The Heart That Stopped Beating, Jenna [beginner reading books for adults txt] 📗

of the customers, but once it came to quitting time he would tear my ass apart.

~Torian~

Everyone knew the story of Tommy Kingsley. He had died when he was seventeen, but no one really remembered how. What they do remember is when he sat up in his casket, in the middle of his memorial service, stitched up and almost as good as new.
He was the first ‘zombie’.
His parents thought there was something wrong with him. The exorcised him. They chained him to the basement. They brought him to doctors, even though they couldn’t fix him.
So, they rammed a stake through his silent heart.
Jasmine Marvin was the second. Jasmine’s parents were much kinder. They thought this was a blessing, to have their little girl back. I remember reading something about her in the newspaper, right after she died, again, after being attacked by a gang for being 'different'. Or rather, dead.


Standing in front of the boy, I swore my heart would stop beating. His pale hand brushed against mine, his skin a shocking type of cold that made me wince. With shaking hands, I finished picking up the last of the glass. He didn’t utter a word the entire time.
Mr. Darby, the creepy manager, had found Sterling, Madison, Derek and I a table in the corner. But for some reason, I had stayed and helped.
“You’re, um… you’re bleeding,” I said quietly to the pale kid. He looked slowly at his hand, where a bubble of burgundy had formed on his fingertips. His shoulders moved slowly and he shrugged. His dark hair fell in his eyes but he didn’t bother to fix it, and instead set the dustpan he had been using aside.
“I’m sorry, if I embarrassed you,” I continued cautiously. He didn’t say anything. His grey eyes flashed to the bits of sparkling glass that was too hard to pick up.
“You look familiar… do I know you,” I asked. He shook his head and began to stand. Before I could say anything else, he slowly walked off. I furrowed my brows and considered following when Derek called my name.
“Are you coming to eat or what,” he yelled from the other side of the building. I ignored the annoyed glares thrown my way and scurried over to our table. Madison’s nose turned upwards as I sat down.
“What are you going to eat,” Sterling asked me as he examined the menu. He was a big guy. He was an offensive lineman for our high school team and ate like a starving horse. Or rather, he could eat an entire horse.
“I don’t know about you, Tor

, but I’m trying to keep my figure. I think I’ll just get a salad,” Madison simpered, even though no one had asked her. She flipped her glossy blond hair over her shoulder and continued primping herself in her hand mirror. How Sterling ended up with such a bimbo, the world may never know.
“I’ll just get chicken strips,” I decided, setting my menu aside and taking a sip of the ice cold water. I found myself scanning the restaurant for Nick, the boy who had dropped the glass. My eyes landed on him as he was making his way back to the table at the edge of the room, the place growing quiet as he picked up his tub. Madison giggled slightly as she caught me staring.
“Off to help the dead boy again,” she snickered. For a moment, many- and when I say many, I mean many

- rude comments flashed through my head. Instead, I nodded.
“Well, the ‘dead boy’ is much nicer than you.”
She pursed her lips, as if to say something just as mean when Sterling stopped us.
“Hey! I can’t have my two favorite girls fighting,” he insisted, wrapped his arm around Madison and nudging me from under the table. I rolled my eyes and muttered and apology. Madison simply snuggled up to my brother.
As if lunch could get any less appetizing, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Don’t feel left out, Tor,” Derek insisted as he poked my shoulder, “ we could always snuggle.”
I grinned and tried to contain my laughter. “In your dreams.”
Sterling grinned. “’Atta girl! I always knew you were my sister,” he teased. In all reality, Sterling and I looked nothing alike.
Sterling was big, and muscular. I was tiny- only one-hundred five and standing straight up at five foot.
He had almond shaped, brown eyes, whereas I had Bambi eyes; very animated and big.
His nose was wide and his face jaw line was strong.
I had dark brows and light lashes, which I usually had to coat only about a thousand times before they were dark enough. Sterling’s eyelashes had me envious- they were thick and dark. Perfect.
But we had the same honey blond hair.

