I am broken, shattered into a thousand glittering fragments. The sun catches brilliantly on the shards of my body, refracting like the pieces of a Waterford vase mother threw at father's head after the LuthorCorp Christmas party when I was eleven.
Broken like a half-remembered nursery rhyme.
Laughing, I sing to myself, "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall... had a great fall... off a wall..." Damn. I can't remember the rest. There was breaking involved, I know it would fit perfectly into this situation.
Was I ever young enough for nursery rhymes?
Drinking used to help, so did drugs. They numbed the pain; helped me forget everything. I could lose myself in a world of sex and drugs. Don't forget the rock and roll, that was the best part; the steady thrum of bass, almost like the beating of the human heart. Like being back in the womb where nothing could touch me, nothing could hurt me.
No angry words or voices, no flying accusations or sharp backhands followed by the nauseating taste of iron and the smell of a freshly washed and pressed Irish linen handkerchief.
"Get your face stitched up," he'd said, as if commenting on the weather.
I didn't, though. I wanted to remember when my father broke me. I wanted to be able to see it for the rest of my life and remember what it felt like to burst apart at the seams. To mark the moment, like any other normal inebriated teenager would do, only in a tattoo studio instead.
But I was never normal.
My father thinks that sending me to Smallville will break me. He doesn't realize that I've been broken for years now. He wants to mould me into his heir, but he can't touch me now.
I taste the scar on my upper lip and tell myself it won't always be like this.
The broken bone heals stronger than before.
Also, why not join
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