Beyond Repair (Broken Girl Book 1) (8 page)

Holy whoring fucker. What am I doing? I pace across my bedroom, resisting the urge to scream at myself. Why the fuck do I have Callum Reeves sitting in my damn lounge picking a movie?
Because you invited him, Lyds
. UGH. I knew I shouldn't have drank all that vodka, it's clearly hindering my ability to make smart choices.
Fucking Jake
. Shit, Jake. I left him sleeping in his bed, and now I'm about to get all cozy with another man. A man I undoubtedly hate. The guy works for my dad! This is a huge no, but here I am. No wonder people think I'm a slut. Although, I'm not going to screw Callum, so it's not that bad, surely. Oh boy. Kitty is gonna kick my ass. At least I've sobered up now, ish. Thanks to Callum putting his big hands on me. That soft but calloused touch across my skin sent waves of the unfamiliar through my body. He touched me, and it wasn't to strangle me. How about that? Goosebumps pimple on my skin from the memory, but I force it down and head into the en suite bathroom in my room. I cannot be thinking about Callum that way. Hell fucking no. He's an asshole, an incredibly attractive asshole, but an asshole none the less. I strip off my dress of shame completely, then quickly wash, scrubbing all evidence of my recent activities from my skin. I feel so dirty, my skin is practically crawling. I love sex, I really do, but damn if it does make me antsy after. Hence, why I'm now home and washing instead of spooning Mr Rockstar back at the lodge. Giving up with the quick wash, I turn the water on the shower and step in. I let it wash away the grime of my indiscretions and lather more shower gel than necessary over myself. When I'm satisfied, I dry off, and push my legs into a pair of checked pajama shorts, pairing them with an oversized NYU shirt.
Who needs a bra?
I shove my wet hair up into a ponytail and head back into the lounge where the latest consequences of my drunken actions await.

Callum is still where I left him, only he's kicked off his shoes and, thank god, lined them up perfectly against the couch. His gaze is fixed on the TV as he flicks through the endless movies I have on TiVo. I have a habit of recording them but never actually watching any of them. Seriously though, who has time to sit and watch an entire movie? I force myself away from him and into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator. My body is on overdrive, the sound of my own heartbeat deafening. I spy my pills on the counter but don't make a grab for them. I can't take them when I've been drinking, so I'll just have to deal with the noise, I grab Callum some water too as I leave the kitchen. I'm all about manners. I hand it to him as I re-enter the living room, then slump down on the couch beside him. I rest my back against the armrest, and pull my knees to my chest. He turns to face me, a small smile on his beautifully sculptured face.

"Did you shower?"

I raise my eyebrow and point to my hair, "Isn’t it obvious?"

A nervous laugh leaves him, "Good point," he runs a hand through his dark hair. "How do you feel about horror movies?"

About as enthusiastic as I do about herpes
. Though I don't answer with that, because then he'd think I'm a pussy, and I just can't allow that. Besides, nothing can be scarier than what is in my own head, right? I mean, it's pretty hellish up there. Extreme nightmare shit. Especially now I can't seem to control my thoughts.

"Horror works," I reply, when I can't think of a single excuse to get out of it.

"Sure? Don't want you getting scared, Little Bit."

The smirk on his face is enough to solidify my decision to terrify myself into lifelong insomnia. Asshole. Although he did bring me home, so maybe he's less of an asshole now. He even gave me his jacket, which come to think of it, I wish I still had. It's fucking freezing, and I'm wearing shorts.
Good thinking, Lyds
. Maybe it's just me that's cold. He doesn't seem to be affected at all. His ass looks fairly fucking comfortable. Before I can assess my shivering stupidity anymore, and before the inevitable panic attack can settle in, Callum reaches over, grabbing the blanket I keep folded at the back of the couch, making me mentally kick myself for not thinking of that first. Stupid brain. He drapes it over me and then covers his knees. I suppress my laugh at how ridiculous he looks with a pink blanket over him, because that would be mean and the guy has done me a solid tonight. He clears his throat.

