Beyond Repair (Broken Girl Book 1) (4 page)

I stare out of the window, idly wondering if hurling myself from it would end the conversation. Doubt it. The lame-ass dad jokes would probably continue to torture my eardrums as I lay in a pile of broken bones on the concrete. I really don't want his bitching to be the last thing I hear. I mean, I don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. As much as I love working from home, or wherever the hell I feel like, I hate these weekly 'catch ups' with my boss. He is all kinds of uncool, with a hefty dose of absolute moron on the side. I click my Bluetooth on and tune back into the boom of his voice, just in time to hear him actually talk about our job, as I pour my fourth coffee of the morning. It's only just past nine and I've had four cups of coffee. I have a problem. I laugh silently to myself. I have a few, and a slight caffeine addiction is certainly not top of the list.

"I need you to set up the web host for Carmichael and then put the finishing touches on Webster this week. Any chance on you making it into the office?"

Is there ever a chance of me making it into the office? Hell no.

"I can't. I moved back home."

"You're not in New York?"

"Correct."

He releases a breath, "Probably a good thing. That gothic kid you were screwing was a dick."

"Also correct."

"Alright, kid. Get back to me when you've got that done."

"Aye Aye Captain."

I hang up the call and walk back through to the lounge, slumping down on the couch. My eyes scan over the room. It has taken a week, but now I am pretty happy with my little palace for one. I'd gotten the last of the decorating done last night, hence the excessive caffeine this morning, which is currently working tiny miracles in my brain. I take a large gulp, enjoying the burn as the liquid slides down my throat.
What should I do today?
I don't really want to do anything. I just want to crawl back to into bed and hide for the day, or week, I'm not fussy. But, alas, I have a job to do, and an appointment with the respectable Doctor Tyde.
Fabulous.
I can't even go and annoy Kitty as she's got her own little day of torture - a visit with the in-laws. I'd rather stick pins in my eyes. Repeatedly. I force myself up from the couch and head into the kitchen to wash my cup, dry it, and put it back in its place. I glance around me to make sure everything is still clean. Awesome.

In my bedroom, I push my feet into some boots and glance at myself in my new full length mirror. Black tank, jean shorts, and black ankle boots. I've looked worse, much worse. I add a blue and red checked shirt, then pull my long red locks into a messy bun. After one last look at myself, I mentally add hair dye to the list of shit to do, and head down to my car. I drive into the main square and park up in the tiny deserted car lot by the diner. The smell of bacon and grease assault my nose, and despite my better judgement, I take the plunge. Eyes hit me immediately, watching my every step as I stroll to the counter and take a seat. Gayle Peterson sidles up to me, her eyes and smile both warm as she asks me what I want.

"Same as always," I smile back at her.

She laughs, then trundles off to the kitchen.

Gayle has run this place since I was born, and probably before that. If you ever want the inside scoop, she is your woman. I like her, for the most part, or as much I like anybody. I spent a lot of time hiding here when I was a teen; not that she, or anyone else for that matter, knew I was hiding. As far as she knew, I came for the pancakes. Incidentally, they are pretty fucking exceptional.

I grab a plastic spoon from the tub in front of me and spin on my seat. Tapping a soft tune with it on my leg, I turn to face the window that runs across the entire length of the diner. You can see the entire street through it, which is good if you want to watch out for who's around. The diner is packed, as is usual for the place at this time in a morning, but I'd much prefer it if they could all leave until I've finished my breakfast. Then they can come back and swing from the fucking lights for all I care. I'd say that was a fairly reasonable request, but I doubt many would agree with me. I can hear their hushed whispers as they stare unapologetically.
Does no-one have manners in this fucking place?
The noise they’re making deafens me, causing my brain to fog. I knew this was a bad idea. I should have just gone back to fucking bed. There are too many people. They're all looking at me, judging me, and attacking my ears with their nosy bullshit. My skin begins to crawl, and I wrap my shirt around me tighter.
Yeah, that'll fix shit
. God damn my brain. I will myself to get a grip, but when I see my own father turn his disappointed stare on me as he walks past the window, something snaps. Like actually snaps. I look down and see the impromptu musical instrument I had is now in two halves. Well shit.

"Hey, Little Bit."

