Beyond Repair (Broken Girl Book 1) (2 page)

"What do you mean Doctor Graine is no longer with the surgery?"
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
"I need to see him."

"I'm sorry Miss Baker, but he left to practice over three years ago," the snotty bitch behind the counter says.

I fight back the urge to lean over and drag her outside by her platinum perfect hair.
Stay cool, Lyds.
I take a couple of deep calming breaths and force the rage back. Damn it. This is not turning out to be an okay day. Definite frowny face on the mood chart. Not that the mood chart matters anymore, as Doctor Graine gave me it, and he’s no longer fucking here. Ugh. He can take his chart and shove right up his rectum right now.

"Okay," I say on a long breath. "I really need to see a doctor, like today, now, would be beneficial."

I flash her the most polite smile I can muster, which truth be told probably looks more like a serial killer’s grin, "Please."

She taps a few keys, the noise grating at my eardrums, then looks up at me.

"Doctor Tyde can see you in the morning."

Is she fucking stupid?
If I needed to see the doctor tomorrow, then I'd have asked to see the doctor tomorrow.
Fuck me.
I hate this fucking place and all the fuckwits in it. Except Kitty. She kind of rocks, and has done since we were toddlers. I love that bitch, and missed her like cake whilst I was away. She is by far the only thing worth coming back to in this place, and consequently
is
the reason I’m back in this half-assed town. Joe is pretty damn cool, too. Her cousin, however, is so very not cool. And even though he is as hot as a 4th of July barbeque, I'd rather stick a fork in my eye than be near that judgmental dick. Despite the way I invited him over to my hotel to fuck. I was joking, obviously. I’m not even staying in the hotel. And if he believes for a second that I am, and that I’m willing to ride his cock, then he is more stupid than I thought. Freakin’ fool. I bring my focus back to manicure Barbie.

"I
really
need to see him today. It's an emergency."

"What's the emergency?" She asks, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of gossip. They're all the fucking same.

I'm going to rip some fuckers head off, probably yours, that's the emergency.

"Personal issues," I snap, then give her the universal "fuck off and die" face.

I hear my name to the side of me, and groan internally when I recognize the voice. Goddamn it! What the fuck is this day? Can't a girl return to her home town, without having her entire past blown in her face within the first hour?
Not in Park Bay you can't.
I shush my inner conscious, the interfering whore, and turn reluctantly to the latest nightmare of the day.

"Hi Claire."

She smiles and walks over, her voice soft and patronizing as she speaks.

"How are you? I didn't know you were back in town."

Why would you? We’re hardly best buds.
I haven’t spoken to her since I was forcefully removed from town. I know, rude right? Her eyes scan over me, from my white converse, over my pink tutu-styled skirt, to my white tank and denim jacket. I can practically hear the "what the hell is she wearing" screaming from her subconscious. But, of course, she's too damn polite to say it. That is half the problem with this town - no one says the shit they actually think. It’s all hush hush on your opinions until you’re ganging up with your equally narrow-minded friends, tearing down the confused little fuck up in the corner.
Don't go there, girl.

"I'll be great when I've managed to see a doctor," I mutter, then smile tightly, remembering my manners. “How are you?”

She regards me for a second, before answering with a generic “great, thanks”, then lifts her gaze over my shoulder to Crappy McBitchFace behind the counter. A light bulb flickers on above my head, metaphorically, obviously. I remember now. Kitty mentioned Claire worked here, practice manager or some shit. Fuck knows. Her mom probably got her the gig. If you want anything in this damn town, you have to go through that witch. Ha! See, I don’t always have to curse. Swap the B for a W and its all good. Same meaning mind.

"Victoria," she starts. "Lydia is Mayor Baker's daughter." Oh goodie. We’re using Daddy's connections. Fan-fucking-tastic. "If she needs to see Doctor Tyde, then book her in. Today."

I turn in time to see her frown, before the tapping commences. I have to admit, it's kind of a thrill to see her being told what to do. By Claire Forrest, no less. We were friends, once upon a time, back when I could almost keep my shit in line. Of course, with my dad being Mayor, and her mom spreading her legs for him, I kind of had to be nice to her. Not that anyone knew she was spreading such legs. She was his 'secretary'.
Worst. Façade. Ever.
I force a smile at her as I press my fingers into my temples. If that fake-titted bitch doesn't stop with that keyboard soon, I'm gonna ram it down her damn throat.

"Thanks, Claire," I say, because I’m not rude. "Really appreciate it."

“Of course. So, have you been to see Kate yet?”

My back straightens, my eyes re-living my last days of school all over again. Claire was incidental in getting me kicked out of town by Daddy, and she has no damn right to mention Kate right now. No. Damn. Right. We were doing okay, Claire and me, just now. We were almost conversing, and then she goes and blows it by asking about
my
best friend. That
she
screwed over. Royally. Nope, not even going there.
Deep breaths, think happy thoughts, let it the fuck go
.

“Yes,” I reply, and pray that’s the end of it.

She nods as the tapping ceases.
Thank fuck.

"The best I can do is two this afternoon," Victoria announces.

I glance at the clock.
One hour away
. I could do one hour. Totally. I gotta find a place to crash anyway.