"Or we could always just talk," his smile is nervous, and I kind of like it. "I mean, we haven't really caught up since we both got back."

Caught up? Oh yeah, because we were epic best buds back then. He's fishing. I wonder why. Maybe Daddy has sent him on a little find out what the fuck my daughter is doing mission. Or maybe he just wants to know my weaknesses so he can destroy me at a later date for leading poor Kitty astray. Despite this, I find myself asking him what he wants to know, like I'm up for sharing.

"I don't know. When you left, what you got up to, Kate said you were in New York. What's that like?" He shifts so his body is sat in the same position as mine, only he keeps one foot on the floor. The other he lifts onto the sofa and bends at the knee. The urge to crawl and sit between then rushes through me, confusing the ever loving shit out me. "Look, you and Kate are really close. I'm home now, probably for good, and so it makes sense for me to get to know you better, especially if you're home for good too. None of us are the same people we were in school, so clean slate?"

Clean slate? Could it really be that easy? He does make a very good point, even if it is a little annoying. He's part of Kitty's family and she's part of mine. She's fighting with him over me, which isn't something I relish. Despite the way I crave attention, it’s not
that
kind of attention that I need. Maybe he's on to something or maybe he's full of shit. Only one way to find out. I exhale, then outstretch my hand to him.

"Hi, I'm Lydia Rose Baker."

Callum lets out a short laugh before taking my hand and shaking it.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Callum Anthony Reeves," he grins, those perfect little dimples of his popping. "I believe you know my cousin, Kate Sherman, nee Reeves."

His smile is infectious, and I find my face stretching too, "Ah yes, Kitty. She's my best friend."

"So, Lydia Rose. What brings you back to this little slice of heaven?"

"Oh, you mean Park Bay, where dreams go to die?"

He laughs louder, letting his head fall back, his shoulders shaking with the obvious amusement, "That's the one."

So he does have a sense of humour
.

"I missed the views," I say, letting the sarcasm roll around my words. "What about you?"

"I fucked up," he shrugs. "So I came home."

I nod slowly, forcing myself not to ask exactly how he fucked up. From what I've learnt from Kitty, he lost his job. He arrived back in Park Bay about three weeks before I exploded into town. Whatever it is, must be bad for him to come back here. I mean, he's never returned, not even for Kitty and Joe's wedding and they didn't even get married in town. They got hitched at a little beach a few miles outside the town limits. She never said the words, but I'm almost certain that was for my benefit. Coming home has never really been high on my wish list. Until now. Callum shifts his position again, rolling his shoulders back to lean fully behind him.

"When did you leave town, Lyds? For college?"

I raise my brow to him. Does he really not know? I figured he'd have been clued in by now, especially working at the Mayor's office. Plus, I know his two friends will have been more than willing to fill in the missing details. Lydia Baker's descent into madness is a well favoured story here, especially since their highly limited version of it feeds the hero complex of their beloved Mayor. I study Callum's face, debating internally whether to fill him in on the facts or not. A lot of the reasons for me "leaving" aren't my secrets or stories to tell, and the main reason is a secret of his own cousin’s.

"You first."

His head shakes from side to side, but he relents anyway, "Well, as you know I went off to college. I got a job at a PR firm straight after. It was awesome, and I loved LA, but it wasn't home," he shrugs a shoulder. "The company folded, the girlfriend left, and so I came home. That's it really."

"That sounds impossibly boring, Reeves."

"It is," he smirks. "Now you're anything but boring, so hit me."

"Well," I start, not exactly certain of what the next words to come out of mouth will be. "Firstly I never left Park Bay. I was shipped off, not long after you actually."

"What do you mean, shipped off?"

The corner of his eyes crinkle in confusion, but his gaze remains sincere. I think. My reluctance must be evident, as he opens that pretty mouth of his again.

