I Pick Up This Broken Pieces Novels & Stories

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.

Adrian's POV The photographs slipped from my trembling fingers, scattering across the polished wooden floor like broken pieces of a life I no longer recognized. The room fell silent. No. Not silent. The sound of my breathing echoed through the mansion. Ragged. Uneven. Painfully loud. The half-empty glass of Scotch remained forgotten in my hand before it slowly slid from my grip, crashing against the marble floor. Amber liquid spread across the white surface with glittering shards of glass, but I didn't even flinch.

I want to know if it was the same thing from a time before. “It’s called Piece.” “It’s a piece.” I knew it. That figure that looks like a puzzle piece is Piece. I know it doesn’t make any sense at all calling that piece a Piece. It’s weird, but that girl I knew before is weird enough to call her dog Doug.

I had no interest in picking the stupid call. I grabbed some tissue, wrapped the phone carefully, and set it on the floor. The cold tiles felt hard under my heel. I raised my foot slowly, then brought it down hard. The screen cracked loudly with a sharp sound. I stepped again. Harder. The glass shattered more. I twisted my heel slowly, making sure it looked like a real accident. The phone looked ruined. Perfect. I picked up the broken phone. The screen was full of cracks. I breathed hard a few times to look panicked. Then I walked back to the table, holding the damaged phone in my hand.

His eyes widened, just a little, and I saw the flicker of hope in them that he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. “I’m not perfect,” I continued, my voice trembling but steady now. “I’m broken. And I don’t know if I can ever be whole again, but… I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Not with you.” Zeus stepped forward, closing the gap between us, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek. “You won’t ever be alone, November. I’ll be here. For all of you. Every broken piece.”

Before I lost in the darkness. When I opened my eyes I was in this big room on a bed. I looked beside me with a lot of fear that someone slept with me again but there's no naked man beside me this time. And I am also full clothed. I got up from the bed and in panick I hit with a table and a vase falls on the ground loud. I kneeled down as I was seeing the pieces . The broken glass pieces. Just like me. They have broken me just like these glasses. Shattered me. I looked at the broken glasses. Should I just?? Maybe this is the only chance I get to do this.

I was on cloud nine, nothing could ever be more great than this moment. Alexander gentle ran his finger tips up and down my spine as I lay breathless on his chest still strattling him. I didn't know of I was afraid to move or just couldn't "I think I'm broken" I whispered motionless. " Oh no I broke my fiance" Alexander laughed as he carefully rolled me on to the bed. "yea you broke me" I laughed trying to move. "I bet if I got you some food you'd move" he teased. "food would be nice" I nearly whispered.

Her chest pain intensified even further. "Honey," her mother cooed softly, opening her arms. Bella crumbled into her embrace. The warmth should have comforted her, yet it only highlighted how shattered she felt within her. Her voice broke as she sobbed, "Mum, Marcus rejected me." "My mate rejected me." The words felt bitter on her tongue. Expressing thoughts verbally made them feel more genuine. She had wished—prayed—that this was a terrible dream from which she would awaken. However, it was not.

It slips from my hand and shatters on the floor loudly. You're useless! "Shut up!" I shout. I slide to the floor, my hands covering my ears as I sob painfully. Pick up the glass! And cut your stupid wrists! My hands shake as I pick up a shard of glass, holding it on my wrist. It would be so easy to make myself bleed. Do it!