Disconnected: A Broken Story - Dillan Read online

  Disconnected

  A E Murphy

  A. E. Murphy

  Formatted by The Graphics Shed

  © A. E. Murphy 2017

  ISBN: 978-1973918332

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Contents

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by A E Murphy

  To everyone who looks at themselves and sees an inferior body, you are gorgeous; quit putting yourself down.

  You’re smart, you’re beautiful and you can do anything.

  Be brave. Be who you want to be.

  Be the person that makes you happy.

  To my Mummy, Gina Paul, you beautiful woman. I’m sorry that out of all the sperm, I’m the one who made it! Even though we both know I’m utterly fabulous and you love me. <3

  My feet hit the pavement and my chest tightens. The wheezing has already begun and I’m not even at the end of my street.

  They’re probably laughing at me through their perfect little windows.

  Look at the fat girl run. Ha!

  Why do companies seem to make sports clothing so tight? If I wanted to see the shape of my beanbag thighs, I’d stare at myself in the mirror more. Sure, if I looked like Kylie Kardashian I’d be constantly wearing these fucking cropped, Lycra trousers that feel more like a second layer of sweaty skin. They’re nothing more than a prison for moisture. I hate moisture. Why is being skinny so hard? Why can’t they invent a Mars Bar that’s zero calories like Diet Coke?

  “Just around the block,” I pant, feeling heavier with each step. Now that I’ve thought about a Mars Bar, it’s all I want.

  I try telling myself not to ruin my effort but I can’t help it. The thought of sinking my teeth into the sweet perfection of my favourite bar of chocolate is too hard to resist.

  I start jogging even faster, speeding towards spending my earnings on more junk food, just so I can feel guilty later and hate my body that little bit more than I already do.

  As I’m opening the door to my local corner shop, I’m shoved to the side.

  “Hey!” I whine, startled and annoyed at the sudden assault. I push my hair back out of my face and search for my attacker. He’s already walking away, strutting down the ugly street with his fucked-up joggers hanging around his knees, showing his boxer shorts that seem to be decorated in comic strips. Does he read as he wanks or is there a point to the design?

  “Move then, innit,” he yells, flipping me off over his shoulder.

  I know who he is; he’s wretched. His name is Dev and he used to attend my school until he was expelled for dealing weed in the playground. That’s a huge no at our school; it’s a private school where upper-class parents send their kids to avoid all that nonsense. Their words, not mine. I can understand it though; guys and girls from that kind of atmosphere make me nervous.

  Sighing, I enter the shop and move straight to the chocolate aisle where I don’t even hesitate to pick up a multipack of my poison of choice. I grab a packet of digestives while I’m at it and take them to the till.

  The lass behind it, who is more focused on the TV in the corner above my head, takes my money, roughly hands me my change and gives me a finger wag. Meanwhile, some comedy in a different language spews out a few lines and completes the no doubt cliché joke with some canned laughter.

  This is my daily London life. I am living the dream.

  I take my biscuits and my chocolate and head back the way I came. I haven’t even started eating yet and already I hate myself purely for spending money on the thing that makes me hate myself.

  I’m a glutton for punishment.

  Opening my phone, I load Facebook and scroll through the images of my peers, who are apparently living a different, filtered dream to the one I’m living. Their sparkly eyes and butterfly head garlands that their photo apps have added assault my poor eyes.

  When did such a false statement of beauty become a thing? Do they not realise that they look nothing like that in real life?

  “TRIPLE T!” A boy booms from across the road. A gang of them who are clearly meeting their buddy, Mr Ankle Pants, laugh at me. I don’t know what’s been said but I can guess. I’ve always been the main topic for the school bullies, ever since I started at Compass Academy.

  I go back into the shop and wait for them to leave, spending more money on a large bottle of water. At least I cut out pop. Honestly, it’s mostly because it hurts my teeth.

  The girl who served me before serves me again and looks at the biscuits poking out of my bag.

  She blinks slowly. “What you got there?”

  “The biscuits I purchased from you two minutes ago.”

  She blinks again and then again, her eyes now on my face. “I also bought a multipack of Mars bars.” I shift my ruck-sack onto my back properly as she peruses me with lazy eyes.

  Realising she isn’t going to talk, I open the water and take a few gulps.

  “Stay where you are,” she orders, reaching for the alarm beside the till.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I scoff. “You’re for real calling the pigs?”

  “Nah.” She pulls out a Taser and points it at me over the counter.

  This is not happening. “Show me the receipt!”

  “You didn’t give me one, you simple cow,” I snarl, backing up when she rounds the counter, the Taser still in her hand.

