nothing compared to his heart. He watched them shatter and release just a fragmen

in myself. Promises are meant to be broken...this phrase is true...you also gave me a promise...a promise that was broken...a promise that was a mere lie... tell me how should I learn to trust people and myself now...tell me now how should I learn to love again... tell me what did you gain by playing with my wrecked and splintered heart...are you happy....breaking me again... Wasn't my family was enough to break me time and time again that you also did the same..what's the difference between you and my family then...both of you shattered me to extent that I doubt I would heal this time...

~So, please don't break my heart Don't tear me apart I know how it starts Trust me, I've been broken before Don't break me again I am delicate Please, don't break my heart Trust me, I've been broken before~ -What if Uno once day, decided to break my heart? Would it hurt as much as what Rico made me feel? ~I've been broken, yeah I know how it feels To be open And then find out your love isn't real I'm still hurting, yeah I'm hurting inside I'm so scared to fall in love, but if it's you, then I'll try~

I echo. My hands slide over my face, wiping tears I swore I wouldn’t shed. The tissue tears in my grip. Mascara dots the sink like tiny black bruises. “Get it together,” I tell myself again, softer now. “You’re Aria Moretti. You don’t break over a man.” But I’m already broken and deep down, a whisper: You’re not breaking over a man. You’re breaking over yourself. My throat tightens. I press my palms flat against the counter, eyes shut, trying to breathe.