Spezzato

She didn't know how it had come to this.

It had been a revelation to suddenly realise that she was broken, defective, odd. Oh, she had known that she was odd even before that day, but in an eccentric sense, not this one. And the problem was, she didn't know how to fix it.

They always said that an idle mind is the devil's workshop. But for her, her mind was the devil, and she couldn't escape it. It just was. That was why she always avoided stagnation, idling, stillness. Even when she lazed about the house she was focused on something else--television, literature, her dog. She just wouldn't, couldn't, stop; because when she did, her mind would wander and it would always be the same. Devastating thoughts, depressing ideas and merciless wondering.

It was exactly that which had led to her revelation.

She was a broken person.

Perhaps it had started when she first woke up to the sound of her parents screaming. They weren't doing it out of fear, but out of anger. At each other. She remembered what she had felt like, although the events of that night was fuzzy at best--overwhelming fear.

It became a ritual that she couldn't understand. She would wake up to shouts and screams and banging; she would feel scared and helpless and small, ashamed that their neighbours knew and angry that she had to go through this. Sometimes she would get picked out with a demand to take sides and she would feel torn up inside, silently cowering in the corner as bitterness washed over her. Sometimes she got slapped and other times she simply hid in her room until the noise died down. There were times when she simply ended up falling into a fitful sleep even before they stopped yelling. She would come out of her room only to find shards of glass and porcelain on the floor, ripped clothes thrown outside the master bedroom and furniture over turned. She learned to depend on herself for food, walking to the nearby stalls when she found enough money around the house for a simple packed meal.

As she got older, the fights became worse. She would wake up to her mother pounding on her door telling her to pack her things and to leave. Two days before her graduation party it happened, and she ended up lugging her new skirt and blouse into the car with a bag of hastily packed clothes and wearing only her nightdress. There were times she would be woken up because her mother would lock herself into the room and her father would continue pounding on the door for hours. And the very next morning she would go to school as though nothing were wrong.

She remembered the first time her mother stormed out of the house after one of their fights. Not long after, her father did as well. She had been eight and terrified of being abandoned. It was her finals and she had an exam paper the next day she couldn't miss. The bus had picked her up as usual. Her parents hadn't returned when she left for school. Walking in line with the rest of the kids to class after morning assembly, she had seen her mother in the crowd of parents who were watching their children enter the exam hall. She cried twice that day--one when her mother came up to her and next when her teacher had asked her about it.

And then the fighting had stopped. For a while.

Her father moved out of the house and there was a momentary peace. But somehow, someway, they always managed to make each other angry all over again. Monetary problems, unkept promises and fights over belongings, they always found a way to fight with each other. She had stopped crying years before and only felt irritation at their continued behaviour. Perhaps, she had felt contempt as well. She wasn't sure.

Every time she was scolded and every time she had to prepare her own meals it had happened. She just hadn't noticed. Little cracks became bigger and a hard heart became harder to the point that she was now. Broken. Alone. Cynical and suspicious.

Oh, she could laugh and smile and joke with the best of them. She could be kind and helpful and would always look out for those she cherished. But, she realised, she could never completely open up to anyone nor trust them nor love them.

And such was her revelation that day in the car, when she drove out for a meal and stalled from going home.

She was broken.