Fractured Desire

Chapter 2

I wake to the sound of my dad screaming at nothing again, bottles clinking on the counter like percussion in a nightmare. The kitchen smells like alcohol and burnt toast. My head throbs before my eyes even open. I’ve always hated mornings, but today, today it feels like the walls are closing in. My chest is tight. My body is buzzing, and I know it’s not just the headache or the smell of smoke. My brain is firing in ten different directions, a manic storm I can’t contain.

I swing my legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. My journal sits on the nightstand, filled with jagged lines, crossed-out thoughts, words that make sense one second and absolute chaos the next with no matter. Writing helps sometimes, but it’s not a cure. It’s just a way to survive.

Lila is in the living room, headphones on, scrolling through t****k. She’s humming something stupid and upbeat, and I want to scream at her, but instead I nod, half-smiling. She notices. “Rough night?”

I shrug, leaning against the wall. “Always.”

She doesn’t argue. Lila knows when to stay silent. Sometimes that’s enough.

School is a blur of fluorescent lights, sticky floors, and the faint smell of other people’s sadness. I sit in the back, legs crossed, notebook open, but I’m not really listening. My mind is spinning faster than the ceiling fan, bouncing from one thought to the next. Ballet. Hunter. My dad. Lila. My thighs. The way people whisper behind my back. The way my heartbeat can feel like a drum solo one second and a full stop the next.

I meet up with Jax in the courtyard my gay best friend, loud and brash and exactly what I need he says whatever he wants and does whatever he wants. He’s perched on a bench, black eyeliner smudged, leather jacket slightly too big, hair a messy halo around his pale face.

“Jesus, you look like hell,” he says, patting the empty spot beside him. “Mood swing already? Or did Hunter drag you through hell before breakfast?”

“Both,” I mutter, sitting down. The wind whips through my hair. I pull my hoodie tighter, hoping no one notices the way I shake. “I can’t… I can’t deal with him. And my brain my f*****g brain won’t shut up for five minutes.”

Jax grins, sliding an arm around my shoulder. “That’s because your brain’s brilliant. Chaotic, but brilliant. But also, yeah, you’re gonna combust if you don’t chill. You want a cigarette? I’ve got some.”

I hesitate, then take one. The smoke curls around us, bitter and comforting. He lights it for me, and I inhale like it’s oxygen. My body relaxes for a second, just a second, before the storm in my head comes back tenfold.

“I feel like I’m cracking,” I admit. “Like every little thing Hunter, my dad, the ice, Lila… it all adds up, and I’m gonna explode.”

Jax leans back, squinting at me like he’s seeing something I can’t see. “Bobby, you’re not cracking. You’re just… you. And that’s messy as f**k, but it’s also incredible. You feel everything too hard. That’s the gift—and the curse.”

I laugh bitterly. “A gift? A gift feels like… like people actually like you. People actually want you around. I’m just… here. Breaking.”

“You’re not breaking,” he says firmly. “You’re surviving. You’re surviving and skating through life with your insane brain screaming at you and somehow still standing.”

I want to believe him, but the truth is, some days I don’t know if surviving is enough. Some days, I want to smash mirrors, throw my skates across the room, punch someone, run, scream, sleep forever. My moods swing like a pendulum I can’t stop—ecstatic one minute, hollow the next. Mania makes me feel like I’m invincible; depression makes me feel like I’m already dead.

And then there’s Hunter. f*****g Hunter. The way he taunts me in the hallways, the way he smirks, the way he somehow knows just what to say to push me into chaos. He’s everywhere I don’t want him, and every encounter leaves me raw. My blood pulses. My body tightens.

Jax sighs, shaking his head. “You’re going to get yourself killed—or yourself in trouble—if you don’t calm down.”

“Maybe I want to,” I whisper, more to myself than him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, let’s get out of here before someone actually notices how messy you are.”

We wander through the city streets, cigarette smoke mingling with the smell of rain and trash, my hoodie soaked in drizzle. I watch the reflections in the puddles, half-smiling, half-horrified. My hair sticks to my face. My eyes are bloodshot. My legs ache. And yet, somehow, I feel alive.

“I hate him,” I mutter suddenly. “Hunter. I hate him so much.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do. But also… I think you like it.”

I want to deny it. I want to scream and tell him he’s insane. But I can’t. The thought of him, the way his dark eyes catch mine, the way he makes me feel… it’s thrilling and terrifying and disgusting and perfect all at once.

“I wish I could just… disappear for a while,” I admit, voice shaking. “Not my dad, not Hunter, not school… just… me.”

“Then do it,” Jax says simply. “Disappear for a bit. Skate, smoke, write, whatever. Don’t let the world tell you how to feel.”

I nod, letting his words sink in. I pull out my phone and start scrolling, my brain buzzing with manic energy and sadness. The city hums around us. People laugh and yell and fight and love. Everything is messy. Everything is raw. Everything is alive.

And maybe, just maybe, so am I.

I take another drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I glance at Jax and smile faintly, the first real one today. He grins back, perfectly messy, perfectly alive, perfectly… him.

Maybe surviving isn’t enough. Maybe thriving is impossible. But surviving with someone who gets it that’s something.

I exhale, smoke curling into the gray sky. The storm inside me doesn’t stop. But for a moment, it feels like it might.

And tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll face Hunter again. Tomorrow I’ll lace up my skates. Tomorrow I’ll try to hold it together, just for a little while.

Because that’s all surviving is. One messy, f****d-up day at a time