Beyond Repair (Broken Girl Book 1) (3 page)

"What are you going to do for work, Lydia? Or are you still living off your mother's estate?"

There we go. We almost made it a whole five minutes without that coming up then.
Progress, Mark.
He hates that I have her estate, and the money that comes with it. I never met my mom, but she must have known he was a dick because she put a clause in her will to say that he couldn't touch it, even though I was a baby when she died. I'd high five that woman, you know, if she wasn't dead. But then if she wasn't dead, I wouldn't have her estate. Because she'd have it, obviously. But then I'd have my mom, which would be much better than an estate. Because maybe I wouldn't be half as screwed as I am now. And now I'm spiraling.
Perfect.

"I have a job, actually," I say, then stand and walk over to the pile of shit I brought with me and dumped by the door. “And have done for a while.”

I find my laptop bag and walk back over to the 'lounge'. His disapproval is filling the room, making it almost impossible to breathe. I crack open a window. Yeah that helps - not.
Why is he here?
I thought I made myself pretty damn clear when I last spoke to him, that I didn't ever want to see or hear from his stupid ass ever again. Yet, he is. Standing in my empty fucking lounge, and making me feel all of about five inches tall. Again. Wasn’t it enough that he controlled the first twenty-one years of my damn life? Thoughts, feelings, and living arrangements included. I’ve been free from his hold for three years now, he shouldn’t still be able to make me feel like this. But, alas, he does.
Isn’t life just grand?

"Oh really? And what is it that you do?"

None of your fucking business, douche-waffle.

"I'm a Web Developer."

His eyebrows shoot skyward in surprise. Yes, I have a brain that functions relatively well. I know, big shocker all round. Unbeknown to him, I actually clawed out a degree in ICT, meaning he, and his piss poor image of me, can fucking suck it. Just because I'm a complete head case, doesn't mean I'm not a smart head case. In fact, most of my fellow head case buddies are pretty damn intelligent. Probably because we avoid people, and distractions, and assholes. Wait, I said people already.
I know; pretty, smart and funny. I'm quite the catch.

"And you do that from home?" He asks.

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, they don't let my kind out in the wild."

"You're being a flippant child."

"You're being a condescending ass."

"Lydia."

"Mark."

He releases a frustrated breath, and I high five myself in my own head. I miss, mentally, but that's okay, because I called The Mayor an ass and there's nothing he can do about it. Speaking of which, he's ruining moving day for me right now, and I don't appreciate it.

"If there's nothing else, Mayor Baker," I say, sticking my earphones into my ears. "I've got some work to do, and then some furniture to buy."

He grunts out a response, but it's thankfully drowned by Pink. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he leaves, then breathe a loud sigh of relief as the door bangs shut.

What the fuck am I doing back here?

For the fourteenth time in an hour, I silently thank a higher power for giving me Kitty. Her ass has a fucking throne waiting for her in best friend heaven. Seriously. She has the patience of a saint. As aware of this as I am, I still somehow manage to push it. It’s like a skill. I should be a superhero.

“Is there a reason we’re back to looking at the first fucking bed we saw, over an hour ago?”

I flash her a sheepish grin and pray she never leaves me.

“I really like it but they don’t do installation services. And fuck attempting to build it myself.”

I’d made that mistake before. More than once. Still had the scars, physical and mental. DIY is so very not my thing. Hey, I can’t be awesome at everything. I slump down on the pretty, white, wrought-iron bed and sigh. It would look so damn fabulous in my brand new apartment and I really didn’t want to sleep on the floor tonight, or in a hotel (you know, incase Mister High Almighty – otherwise known as Callum Reeves – didn’t get the joke and actually turns up. Talk about awkward), or at Kate’s like she’d offered. I wanted home, and privacy, where I could unleash my crazy all over the fucking place, and no one could judge me. It’s the simple things in life.

“I could ask Joe and Callum if they could come round and set it up for you,” she offers, causing me to stare at her like she’s grown a second head.

She wants to put
him
in my house! Hell fucking no. I saw the way he looked at me, the way he’s always looked at me, like I belong in a damn zoo. Or circus. Although the circus thing I wouldn’t mind. The clowns are freaky, but I’ll be damned if those tight rope walkers aren’t pretty damn fantastic. Lycra and all. And back to the point…

“No.”

“Come on, Lyds. He isn’t so bad when you know him.”

Don’t make the puppy dog eyes. Don’t you dare make the puppy dogs eyes.
Her face softens, eyes rounding out, the bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Damn it, Kitty.

“Fine,” I bark, then stand from the bed.