"I'm not asking to gain some sort of gossip, if that's what you're thinking. I just want some insight," he laughs a little, humorlessly. "I've been five steps behind since I got back, so I clearly missed some pretty important events, huh?"

I chuckle under my breath. He has no fucking idea, the poor bastard, "You could say that."

Understatement of the fucking year. I think carefully about my words as I speak them, which makes me sound like a freakin' moron, but I’ve gotta be careful here. I can't drop Kitty in it. Easier if I just drop myself in the shit pile instead, "Things got fucked up, so he sent me away. Just before junior year."

"Sent you where?"

Now I laugh. He's just being polite now, "Well, Reeves. I'm crazy, so where do you think he sent me?"

"Oh," his lips twitch at the corners. "That’s how you ended up in New York?"

"No," I bring my knees tighter to my chest and wrap my arms around them. "I spent two years in the facility, which was in this derelict little village sort of place. It was shit." I laugh.

"The people there were more hopeless that the fuckers here," I glance at the wince he pulls. "No offence. Anyway, at eighteen I was discharged but I just couldn't return home. Besides, Kitty was off at Ohio State anyway for college, so what was the point?"

I shrug, like being out-casted from my own town didn't bother me, "So, being the bright little head-case I am, I got accepted into NYU. That's how I ended up in New York."

"There's more to that story, isn't there?"

I laugh at the knowing look on his face. Everyone's a detective lately.

"Obviously, but not all of it is my story to tell," I sigh heavily and drop my gaze to my knees. "I don't want to play getting to know your best friend's cousin anymore."

"Well what do you want to do?"

I lift my eyes to meet his. He stares back at me, his gaze locked on my own. I can think of at least five thousand different things I'd like to do with him, none of them the right things to do. I go with the post PG because I’ve never been a liar.

"I kinda want to climb between your legs and hug you," I say, my voice coming out husky and breathy. Well, that wasn't planned but high five to me. "But that's probably inappropriate, right?"

I watch his throat as he swallows hard, "Highly inappropriate."

Despite this revelation, none of us move. Even my breaths become limited. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth in an effort to keep the words "fuck," "me," and "now" from spilling out of my mouth. His brown eyes darken, the iris' almost black now as lust and desire cloud them. My insides quiver. I'm in trouble. He shifts an inch, and so do I. The scene unfolding like the overly cheesy part in a movie, where two equally pathetic individuals experience this excruciating tension just before they suck face and bang all night. As magically fabulous as that would be, I can't. He's still on the wrong Baker team, he's still Kitty's cousin, and I still fucked the wannabe Rockstar a few short hours ago. I clear my throat, and force myself to stand.

"I'm going to go to bed. You can stay over if you like, on the couch," I close my eyes briefly, dispelling the fucked-up images of him wrapping me in his arms in bed. "Thank you for tonight, Callum."

"Yeah," he replies, although I can tell his head isn't really with me. "Sure. Goodnight, Little Bit."

"Goodnight."

Someone is in my apartment. Oh holy nunfuck on a jet plane. There is another human being in my apartment, and I cannot for the life of me remember who the fuck it is. At least I
hope
it’s a human. It wouldn't be the first time I stumbled home drunk with a new animal pet. Last time it was a stray cat. I named that furry little fucker Charming, kept him for two entire weeks until the walking hairball ditched me. Charming he was not.
Think, Lydia, think
. I went to see Uncle Roy, drank some wine, met Jake a.k.a. Rockstar, then... damn it.
Vodka
. No wonder I can’t remember anything, fucking devil juice. Okay, okay. I sat in a parking lot for a while, and then I remember being thoroughly fucked up a wall by said wannabe-rockstar. I squeeze my legs together, the memories shooting straight to my vagina.
Yes, I definitely remember that
. But I must have left him in that room. Obviously, otherwise I'd still be there.
Why?
Well, the why is obvious; sleepovers just aren't my thing.