His voice is like a fog horn, cutting through the haze of my brain. I turn full circle and see Callum stood beside me. He glances down at the broken plastic in my hand then looks back at my face, an amused smile gracing his lips.
Those beautiful fucking lips
. Why is he so pretty? His brown eyes twinkle with humor. Yes, they actually twinkle. He takes the stool beside me and I’m immediately reminded that I hate how good looking he is. Assholes like him should have to look like Shrek or something.

"What did the spoon ever do to you?"

Oh sure, sense of humor, too.

"It said something mean about the fork. And the fork is my friend."

Did I say that out loud?
Oh the shame. I cringe internally and then turn to face away from him.

Gayle returns at that precise moment, saving my ass from more embarrassment, and places my breakfast on the counter in front of me. Her hair is crazy white and in the same tumbled on the top of the head style that it’s always been. She should really mix it up a little, I could totally give her tips. That wouldn’t be weird at all. I finally look down at my excessive pile of pancakes teasing me, smothered in bacon and cheese.
Damn, I missed this
. I half listen as Callum orders his own food beside me, but I'm fully committed to cutting my pancakes into the tiniest little pieces. You know, to make 'em last longer. I hear the bell above the diner door chimes, then groan quietly into my food when I hear the entire place greeting the newest arrival. I push my plate away.
There goes my appetite.
I feel his presence behind me as I desperately search the area for something I can hit my head against. Nothing. Damn it. Maybe I could just smack my head against the counter. Or, I could beg Officer I-Wish-You-Were-Dead Stanton in the corner to shoot me, right in the temple. I bet he'd love that. He always did hate my awesome ass, especially after the winter formal in sophomore year. Nope, not thinking about that either. Hell fucking no.

"Good morning, Mr Reeves. It's great to see you back in town."

Oh, so he gets a welcome but your damn daughter doesn't
. Double standards, maybe? I push down the self-loathing and mentally count the stray grains of sugar on the counter. Someone should really clean those up. Like, now.

"Thanks, Mayor Baker. It's good to be back."

Lie.
Who the hell would be happy about being back in this little shit hole? Then again, Callum Reeves is like a whole other species. He probably actually likes it here, conditioned to look past all the fucked up things that happen like the rest of the tired community. I almost feel sorry for his clueless ass. Poor fucker. As my father continues his conversation with Callum, I try and sink further into my stool. Which is ridiculous, considering it has no back, front, or sides. I'm pretty much as obvious as I've always been, if not more so.  I scratch at my arms, the intense itch making me want to scream. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. I can smell his overpowering cologne, choking at forgotten memories, and dragging them front and center. Who am I kidding?
Nothing is forgotten
. They suffocate me from the inside, clawing at the small piece of sanity I still cling to.
Okay, deep breaths
. I will not lose my shit all over the diner. I will not give this backwards hellhole of a town the satisfaction of seeing me spiral into lunatic mode. Even though I am, technically, a lunatic. The town definitely know that about me already. I stare down at the uneaten food on my plate. I really wish someone would come and take it away.
I need to go
. I dig around in my purse and find a twenty dollar bill, then throw it on the counter next to my germ ridden dish. The legs of the stool screech as I push it back and climb off. I never have been one for subtlety.

"Oh Lydia, I didn't see you there."

Bull-fucking-shit, old man.

"No surprise there," I mumble, then side step away from him.

He calls my name, and I really debate ignoring it and walking away, but I don't. Instead, I turn around to his weathered old face, because apparently, I just love to punish myself. His eyes, as blue as my own, blink back at me as we stand there in silence, trapped in some secret kind of duel that no one will understand. No one but us. Because, of course, to the outside world, this man is a fucking hero. Captain, King, and fucking leader of the awesome guy group. But they didn't live in that house. They didn't see the shit I saw. All they know his that his delinquent daughter spent her childhood trying to get away, until poor Mayor Baker had no other choice than to lock her up. All by herself. In a fucking asylum. Plus the added bonus of not being able to return home until she turns twenty one.

"It must be nice having your daughter back in down, Mayor," Gayle says from her perch behind the cash register.

She never has been able to keep her damn nose out of other people's business. Daddy the Demented rips his gaze away from me and smiles his perfect, professional smile at her. My stomach turns, acid rippling through it.
One... Two... Three... Breathe, Lyds.

"Of course. It's great to see her out and about," he says, his voice as false as a Barbie's tits.