I snatch the little ‘take me to buy’ tag off the bedpost and stomp over to the counter. I can already hear my traitorous best friend on her cell. I hope she knows I’m buying tequila. Lots and lots of tequila and a new vibrating friend, because Callum Reeves is something right off of a porn video. And that’s with his clothes on. Hot damn, I bet he’s got something special under all that fabric.

Once I’ve paid for my new beautiful bed, I drag Kate with me to buy shit for on top of it. And cleaning stuff, because one – dirt is disgusting and I have no idea who was in that apartment before me, two – it will keep my mind off of people I don’t particularly like in my space, and three – if I have to stare at that tiny fucking stain on the kitchen tile one more time I’ll scream. Loudly. If I can’t get it off with more disinfectant than humanly possible, the whole fucking kitchen is gonna have to go, regardless of how unreasonable the landlord will see that. Why didn’t I just buy a place? I could do whatever the hell I liked with it then.

We make it back to the apartment just in time for the bed delivery, and Joe and Callum are waiting for us. I watch them as I park up my black Lex in my parking spot. That’s right,
mine
. They’re both leaning against Joe’s truck, laughing and lost in conversation. Joe taps Callum on the shoulder when he notices us, and then offers a wave. Callum’s eyes are on me when I climb out, but ignore the prickly heat of his stare and open the trunk. I toss the door keys to Joe so they can take the box with the bed up, then attempt to wrap my head around the next problem. Not sure how long I’m staring, but I feel both men sidle up beside us and look at the contents.

“Holy shit. Did you buy up half the town?” Joe grunts.

“Oh please,” I say, distracted. “I could fit the entire town in this trunk and still have spare tire room.”

I begin to pull the things out as I try to work out how I can possibly do this in one run. My eyes dance from the trunk of my car, to the
upstairs
window of my apartment. Well fuck a nun on Sunday. This isn’t going to work. The panic sets in and I will my pathetic brain to give it a rest with the overreacting, but my inner bitch is on complete meltdown mode and won’t listen to the tiny voice of reason. The itch begins to spread up my arms, forcing me to wrap them tight around myself as I try and gather all the mental strength I have. As a last resort, I snap my deer in headlights gaze to my real life hero. She smiles reassuringly and places her hand soft on mine, pulling it away from myself. I concentrate all my attention on her, on that simple comforting touch, all the while hating myself for being such a mess.
Fuck my life.

An arm snakes over my shoulders, and I whip my gaze to see Joe smiling next to me. I force myself to relax. I’m okay. I have Kitty, and Joe. I’m going to be fine, everything is going to be fine.

“Don’t worry, kid. We got this. But take the coffee machine and fire it up.”

Enter real life hero number two. If fucking her English professor got her this guy, I’m totally for. Definitely better than a degree anyway. Besides, she got an A in English.
Nudge nudge, wink wink.

I dig out my new morning miracle maker, you plain bitches know it as coffee, and Kate picks up the box of cups. On a last thought, I grab my over-the-top-a-little stash of cleaning supplies and spin around towards the block. I stop short in front of Callum. He watching me with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance in his eyes. Ha! That’s the standard way people see me. Annoyed that they have to be near me, but curious about my insane personality. I can feel the questions in his head piercing my brain, so I mumble a quick thank you, and rush off. I’m not about to lay my fucked up mind out for his judgement. Only special people get that privilege. Like Kitty, and Joe, and Graine, and now Doctor Tyde (lucky bastard). Oh, and my old neighbor, Mrs Dryatt. Now that lady knows how to party. Seventy two years old and drinks like a sailor. That’s the goddamn dream right there.

“Had to be an upstairs apartment, didn’t it?” Kate wheezes as I open the door for us.

“You need to get your ass in a gym. But that being said, I’m pretty sure these bags have gained weight during the trip up here,” I reply. I heft the shit in my hands onto the kitchen counter, Stainy McStainStain mocking me in the process. “They’re definitely heavier than they were when I pulled them out the trunk.”

“I have no arguments there,” she huffs, the cups landing on the counter top with a clank. “Sorry.”

Oh Jesus. Is she trying to kill me? I shove down the insult, it’s not her fault I can’t deal with noise or mess, and rummage in my purse for my pills.
Tiny white drops of sanity.
I pop two into my mouth and swallow, ignoring the imploring look I’m getting from Kitty.

“Don’t worry
mom,
” I say, and begin pulling all my wonderful new germ busters out of their temporary paper home. “I was due for a dose.”

