Broken Like You Mga Nobela at Kwento

Because I was finally broken into a million pieces. Pieces that even he, wouldn't be able to piece back together.

I would not be broken. Not by them. Not by anyone.

Still. Broken. _3:17 PM._

I can't believe this is what I'm getting after going through so much just because of him "Maryam" the bang on the door make me jerk out of fear "Maryam open this door" he said in a dangerous tone "I swear if you don't open this door, I'm going to break it down and believe me I'll do just that" he threatened What? Will he really break it? Is he crazy? If I'm ask to buy that door I'm sure I won't be able to afford it "Maryam before counting of three, open this damn door if not I'm-"

There was a monster in him that had to be fed, and he wouldn’t stop until it was satisfied. She was grabbed and slammed against the wall, her head filled with white noise as the back of my skull struck the hard surface. Abubakar hit her harder than he ever had before, his hand closed this time, and she felt her jaw crack. She only understood a few words, something about the pills, and she was going to have all pills she had wanted, and he tore some from the package and shoved them into her mouth, and tried to hold her jaw shut as she spat and sputtered. He hit her in the stomach and she doubled over, and he dragged her through the bedroom to the living room.

It was 8:30am. "I have to go check on Noel.." I mumbled. I got up from bed and brushed my teeth and headed out of my room. I stopped in my tracks when I noticed Hazel sleeping peacefully on the couch in the living room with a book in her hand. "Did she fall asleep while reading?" I smiled and walked towards her. On my way, I ended up bumping into the marble vase on the table beside her and it shattered on the floor with a loud clank. Surprised by the loud noise, Hazel woke up and stared at me, and then at the floor where the broken pieces laid.

Totally broken. `

In his time as a True Crime writer, Byron had interviewed many people, many of them disturbed or troubled in some way. In these interviews, he would often run up against what he called The Breakdown, to the point where, due to the pressures of telling him their story a person would hit an unknown well of feelings and just… shut down, usually in a maelstrom of tears. They always recovered but it was at a point that Byron always hated, even dreaded.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” “I don’t know that. You say you aren’t going to hurt me, but the way you act sometimes hurts me. One day you treat me like you want me. Then the next you’re telling people I don’t mean anything to you. That we are only friends. I can’t take that. Not from you. I’m already broken, Dmitry. But you the power to shatter me.” His eyebrows wrinkled together. “Dani. For days now, I have been trying to tell you how I feel.”

"Break that." "What?" "Date me."