Pieces Of Me Novels & Stories

Sara being forcibly removed from three of them due to severe physical, and sexual abuse. As the years of pain and isolation continued, several changes happened to poor Sara. She finally realized that love was a sham. Anyone who ever told you they loved you either left when things got hard like her Uncle Johnny, or used that emotion as a weapon, like her mom, or any member of her foster family, like her first foster father, who would come into Sara’s room at night, and leave the poor girl a crying mess for days afterward.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let a tear fall. "He's not going to die, I'm not going to let that happen." I repeated. "He's not going to die, I'm not going to let that happen." I breathed out. More bullets were being shot, and I immediately wiped my tears away in determination to get out. I took another deep breath and looked around analyzing the room. I squinted my eyes and noticed to door was slightly open. "How the fuck is it open Shawn slammed it shut?" I asked myself. I then remembered the door bouncing back open because of a piece of foam slightly sitting in between the doorframe preventing it from closing.

What if they come down here and accidentally hurt themselves? I grab the broom and dustpan from the back and start sweeping. It's frustrating to clean up the mess of my new life. It feels like I'm always starting over. Something always goes wrong, and sometimes I just get so tired of it all. As I sweep, my eyes start to water. I watch the pieces of glass slide into the dustpan, and it feels like they symbolize every broken part of me over the years. Each piece represents exhaustion, loneliness, and betrayal. They keep piling up, and if I put them together, it would probably look like a fractured statue barely holding its shape.

Stooping down, I tried to gather the scattered pieces of memory I had managed to capture. My hands trembled as I picked up the fractured remains-the ID card, the wig, and worst of all, the broken fragments of my camera. Each piece cut like glass in my palms, sharp reminders of everything that had just unfolded.

The cracking of my bones sounded in my head and the pains shot up my spine like I was in a furnace. "Argh!" I screamed. I couldn't see clearly but Jordan quickly turned to me. He slowly walked to me. "Don't help me!" I gritted my teeth as tears rolled down my face. I took a handful of the grass but my fingers grew out. I felt my toes painfully grow out too with the snap of my shoes. "Oh my God!" I breathed. Jordan only watched. At a point, it looked like he wanted to help but I believe he listened to me.

Even breathing became deadly, I wanted to lay there and painfully drift away but I couldn’t. The fire in me couldn’t be extinguished. The core of me kept fighting, fighting for me to not drown in the dark sea I was in. I finally sat up from where I had been lying for days. I pushed the blanket away. I sat there for what seemed like hours, trying and failing to collect the pieces once again and puzzle myself back together. Even if I did put back all the pieces, I would forever be broken, cracked at all angles that could shutter at any point.

"I'll give Xenia this doll when she returns." I reached out and gently touched it. It was soft. It was my first time seeing such a beautiful doll. I watched Mom suppress her uneasiness and go to work. She changed into her uniform and entered the funeral parlor. On the table lay my body, covered with a white cloth. Mom flipped open the cover at my legs first. Because of being trampled over, my legs were out of shape. My knees were dislocated. Someone gagged, but Mom was very calm. She was capable in her work and could work for long hours.

The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. Then I saw the phone, broken on the floor, its pieces scattered like evidence of everything shattered between us. I walked toward it slowly, each step echoing louder than the last. The fragments caught the light like glass shards. When I knelt to pick one up, I noticed the crack across the screen, the same one that split my reflection. I sank to the floor, clutching the fragment in my hand, and whispered to no one, “You’ve already become the monster, Richard.”

MAKE ME BEG MADISON I look in the mirror at my ridiculously short, black dress and wonder for the millionth time what in the fuck I’m doing. I miss the comfort of my jeans and baggy sweatshirt. I prefer to hide behind my clothes, not strut around half naked on full display. I tug the thin fabric up, trying to cover my tits, but there’s no hiding them. Turning around, I peek over my shoulder and groan at how damn short the dress is. I bend over a little as a test and cringe at the way my pink panties are clearly visible, showing my little pussy in a scandalous peek-a-boo every time I move my hips.

It had taken me a whole month to finish it. Every detail was filled with my hopes for our future. Now, it was covered in a layer of dust. No one cared. Just like our relationship. I walked over and picked up the sculpture. I lifted it high, then smashed it onto the floor. CRACK! Crystalline fragments scattered everywhere, glittering in the dark. Just like my shattered heart. My phone buzzed. A new notification from the pack's internal channel. Isabella had posted a video. I didn't want to watch it, but curiosity won.