  “What’chu just call me, hoe?”

  Shit. I just angered the scrawny, zappy bitch. “You have footage. Watch it and you’ll see. I gave you a fiver; you gave me like seventy-odd pence in change. You were watching some foreign comedy with that crappy, fake laughter that just ruins TV in my opinion.” She blinks even slower than before. It’s very strange and it makes me feel uncomfortable. “I’m not a thief.”

  I’m starting to wish I’d taken my chances with the guys outside.

  When she holds the Taser at neck level, I throw my bag onto the ground at her feet.

  “Fine!” I yell. “Fucking have them back if you want them so badly.” My body is shaking, especially my clammy hands. This is humiliating. “But that’ll make you the thief, seeing as I paid for them already.”

  “Don’t panic; that’s not even a real Taser.” A male voice from behind chuckles.

  “Fuck off, Dillan. I’m dealing with a shoplifter,” the scrawny blonde snarls at the lean, tall, unrealistically good-looking guy who just moved into my line of sight.

  Yet another school boy, but luckily
not one who is part of the crowd of dicks outside.

  I’ve known him since year two, I think. He’s always been this good looking, with his thick brown hair, green-grey eyes and his naturally slim body. All of the girls fancy him. Literally all of them. It makes me a little bit sick if I’m honest. He’s male perfection and he knows it, though he’s never been cocky about it. He’s just always stayed in his league which is a shit lot higher than my own.

  “Kenzie…” Dillan quirks a brow at her and she melts like half the girls in my class do when he speaks to them, which is rare because he’s usually playing football with his friends or hanging out with his equally perfect girlfriends. I say girlfriends, not girlfriend, because he has a different one every week and all of them are as beautiful as the last.

  “All right, all right,” she grumbles and chucks it behind the till before pulling herself up onto the counter. “I remember her now anyway.”

  “Finally,” I mutter and pick my bag up. “I’m leaving.” It thuds against my back painfully. I should really empty the crap out of it.

  “Don’t forget your water.” Dillan hands the bottle to me and our fingers touch. It’s very rare that I come into physical contact with anybody, so that’s the reason I’m literally a trembling, horny, zappy fucking mess on chunky legs. Our fingers barely brushed each other and I’m frothing at the mouth like a rabid mutt.

  “Cheers,” I mumble and duck my head as I brush past him. When I get to the door, I see those knob heads through the glass and curse under my breath. It’s not that I’m scared or anything but… I think I’ll just wait here a while. I’m deciding that Zapper Girl is more appealing than gang druggies.

  I find a spot in the corner of the small store by the tinned fruit and veg. I sit on the step that the psycho blonde probably uses to stock the highest shelves. Like me, she’s not the tallest so I doubt she can reach without it.

  I open the packet of biscuits with little thought and begin chewing the first one. My legs bounce up and down as my heels tap on the floor.

  I chew on my second biscuit and a pair of feet step into view.

  Dillan is leaving, thankfully. He doesn’t see me or, if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge me.

  I swallow the biscuit with water and bite into another as he exits, making the bell above the door jingle.

  There was no use even pretending that I wasn’t going to do this. Eat the whole pack, I mean. I’m a glutton for snacks. Plus, I’m stressed and I eat when I’m stressed. Those male, grown children outside will terrorise me all the way home and I don’t want to call my mum again. She’ll just tell me to grow a back-bone and if I’m caught leaving in a taxi those fucktards will know that I’m fearful of their potential.

  The bell on the door rings again, but I don’t look up. I stay inconspicuous in my corner, munching on biscuits like a chubby, little, feral squirrel with a sharing problem. The thought makes me giggle to myself. I must look ridiculous.

  Trendy, red trainers come into view, the genuine and expensive kind that only kids with rich parents can afford to buy. The same pair that just left the store a moment ago.

  I swallow and my eyes pan up a pair of toned, tanned legs, white and grey shorts and a matching jacket that covers muscles that shouldn’t exist on an eighteen-year-old lad.

  My eyes catch his through my lashes and I swallow again, not because I have food in my trap, but because he’s frowning at me and I don’t know why.

  What did I do?

  “I’ll walk you home, Triple T,” Dillan says sternly and runs his hands through his hair.

  Triple fucking T. Will that name never die?

  “Why?” I retort defensively. Does he want to play a cruel trick on me? Is this a prank? Is he suddenly hanging around with the guys who have never heard of belts? Are they dangling such a fine specimen of male in front of me to lure me out?

  “Because I don’t have my car to drive you,” he responds and I’m not entirely sure he understood my question.

  I lick my lips and wince when I feel the crumbs there. I must be covered. My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I only live down the road.”