I almost laugh. Okay... I don't
almost
laugh, I actually laugh. Out loud. He doesn't appreciate it, and hits me with the mother of all glares.
It's great to see her out and about.
Fuck me! I forgot how entertaining his lies can be. Next he'll be telling them that we enjoy spending time together and playing chess or some shit. I sneak a glance at Callum who's watching the exchange closely. This doesn't surprise me. He's high up the ranks in Team Mark Baker. I feel his scowl cut right through me and my laughter ceases.
Spoil sport.

"I gotta go," I say, then rush out of the diner.

I keep my steps quick until I reach the corner, then round it faster than any one person should. I lean against the wall, bend at the waist and let my hands rest on my knees. I force deep calming breaths.
I have to get out of this town
. Maybe I could convince Kate and Joe to come with me. We could all jet off to fuck knows where, and I could buy us a big old house to live in. The thought depresses me further. I can't keep clinging onto my best friend. It's not fair to her. I've known this for a while, yet I still can't seem to stop myself. I'm currently fighting every urge I have to stop myself from calling her right now. I have to learn to deal with shit on my own.

Starting now.

I take purposeful strides back to the diner, bypass it completely, and climb into my car. Then, I drive home, take the steps up to the apartment two at a time, strip off and climb into bed. I pull the covers right over my head, effectively hiding. I just knew this day would suck.

I'll be strong tomorrow. Today, I'm being a pussy bitch and I don't much care.

"Will you calm, the fuck, down," I growl at my cousin.

She's been pacing my loft for the past twenty minutes and my hungover ass can't take it. I knew I shouldn't have gone out last night.
Fucking Dale
. I've been back in town for three weeks and he finally got in touch yesterday. Some best friend he is. Saying that, he did stretch his wallet wide at the bar last night. Although my head isn't as appreciative as it should be. Instead, it's punishing me with the marching bad it's got going on up there.

"Calm down? Calm fucking down? No one has heard or seen her in two fucking days, Callum. She won't answer her cell, I banged on her fucking door and she won't answer that, she's not replying to any messages. I'm worried, and no one else seems to give a tiny fucking shit."

I groan out of frustration and pull myself off the couch. My body rejects the movement but it is clear as day that Kate is going nowhere until I at least pretend like I care. I pour a large cup of coffee out and pinch the bridge of my nose when she begins to scream down her cell, leaving Lydia another delightful message. I hope she's found soon, so I can scream at her myself for putting me through this. Selfish or not, my head is hurting, and I want to throw myself a little pity party for one.

"She's probably just hiding from her dad," I say, remembering the events in the diner the other day. He'd been his usual polite self and she'd laughed in his face, literally. It's not the first time I've seen her disrespecting her own dad. It is one of the main reasons her actions have always pissed me off. Her dad is a good man. To watch his own daughter show absolutely no respect for him is aggravating. I yawn lazily, and stretch out my achy muscles. "After the way she acted around him a couple of days ago, I imagine she's feeling pretty fucking guilty."

Kate's face transforms into a look of horror, fear replacing the worry in her eyes.

"She saw her dad? When?"

Her voice is all high-pitched, the way girls get when they're panicking. Where the fuck is Joe? Surely this is his job now, dealing with Kate when she's on one of her neurotic rants.

"I don't know. Monday maybe? In the diner. What's the big deal?"

"Shit," she curses. "I was with Joe's folks."

She turns away from me, muttering under her breath, "Why didn't she call me?"

Her head shakes as she begins to dash from the loft. I follow her to the door, the remnants of last night making it even more difficult to understand my cousin’s erratic behaviour. One day, someone is going to tell me everything I missed whilst I was away, because I'm getting sick of this two steps behind shit. I grab Kate by the arm before she can leave and spin her around to face me. The worry is etched all over her face.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"I haven't got the time for this," she snaps, snatching her arm back. "I have to find my best friend before she does something stupid."

That gets my attention. Surely she wouldn't... Shit. She's done it before. My mind drifts over that memory. Kate coming home covered in blood, the police in our living room questioning her, and seeing Lydia as she walked out of the hospital with bandages on each wrist. Kate had been heartbroken after finding her bleeding out on a bench behind the park in town. Lydia had been radio silent then, too.

"Wait up," I call to my cousin's retreating frame. "I'm coming with you."