She studies my face, looking for the lie, but she won’t find one. I learnt my lesson the hard way about not sticking to the right doses, and that isn’t a road I’m willing to go down again. Two pills, three times a day. I got this. I leave her to make coffee and eyeball the stain, disinfectant in one hand, and a cotton rag in the other.
Show time, fucker.

"So what on earth was all that about?”

Joe looks at me, then back to the trunk, and then me again. He lets out a frustrated growl and thrusts yet another bag of God knows what at me.

“That,” he says, in his usual grunt like voice. “Was one of the reasons Kate is so damn protective of her.”

Vague, much.
What the hell was that supposed to mean. All she did was open the trunk, stare for a while, and then it’s like the lights went out. I’ve never seen anything like it. She looked like she was about to pass out, or freak out, or both. I arch my eyebrow at Joe’s pathetically uninformative answer, and luckily, he takes the hint and speaks again. I don’t know why I’m so interested. But something about her fascinates me. It irks me, deep in my bones, that I don’t know her. She is a huge part of Kate’s life, and now I’m home, I should at least have all the facts now, right? Yeah, I’ll just keep telling myself that’s all this is.

“Look, part of the issue Lydia has is anxiety attacks. She loses her shit over the tiniest things. This time, she was trying to figure out how to get all this stuff up there, in one go, on her own. Her brain doesn’t really register that she can ask for help, or do more than one run. It’s not her fault, she doesn’t really know it happens,” a warm smile forms on his face. “I know you have this shitty opinion of her, I can see it written all over you but she’s actually not so bad. When Kate and I had our little college drama, she was the one fending off the assholes. Both Kate and I owe her everything. And not everything you think happened back when you were all kids, is factual.”

“You didn’t know her in school,” I say, and regret it immediately when he shakes his head at me.

I’m such an ass.

“Didn’t need to. I know her now and she’s been through more than any one person should go through. She’s an amazing friend, Cal,” he grabs the last of the bags from the truck and slams it shut. “She doesn’t deserve the shit she has to deal with on a daily basis.”

Joe huffs loudly, “Doesn’t fucking deserve it at all.”

He walks away from me and I’m left feeling all kinds of guilty. Maybe she is sick, and yeah it sucks that she has these issues, but that hardly explains half of her behavior when she was a kid. She was reckless, a danger to herself and others around her. Kate was always coming home drunk after nights with her, barely able to stand, and completely unapologetic to my aunt who raised her. It pissed me off. My cousin is more like my little sister, and I hate the influence that Lydia has on her. Illness or not, I hope to God that she doesn’t drag her down with her again.

I haul the bags upstairs and into the apartment. I smell it the minute I walk into the lounge. The bleach, stinging the back of my eyes. I move further into the room and see her. She’s sat, cross legged, on the kitchen countertop, working her fingers into a frenzy on the tiles. Her red hair spills out of the hair tie she has it all bound into, random strays falling all around her. She’s removed her jacket, revealing the top of a large tattoo starting at the bottom of her neck, disappearing under her shirt. From here, it looks like a collection of birds in flight that are covering her naturally tanned skin. Resisting the urge to go over there and see for myself if she feels as soft as she looks, I step a little further in. I can hear small mutters coming from her, but it’s like she doesn’t notice anyone around. Joe and Kate act completely oblivious, fussing around, and emptying the bags around the apartment. I drop my own load down and stroll slowly into the kitchen. She’s going to hurt herself if she keeps at it like that. I watch as she pours more of the foul smelling liquid onto the tiny rag she has, and then resumes scratching at the tiles. A soft tune begins to hum out of her mouth, it familiar but I can’t place it. I pick up a cup off the counter and move to the coffee maker, then on a second thought, I grab another. I fill them both and place one down beside her. She startles from the sound of it hitting the surface, her big eyes latching on to mine.
Damn, those eyes.

“I thought you might need this,” I say, feeling suddenly very awkward.

She looks down at the cup, then the tiles, and finally back at me. Her chest rises and falls as she takes audible breaths, looking like he doesn’t know if to hug me or punch me. Despite my better judgement, I speak again.

“I have a trick that could get that stain out for you.”

She blinks. Once, twice, then a third time, but doesn’t say a word. Just picks up the coffee and gulps it like she would die without it. How is that not burning a hole through her throat?

“Thank you,” she mumbles finally. “What’s your trick?”

“Have you got sugar?”

She nods and points to a lone grocery bag on the floor. I pick it up and find what I want. I take another cup, as there isn’t a dish directly in my line of sight, and tip some of the white grains in. I add a little warm water then take a clean rag from off the sink.

