Novel & Cerita Pieces Of Her

She stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide with shock as they met mine. Dressed in a simple outfit, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her feet bare on the floor, she held a small bag—her only possession. Yet, in her simplicity, she was beautiful, breathtaking, stunning, and vibrantly alive. She was gone, but now she was back.

Loyalty to her sister perhaps. You meant nothing to her, my subconscious supplied the second and more likely option readily. "We need to take a picture." She declared, hurrying towards the wardrobe on unsteady legs. I dashed over when she went on her tiptoes, her hands reaching for the box containing our phones. Before I could stop her, the box came clattering down. "Ouch." She cried out as the thing made contact with her forehead before reaching the ground. "You are the most reckless drunk on earth. Come on, let's put you to bed."

“And you’re just… giving pieces of you to every girl that comes your way.” The tears came again. This time faster. Less controlled. She shook her head slightly. As if trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense. “How do you do that?” How do you stand in front of someone who cares about you… and still lie like nothing matters? Diamond pulled her knees to her chest again. Wrapping her arms around them tightly. Trying to hold herself together. Because it felt like something inside her was slipping. “I see you…” She whispered. “I see everything.”

she said. "No," I said. "He won't." "But he'll learn," she said. "Yes," he said. "He will." She looked at the ceiling. She looked at the collection. No. She looked at the room. At the living room. At the home. At everything that was inside the house. At the stayed things. "The collection," she said. "Tell me," I said. "The first piece after the white dress," she said. "I know what it is."

I only had one: you. "I ran tens of millions of trials, and only one of them worked. If that antigen had been preserved, I could've cured you, but unfortunately, your dear Sheila destroyed your only chance at recovery." "That's impossible! You're lying! Andrew's eyes turned bloodshot, and his breaths grew heavy. He could not accept it. Beside him, Sheila had completely lost her composure. The confidence from earlier was gone. She grabbed his arm in panic. "Honey, don't believe her. She's making this up…"

If they were watching, they believed she was helpless. She slowly lowered her head, pretending exhaustion while her eyes searched every inch of the floor. Dust. Water stains. Tiny chips of concrete. Then she noticed it. Near the wall, only a few inches from her foot, lay a broken piece of metal no longer than her little finger. Perhaps part of an old hinge. It wasn't much. But it was sharp. Hope flickered inside her.

Her eyes remained fixed on the stream, unblinking, as if in this weather she were seeking forgiveness. After a few minutes, she turned abruptly to the tap and turned off the water completely. She hurried back to the guard's room. She bent down to gather the scattered remains of the cassette player—metal and plastic fragments like the remains of a dead body. Her fingers trembled as she picked up each piece, both hasty and nervous. Without hesitation, she approached the narrow window and flung the debris outside. The shattered pieces fell by the great gate, scattered like exposed secrets, and settled on the threshold where passersby tread.

She just lay there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. On the third day, she finally got up. She went to my room and pushed open the door. Everything looked exactly the same. The desk drawer was still open. Pieces of my sketchbook covered the floor. My bed was still unmade, the pillow dented where my head had been that morning. She crouched down and started picking up the pieces. One by one. She spread the torn pages across the desk and pieced them together like a puzzle.

She was shaking hard enough that her teeth chattered. “I don’t know who I am without the missing pieces,” she choked out. “They took so much and I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know what’s left of me that wasn’t shaped by someone else’s decision.” Eli’s arms locked around her. One hand cradled the back of her head. The other spanned her back, holding her together by force. “Listen to me,” he said, voice low and rough against her hair. “The missing pieces do not define you. Do you hear me? They are things that were taken. They are not the sum of who you are.”

I scream at her. Her stoic face suddenly turns into a smile. She fades away with the other robed figures. Using my anger I pick up the piece closes to me and start trying to put him back together. I make piles of the pieces that look similar in color that I believe go together. As I clear a corner I find a few tins of pain underneath. I work tirelessly as the strength in my muscles wane.