  “I don’t care where you live.” He takes a step back, not offering me a hand up. I doubt he’d be able to lift me anyway, despite his obvious strength. “I care that you sit cowering in the corner shop with Kenzie while a bunch of losers prowl outside waiting for you to leave.”

  “How’d you know they’re waiting for me to leave?”

  His brows hit his hairline. “We’ve been in the same classes forever, Trip.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snarl, angrier than I meant to sound.

  He doesn’t seem fazed, thankfully. He does, however, toss my bag over his broad shoulder and nod for me to follow.

  “Aren’t you worried they’ll target you too?” I ask quietly, ignoring the piercing gaze of psycho goth Barbie behind the counter. The bell jingles and we step outside into the cold.

  “Nah, they don’t bother me.”

  “What if today is the day they change their mind?”

  “They won’t.” He grins down at me, far too sure of himself and far too tall for his age. I’d have to seriously step onto my tip toes to touch the tip of my nose to his.

  “What about psycho bitch back there? Aren’t you worried about them bothering her?”

  He shrugs, smirking now. “Nah, she has a Taser.” My mouth drops open. “You told me it was fake.”

  His smirk becomes a mischievous smile. “That one was fake; the one she had in her other hand wasn’t.”

  “I didn’t see one.”

  “That’s the whole point. She’s a clever little brat is Kenz.”

  “How do you know her anyway?”

  He stares at the group across the way, his eyes no longer fun but filled with warning and danger. Even I shrink away from the intimidating glare. Still, in the midst of his glaring, he keeps up the conversation with me, “She hangs out with my younger sister, Emily.”

  My body shakes slightly with fear at this entire situation. My anxiety is making me tremble; I can’t help it. I daren’t look over there for fear of triggering some kind of conflict but I can see them walking away in my peripheral vision.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  “You’re okay,” Dillan says softly, sensing or seeing my concern. Either way, his words soothe me.

  “I know Emily.” I change the subject, wondering if he’s going to leave me now that they’ve gone. He doesn’t make a move to; he remains by my side as we go. His strides are so much longer than mine, I bet keeping to my speed is frustrating for him.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, she’s surprisingly nice for how pretty she is.”

  “She’s rotten, but I love her.” He openly admits this and my heart does a little flip. “I wouldn’t say she was pretty, though. Her eyes are too close together.”

  I burst into a fit of laughter and it’s sorely needed. I haven’t laughed like this in so long.

  He grins, definitely happy to have been the cause of my joy. “You can’t say that!”

  “Oh, I can.” We turn the corner and his hand briefly touches my elbow as we skirt around an older couple walking towards us. “I’m the only one who’s allowed though.”

  My heart does another flip.

  “This is me.” I point to the large house on the corner across the street. The low walls do nothing to shield the view of the darkened living room windows and white, partially open blinds on the other side.

  He whistles out of the side of his mouth. “Nice house.”

  “Thanks.” I stop at the gate and turn to him. Should I invite

  him inside? I’m a bit out of my depth here. “And umm… thank you for walking me home.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and avoid his eyes.

  “No problem, Trip.” My bag slides down his shoulder and he passes it to me. “Stay safe, okay?”

  I nod. “You too, Dillan.”

  My body moves to the door before I give it permission and
I’m inside, safe, warm and… alone.

  “The only reason I even go to this stupid sixth-form is because my parents threatened certain internet death if I didn’t,” I snap, twisting a rubber band in my hands.

  “Like, what the fuck? This is the place of my nightmares. Everyone here, save for a very select few, is horrible.”

  “You’ve still not made any friends this year?”

  “I’m doing my A-levels with a bunch of cunts who have bullied me since primary school. I need to focus on my grades and I also need to keep hating them forever.”

  The counsellor, formally known as Josh Clinton, rolls his eyes. He’s about as interested in my problems as my parents are. He’s just listening to me bitch and moan for the pay cheque. “They don’t bully you anymore.”

  “That’s not the point. They fucking tortured me. I don’t want to forgive them.”

  “And that’s exactly why you hold so much anger. It takes a strong person to forgive somebody who isn’t strong enough to say sorry or smart enough to know they’re wrong.”

  I look at my watch and gasp, “Ooh, would you look at that?

  Our time is up.”

  “We’ll resume in two days, Ms Shepherd.”

  “It’s Tyler,” I correct, but I know he won’t use my first name until I stop using his. He’s a very shitty, impersonal counsellor who my parents spend way too much money on.

  I exit his office and shuffle along the hall, keeping my hood on my head and my baggy cardigan wrapped around my body. I’m invisible. Nobody can see me.