“My mom used to clean offices and was a bit of a genius when it came to stains,” I motion her to move aside, which she does, then begin to wipe the solution over the tiniest fucking stain known to man. It takes more strength than I’m willing to admit, but eventually the tile sparkles, perfectly clean. “There you go.”

She jumps down to the floor and take the cup from me, rinsing it immediately and drying it with a paper towel. She places it into a cupboard and turns to face me. Her hand reaches out and touches my own briefly. It’s soft and gentle, but feels like a two hundred and fifty pound weight.

“Thank you,” she whispers, then rushes out of the room.

I don’t bother to follow her, not sure what I’d say when I caught up to her. Instead, I make my way to her bedroom to help Joe put this bed together.

It takes longer than expected, but eventually the iron bed of death is complete. I kind of want to crawl into it and sleep for a week,
that
might be a little inappropriate though. Besides, Lydia is currently throwing her comforter and at least a million cushions over it, tucking in the corners perfectly. Somewhere in the apartment, music is playing, and I watch mildly amused as she sways her hips to it.

“Pizza’s here,” I hear Kate call from the lounge.

Joe groans appreciatively and hurries out the door. Lydia moves from the bed and stands on the lone chair in the room, attempting to hang the curtains up over the large window. She leans over, not even close to it, and tries to reach the pole already there.
She’s so damn tiny.
I groan inwardly, knowing I’m not about to let her break her neck doing it. Damn girl has a complete lack of regard for her own fucking safety. Joe’s words ring in my head again about her not registering that she could just ask for help. And now I’m back to feeling like an ass. Knowing this girl is exhausting. I walk over to her.

“Here, let me get that for you, Little Bit.”

She lets me take the fabric from her, and jumps down off the bed. She moves away and lugs an oversized suitcase onto her bed. She begins to pull clothes out of it and hangs them in the closet.

“You should know,” she starts. I turn to face her, having finished the curtains. “I’m not a complete moron, usually.”

She’s not looking at me as she speaks, just transferring her things from the bed to the closet like a robot.

“I’m just having a bit of an off day,” she laughs, humorlessly. “Not that you give a shit.”

I go to speak, to tell her it’s not like that, but she suddenly stops what she’s doing and leaves the room. I exhale a long breath then follow her through. I find her seated beside Kate and shoveling pizza into her mouth like the other two. I sit down and follow suit. Lydia picks up a bottle that’s beside her and chugs a few long mouthfuls before going in for another slice.
Where the hell did the tequila come from?
I decide not to comment, my brain finally understanding that I can’t just run my mouth off with this girl around.

“So when is the rest of your furniture coming? Or is floor dining your latest fad?” Joe asks.

Lydia laughs, a musical soft sound that fills the space. Now I’m pussy.
Get a fucking grip
.

“Tomorrow, hopefully. Unless the pervert in the store stiffs me. Which means I’ll have to kick his ass,” she points her pizza in Joe’s direction. “I can count on you for an alibi, right?”

“Obviously. We were fishing all night,” Joe laughs, offering her a wink.

“Need me to come over?” Kate offers.

“Nah, you’re off the hook tomorrow. They build all that when they deliver, and I got a shit pile of work to catch up on. Another thing I can thank eyeliner boy for,” she shakes her head. “I’m so behind thanks for wasting my life with him.”

The fact that she has a job surprises me. I always thought she lived off the money her mom gave her. Hell, half the town gave her shit about it because Mayor Baker didn’t see a penny, and Lydia was only a baby when she received it. Kate must sense my shock as she explains further, informing me that our resident nutjob actually works in IT, making websites or something. I can see the pride in her eyes as she tells me, which makes me think that it wasn’t so easy for her friend to get a job. I can’t help but want to know more. The Lydia I’ve always known annoyed the ever loving shit out of me. But this one, the girl sat before me, eating more pizza than anyone that size should be able to consume, and chugging a bottle of tequila like a pro, intrigues me. She’s always been different, but seeing her so up close like this is something else.

I help clear away the trash when we’ve all finished. Kate is barely keeping her eyes open, so we make our goodbyes and head out, leaving Lydia alone in her new home.
Is she going to be alright?
No. Not going there. She’s a grown ass woman, and she’s going to be just fine. I never cared before, so why should I now? Knowing she has some mental illness shouldn’t change anything. She’s still a pain in the ass. She’s still crazy and she’s still high on the not a fucking chance list. So why am I thinking about her as I drop Kate and Joe off at home? Why are those blue eyes on my mind as I stroll into my loft? Is crazy contagious? Because I’m obviously losing my damn mind. One day she’s been back. One fucking day and I already want to throw myself off a building.

I’ve got to get a grip.

And not of my dick.