Lunch was quiet.
Derek picked at his sandwich, obviously not hungry. Madison ate a whole plate of salad and a few rolls, which I promised her would go straight to her ass. Sterling was done within a matter of minutes.
And me? I was focused on Nick.
I was sure I had seen him somewhere. I just couldn’t place it…

Stitches and Bitches

Stitches covered my face, black kohl lining my bright blue eyes. The light, instead of reflecting in my eyes, went into my eyes, brightening the blue to a point where they looked fake. Gashes and gore covered my face and body. My skin was a sickly hue of greenish blue, somewhere between a mint-blue and white.
I watched in horror as my skin began to peel. I shed my blue skin to reveal skin like snow, white and perfect and clean. The whites of my eyes turned blood red. The gashes began to bleed, the stitches began to open.
And then, there I was, in a coffin, a stake driven through my heart.

I woke up to my heart pounding in my ears. I spun around to face my clock, which glowed a sickly green. Three-forty-seven in the morning.
I was sweating and pulled the covers off of me, trying to calm down. I flickered on the bedside lamp and closed my eyes, running my fingers through my hair.
The howl of an Other made me shiver and I had half a mind to snuggle back under the protection of my blanket.

I closed my eyes and practiced my piece. My fingers knew the notes.
They had become an extension of the piano, to a point where I could play pieces with my eyes closed.
Julliard was my dream.
Maybe a far fetched dream that would never come true, but a dream all in all.

The fake keys calmed me slightly, and I pulled my pillow tightly into my chest. My heart was still beating quickly but it seemed to slow slightly.

And then, I wondered something weird.
Had Nick, the zombie who dropped the cup, ever thought of himself that way? As a zombie, from the movies?
I let myself imagine him, when he was alive.
He was a football player, I decided.
He had a beautiful girlfriend, who still loved him as a zombie.
He… he had a dog, named Dexter, with scruffy ears and a tail that never stopped wagging.
He had a secret crush on Celine Dione and wore feetie pajamas until the age of…

I stopped myself. What good would it do to wonder what Nick was like before he died?
And so, I thought of my master plan, while lying in bed, shaking from a nightmare.
I would get to know the real Nick.


And then, I wondered something weird.
Had Nick, the zombie who dropped the cup, ever thought of himself that way? As a zombie, from the movies?
I let myself imagine him, when he was alive.
He was a football player, I decided.
He had a beautiful girlfriend, who still loved him as a zombie.
He… he had a dog, named Dexter, with scruffy ears and a tail that never stopped wagging.
He had a secret crush on Celine Dione and wore feetie pajamas until the age of…
I stopped myself. What good would it do to wonder what Nick was like before he died?
And so, I thought of my master plan, while lying in bed, shaking from a nightmare.
I would get to know the real Nick.

~Nick~

I sat in my bedroom window and watched as a shadow flickered across the yard.
It was Mae. It had to be.
She was the most graceful out of all the Others, and her pelt was as sleek and dark as the night sky. She could easily blend in.

I heard the hushed whispers from down the hall. My aunt and uncle were discussing me. Again.

‘Wilfred,’ my aunt would say, her lips pursed and curlers tight against her head, ‘ we are the only family he has.’

The pain was gone.
I was grateful for the end.
My death, I mean.
Because once I had risen, I couldn’t feel the heart ache.
Silent tears didn’t send me into a restless sleep like they would have.
Instead, I laid on my tiny twin bed and gazed at the cracks in the ceiling.
Cracks were better than wishing you could change the past, right?
Sometimes, it felt like I dreaming.
Like I would wake up and we had never gotten in that car in the first place.

My eyes zeroed in on the long crack that traveled from the side of the wall all the way to the light. I wondered what it was from.

The howling grew louder and I smiled to myself. Mae was calling for me.
I sat up a little straighter and tried to find her in the darkness. My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit backyard until I spotted her in the shadows, crouched over something.

I tapped on the window and her red eyes met mine, even though I was safe and sound, two stories above her.
I could picture her glinting white teeth as she smiled.

And just like that, she was gone. She had disappeared from my field of vision and into the night.

~~~

I walked out of the house to see the rusty pick up spray-painted. Today’s message was Dead Boy, with an artistically challenged looking frown face with X’s for eyes, written in a sad excuse for graffiti. The corners of my mouth tugged into a tight grimace.

My uncle would not be happy.
The truck had been a hand me down from my cousin, who was off to college.

Something about the normality of this- being Graff-Attacked as us Rejects liked to call it- was sickening.
I trudged to the driver’s door and flung it open. It creaked, loud and high-pitched, and I started