Noise outside my bedroom door startles me, causing my pathetic little brain to lift the blankets to my chin in protection. I mean, what the hell is that gonna do? Comfort the fucker to death? Three steady knocks on the door have me scanning the room for my pills. If I'm about to die, then I at least want to be sane for it. Actually, scrap that. I've got a better chance of survival if I confuse the bastard with my glorious crazy.
Yeah, that'll work.

"Little bit?"

Oh boy. Not just any old fucker in my home. The fucker of all fuckers is here. The Ultimate Fucker. That's just perfect. The events of the night before crash into me, one by one, a slideshow of all my shame. I close my eyes, reliving the mortification over and over again. The bastard picked me up off the floor. Literally. Oh! We called a truce. That's good, I suppose. Although now I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to act. Answering him would probably be a good start.

"Yeah?"

Right. Great.
Ten out of ten for effort, Lyds
. Ugh. He makes me lame. Makes my head funnier than it already is. I really do not appreciate this, and I really can’t afford anymore ‘quirks’ in my already psychedelic personality. The door creaks open, and his beautiful face slips through, a smile gracing his lips. Those perfect pouty lips.

"You decent?"

"Well," I snort, putting on my best I-know-what-I-did-last-night-and-I don’t-care face. "You're already looking so it's a bit late for that, huh?"

An almost embarrassed chuckle escapes him, making him seem all kinds of adorable. Not good. Something is very wrong with the world if he gets to be smokin’ hot and adorable.

"True," he moves through the door and takes slow steps over to me. "I made you coffee."

My eyes drift down him, over his fully defined shoulders, along one of the perfectly muscular arms, and finally stopping at the small white cup of joy currently teasing me with it’s magical scent. Is there anything in the world more amazing that a pretty man with coffee? The answer is no. Always no.

"Thanks," I say, then shuffle on the bed until I'm in a sitting position.

Callum perches on the end, handing me the cup. I take it in two hands and gulp it down like it's water from the Fountain of Youth. Poor Reeves looks horrified as he watches me, wincing with every mouthful I take.

"I guess you like it hot, huh?"

I can't stop the laugh before it erupts from me.
Yeah I like it hot, babe
. Is it just me that thinks that sounded like the worst chat up line ever? He seems unfazed, almost confused at my outburst. I'd explain it, but I'm struggling with the simple act of breathing between giggles.

"What's so funny? I only asked if you liked it ho-"

There we go.

"Oh shit," he laughs. "That's really bad."

"Is that how you get all the girls on their knees?" I manage to ask, between deeps calming breaths.

He chuckles his response, and I lean over to the drawer at the side of my bed, pulling it open to free my sanity. I drop two in my hand, hyper-aware of Callum cataloguing my every move. I can feel his unspoken questions, practically hear him screaming them at me, but he won't ask. He doesn't really want to know, doesn't really want to get involved. I throw them back and swallow harshly, mildly embarrassed at having an audience. I release a breath and lean back, lifting my gaze back to Callum as he clears his throat.

"Do they help?" His hand smacks across his forehead. "Shit, sorry Lyds. Don't answer that, it's personal."

I laugh a little, "Hey, don't worry. I can talk about it. I've fully accepted that I'm nuts, it's just other people that haven't," I answer.

I go to explain, "They help, sort of."

His eyes soften as he shifts himself onto the bed fully, crossing his legs as though he's a five year old waiting for the story of a lifetime. I brace myself for it, preparing my mind for the inquisition that's sure to come. I'm not really used to this. Mental illness is somewhat of a taboo subject. People are too narrow-minded to open themselves up to the many wonders of the dysfunctional brain, mine especially it seems.

"I hope you don't take offence to this, I'm just trying to know you better, but is it Bipolar that you have?"

"Why is it always Bipolar people suggest first?" Scoffing slightly, I shake my head to the side. "Rhetorical question. No, not Bipolar. I can tell you what it is, but it may confuse your non-special brain."

Callum hardens at the insult, but then relaxes when I throw him a wink to show I'm joking.

"Try me."