"Why didn't she give you a key?"

Kate gives me a look that clearly tells me that my question is ridiculous, as we stand banging on Lydia's door. Not that she'll be able to hear us over the crazy loud music playing in the apartment. Her neighbors must be pitching a fucking fit. Hell, I'm close to it myself. I pace the length of the hallway as Kate continues her desperate knocking. Her nervous energy has managed to seem into my own conscious, and it's making me jittery.
Fuck this.
I walk back with force to Lydia's front door then kick it with all the strength I can fathom. Luckily, the door swings open with a bang. Kate wastes no time in rushing in, and calling out for her friend. I take slow steps, unsure what we'll find, and praying to God it's not what I think. The music stops, and my brain breathes a sigh of relief. It’s short lived though, when I hear a sound that makes my heart practically stop.
Please no, Lydia
. I hear it again, a soft whimper coming from the bedroom.

"Kate," I shout when I stick my head through the door and find Lydia curled up in a ball in the corner.

She has her hands in her hair, practically pulling it out, as she rocks herself against the wall. I'm frozen in shock, staring at her tiny frame as she mumbles to herself. Kate comes bounding through the door, and rushes over to her. She slumps to the floor beside her, and pulls Lydia close. I can't move from my viewing spot, scared shitless to make any kind of noise. What's happening? Why isn't she reacting? This is Lydia Baker, for fuck sake. She should be standing, with her hands on her hips, chewing me out for being in her bedroom. Or lying on her bed, her mouth quirked in that sexy fucking smirk as she shamelessly checks me out, like she was four days ago when I dropped Kate off. She sure as shit shouldn't be crying in the corner like a scared kid. It's not right, and the reality of the situation is hitting me like a fucking boulder.

"What happened, Lyds?" Kate whispers, pulling my attention from out of my own head.

Lydia's voice is quiet and detached as she replies, her eyes wide and unseeing.

"I can't make it stop," she lets out the most gut wrenching sob I've ever heard. "The noise just keeps coming."

Her tears are falling now, soaking herself and Kate, "Kitty, please make it go away."

The sorrow and helplessness in her voice almost brings me to my knees. The urge to go to her, and wrap her in my own arms, is overwhelming, causing me to grip the doorframe until my knuckles ache. I watch, silently, as Kate lowers her friend’s head to her lap. She leans back against the wall and begins to stroke her red locks. Lydia's eyelids flutter and then close, her chest rising and falling softly.
She looks so fragile
.

When my cousin gives me a look of thunder, I exit the room and head into the lounge. Looking around, I notice the way everything is perfectly neat and practically sparkling. She must dust at least four times a day for it to be this immaculate. Not a single thing is out of place, not even the cushions on the couch.  I knew she had a bit of a thing for cleanliness, but I had no idea it was this bad. No wonder Kate ran around in hurry tidying up that first day Lydia came back. It must send her off on one or something. Movement at the door distracts me, and I offer Kate a small smile when she walks in. She slumps down on the couch and lets out a long breath.

"She's sleeping now."

I nod my head and join her on the soft fabric.

"I've never seen anything like that, I don't really know what to say."

She pats my leg, the same way a mother would, "There's nothing you can do really. Lydia is..."

Her mouth twists, an inner battle visable on her face.

"Does this have something to do with Mayor Baker?"

"It's not really my place to say."

"Kate," I sigh. "I know she's your friend and you wanna protect her, but you have to give me something. I'm scared to breathe around her in case she loses her shit and hulks out. You know how fucking psychotic she can get."

Her head shakes, "You just don't get it, do you?" She stands and moves over to the window, pulling the curtains open and letting light into the room. "That shitty opinion you have of her, is the reason she gets like that."

She points viciously to the door leading to the bedroom, "And that father of hers, that you worship so fucking much, isn't the hero he makes out to be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She turns on me now, the fury in her eyes pinning me in place. Holy shit, I've seen her mad, but never this mad. If she was a cartoon, steam would be blowing from her ears.

"Have you ever asked yourself why she was always trying to run away? Or why she spent so much time at our house? Or why I found her unconscious with her veins gaping open?"

"I don't know, Kate. She was a messed up kid.”

Totally the wrong thing to say.

"Just fuck off, Cal. She doesn't need to wake up and have to deal with you," She turns her back to me. "Just go."