"Awesome."

After a longer goodbye than necessary, I stroll out to the dry heat hellhole that is Park Bay. My eyes scan the decrepit little town. The only thing that has changed in the past six years is the color of the diner.
Seriously?
The once worn out, green, wooden front is now bright blue and right in your fucking face. You know, in case you missed the neon fucking sign hanging off it. Good grief. Talk about eye sore. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since I hopped on the flight to Greenvale, and I’m starving. I spy the grocery store just up ahead and spend longer than I'm proud of flicking my glance between the two. The diner did the best subs in the entire world, like seriously. The grocery store, however, has less people in it and I'm all about avoiding people. But then the diner is two strides away, and Phil’s Groceries was an entire street full of strides away. I take hurried steps to the store.
Like there was ever any contest.
Inside, I dart down the aisles and grab a bag of chips, then rush over to the counter. Chips count as dinner, right? Really, who gives a shit? Not me. The acne ridden teen stares at me, open mouthed, with eyes wider than natural.
Yeah pal, I'm hot. Move on.
I toss the money for the chips in front of him then offer a wink before leaving because obviously, I just can't help my damn self.

Now, where the fuck is Hashmore hiding? I walk the streets, my hand digging in and out of the bag as I munch down the salty goodness. This is definitely one of my better ideas. I find the realtors where it's always been -
good detection skills, Lyds
- and stroll through the door. His eyes find me immediately, not that I'm hard to notice with my brighter than bright hair, and I smile wide.

"Hey, hot stuff."

He laughs and rubs a hand over his face.
Yeah, I have that effect.
"Holy shit, Lydia Baker. How the fuck are you?"

I like Aidan. He’s alright, as guys go. He doesn't really give a shit that I’m nuts, as long as my mouth is on
his
nuts. I make a promise to myself to make sure his nuts are definitely not near my mouth in the foreseeable future. After that, who knows? I can't make that kind of commitment.

"Still a raging lunatic. How about you?" I whistle a breath and look around. "Check you the fuck out, Hashmore."

"I'm great," he replies, and has the decency to look a little embarrassed at his obvious success. Which, everyone knows is down to his poppa bear, another of my dad’s followers. "What can I do for ya? You need somewhere to rent?"

I turn back to face him, grinning.

"Yup."

"What are you thinking? House, loft, apartment?"

I think for a second, the longest time I've ever used to make a decision. But then, who has the time to think long and hard about a choice? Pick the first, and move the fuck on. Solid advice, right there. I should be on a stage, giving life advice. I’m gonna pitch that to Kitty later, she’ll love it. She can use her wordy skills to make me advertisements.

"Loft or apartment. A house will make me feel grown up."

Alright," he laughs. "I've got a couple in mind. You wanna go check them out."

"No," I say. "Just give me some keys, and show me what I gotta sign. I haven't got time for role playing with you, when we both know I'll just pick the first one, and then you’ll try and penetrate my mouth with your penis."

His head shakes from left to right, like a dumbfounded little puppy dog, "You haven't changed a bit, Lydia Baker."

"Why would I? I'm a fucking goddess."

Good news - Doctor Tyde isn't a complete fuck-head. I mean, he's no Graine, but the guy handed over my pills with little to no arguments. That's a huge tick in the not a dickhead checkbox.

Bad news - Daddy knows I'm home. And Hashmore, the fucker, told him where I'm living. Hence why I'm now sat on my brand new lounge floor, looking up at the sadistic bastard as he silently wishes I was anyone's daughter but his own.

Aidan Hashmore is officially dead to me. And his nuts will most certainly not be going anywhere near my professional, cock sucking mouth. Okay, professional might be too far, but I am pretty damn good at it. I shake my brand new tub of pills and drop two of the little white saviors into my hand. I throw them back and try not to let the disappointment radiating off him, choke out the tiny shred of sanity I have left. I can’t take that risk, I’m barely clinging on to reality as it is. Or maybe this
isn’t
reality. In that case, I want off this fucking trip because,
fuck me
, not-reality should be way cooler. There should at least be unicorns and shit dancing around. And rainbows, definitely rainbows.

"I thought you were in New York," he says, distracting me mid-rant. See, total dick.

"I was."

"And now you're here."

No shit, Master of the fucking Obvious.

"I am," I squint up at him, the sun shining through the bare windows making clear vision a bit of an issue. “I’m twenty-four. I don’t need your permission anymore.”

I continue flicking through the furniture magazine to distract myself from screaming. I hate this man. Hate. Him. He made growing up a fucking nightmare, and then shipped my crazy ass off to the loony farm without a second thought. Fucker. I might have needed the help, but it would have been nice if he'd at least dropped me off, and maybe visited once in a while. I spent two fucking years in that place. Alone. Except for when Kitty visited. Did I tell you that she's my favorite person in the entire world? Because she is. If I was a lesbian, she'd be top choice. For sure. The ultimate girlfriend. No fucker else showed. Not my 'friends' from school, not any of the many boyfriends I may or may not have forgotten to break up with and definitely not this inconsiderate jackass standing in front of me. I was riding the Insanity Express, and there was no one waiting at the station. So you know what that means?
I just kept on fucking riding.