"Alrighty then," I let out a deep sigh. "You want the whats, or the whys first?"

"I have no idea how to answer that question, Little Bit," he shrugs. "Whatever makes sense to you, I guess."

I study his face, searching for anything other than sincerity. It seems so strange to be having this conversation with a man I've not particularly been overly fond of for a while. Plus, he works for my least favorite idiot, Mark Baker. He's Kitty's cousin though, and they were super close at one time. I owe it to her to fix this. I promised myself when I came home that I would be better, that I'd give her no reason to question our friendship. I refuse to be the reason she loses the only family she has, and if that means giving Callum Reeves all the juicy information on my many flaws, then so be it. I'll do this, for her.
I’m such a good fucking friend.

"Okay, so the what’s. The official diagnosis I've been given is Schizoid Personality Disorder, and before you ask, no that's not the same as schizophrenic. I don't have multiple personalities, I have one very antisocial one. I also have Psychosis, meaning I perceive and interpret things differently to most. Each person that develops it can have a different variety of symptoms: delusions, hallucinations, lack of self-awareness, a number of things. Because I have the personality disorder too, my symptoms, or ‘issues’ as they're so affectionately known as, are more advanced than if someone just had one or the other."

The blank look on his face almost make me pee my pants with joy. There's nothing quite like confusing the hell out of a person with a tiny mind.
Ten points for the crazy people!
Small victories are the best victories. I watch as he tries to understand, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out the words to say.

After a few seconds, very entertaining seconds, I put the poor bastard out of his misery.

"For example," I start, smiling small at the relief on his face. "You know how when we were growing up I was only ever close with Kitty? I had other friends, but I was always with your cousin?" When he nods, I continue. "Well that's the Schizoid. It blocks my ability to form solid relationships with people around me, especially in social situations. I never went out without Kitty. Never. She's what the doctors call my anchor, but that's a whole other story."

I bring my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, "What everyone sees as me being a bitch, mean, or whatever. That's the personality disorder. Blunt, honest, emotionless," I drink down the last of my coffee. "Now, I'm sure you remember the day I moved home, the way I had a minor freak out over shopping bags?"

"Uh, yeah I remember. The day we built this, right?" He taps on the bed. "Nightmare of a fucking job that was."

"Hey, leave my bed alone. It's damn comfy," I laugh a little. "Well, all of that, the meltdown I mean, is due to Psychosis. My brain doesn't quite register problem solving properly. It processes the issue, but not the solution. Logically, I knew I was overreacting and that I could ask for help, but the lack of self-awareness and ability to rely on other people stumps it. I got sort of stuck, if you know what I mean?"

"Okay yeah," he says, nodding. "Like that time you went missing for a couple of days."

I think back, remembering the complete helplessness I felt after my run-in with my father. I'd closed in then, hid away from the world. I'm used to floating through my life not having to deal with him anymore, and I'm not all that sure I'm ready to deal with him yet.

"Yeah, kind of," I reply. "The only person in the world I can rely on, or talk to, is Kitty. I didn't want to keep leaning on her so I came home after..."

I drift off, deciding he wasn't ready for the facts on Mayor Baker, and why seeing him sent me into a panic. Even I struggle with those tricky questions, "Anyway, I came home and went to bed, missing my medication time. When I woke up, I was lost and couldn't find a way out my own head." I plaster a smile on my face.

"It weird hearing this. I've always thought of you as the most confident person I know."

I snort a laugh and finally climb from the bed, deciding I've revealed enough for today, "It's all you were ever supposed to think, Callum."

He nods solemnly, then brightens as he stands too, "Wanna go force Kate to feed us today?"

I arch my eyebrow in reply, causing him to laugh.

"You and I both know she makes the best food. If we show up there together, she’ll cook for sure.”

He does make a damn good point. Maybe our little truce will entice her to make us a pot roast. Plus, watching her little head pop off when we walk in together will be awesome in itself. I flash Callum my best toothy grin.

"Alright, Reeves. Let's do it."