Break Up Lines Novels & Stories

I asked while trying to keep my breakfast down. How was I supposed to pay back seven thousand dollars and save to move out of Ricks house? Suddenly I felt the sir around me disappear. Every goal I set seemed to be getting further and further away by the second. “That’s right. Your father just gave me an estimate of seven grand.” “That’s no problem,” I said pushing the words out. “I have a job or two lines up. And soon, I should be able to pay you back.” I spoke aloud, trying to convince myself more than him that I would be able to accomplish such a task.

“Can I look through it?” “Not exactly,” Melvin replied. “It’s a mirror, so no,” he shook his head. “you can't look through it. What I’ve done is implant a virus. Once he interacts with it, it’ll wipe everything. Completely. If you want remote access or file transfers, that’s a different setup. More complicated, and more expensive.” I didn't think about that. All I wanted was my media gone, it hadn't occurred to me to try and get something on him too.

he added simply. “…Right.” I looked down at my page. My mind refused to cooperate. Lines didn’t come easily and the shapes didn’t settle. Everything felt off, disconnected, like my thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Because they were. The Money. Yesterday. Everything. I pressed my pencil down harder than necessary willing myself to focus. Across from me, I could feel it, his attention. Not in an intrusive way, just steady and that made it worse.

“You don’t have to go down with it alone, man.” I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe someone could carry this with me. But I’d built my whole life on being unbreakable. And now the cracks were showing. And Ava—Ava was standing on the line between saving me and ending me. That night, alone in my room, I scrolled back through her messages. Can we talk tomorrow? I don’t want to hurt you. The unsaid words pressed heavy on my chest: But I might have to. I closed my eyes, knee throbbing, heart aching worse.

And everything fell apart. Text spiraled into chaos. Paragraphs rearranged like they’d been shoved through a blender. Sentences split mid-thought, fraying into half-formed words and symbols that made no sense. Webdings. Symbols instead of letters. Wingdings. Arrows. Skulls. A tiny plane. My fingers froze. What the hell? I clicked to another document. Same thing. Panic started small. Just a pinch in my gut. Then I opened my midterm essay. Gone. Or rather—there, but mangled. Whole sections missing. Arguments fragmented into dead-end tangents. Sentences rearranged to form gibberish. It read like someone had gutted it with dull scissors and sewn it back together with thread from a different lang