Beyond Repair (Broken Girl Book 1) (9 page)

"Here is your prescription, Lydia."

Tyde hands me the paper containing my salvation, albeit reluctantly. He's been reluctant about a lot of things recently, this appointment for one. For the past hour he's done nothing but chew on his pen and check the time on his watch, "Remember to only take two tablets, three times a day."

I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. He's giving me drugs, let's not ruin it with a bad attitude. Besides, maybe if I'm nice to him he'll lift my alcohol/diving/any form of joy ban. I'm dying to drive myself to a liquor store and drink my ass off. This last week has been one long hell after the other. After a not so successful Monday, Tyde decided that changing up my meds would be a good idea. Five days in, I'm not so sure. I definitely feel different.

"Thank you," I say, stuffing the prescription in my purse. "When do you think I'll be able to drive again?"

He visibly tenses in the seat and purposely avoids my eyes. Out of the two of us, I'm beginning to question which one of us is really insane. He's been twitchy and weird in our last couple of sessions, practically booting me from the door the second the hour is up. I should really be offended. This asshole should count himself lucky that he gets a front row seat to the awesomeness that is my brain.

"I'm not sure," he replies on a long breath. "With medication changes, it all depends on how long it takes for your system to settle with it. At the moment, your moods are erratic, so we need to see if your body begins to accept them before we look at different options. It's only been a few days, Lydia."

I nod, fighting back the sarcastic retort on the tip of my tongue about how my moods have always been erratic. Instead, I offer him a quick goodbye and leave the office. Claire throws me a wide smile and a wave as I leave from her perch at the front desk. I return them, but my head is already on the day ahead of me and is no way near giving a shit about her. She's lucky I haven't drop kicked her traitorous ass through the damn window yet. But hey, it's still early, and despite the inner violence that goes on in my head, I'm more of a lover than a fighter.

He's waiting for me as I walk through the door, leaning casually against his truck. He looks good dressed in slouchy jeans, a white tee, and a flannel shirt. Most men could never look sexy in a flannel shirt, but Callum Reeves isn't most men. I watch a lazy smile curves on his lips when he notices me approaching, my own face splitting in a wide grin. Ever since we had our not-sleepover, he's been the ultimate friend. Driving me around, keeping me company, making me laugh. Yeah, he's right up there on the Top Dollar Friends list, which is half the damn problem. I'm almost certain I should not want to strip and molest a friend the way I do when I look at Callum.
Friend
. God, I hate that word. I thought friend-zoning was a way for girls to not sleep with clingy men. Who knew that shit worked both ways? But Kitty is finally relaxing now we're getting along so I can handle it. Hopefully, anyway. Anything for her.

"You seem happy today," he laughs when I join him.

"I'm always happy."

His eyebrow arches, a smirk marring his beautiful face. I expel a defeated breath, "Okay, maybe not always. Shut up. Can we go already? I really need to spend some dollars."

Like, yesterday.

"What's with the urgent shopping trip?"

"It's about the only thing I'm allowed to do anymore."

He shakes his head and pulls open the door for me. I smile my thanks and climb in. I forced him into agreeing to this last night with the bribe of buying him lunch from wherever the hell he wants. Kitty and Joe have some appointment and so he's sort of my last resort. I really don't want to have to rely on public transport. All those people coughing and breathing on each other. Ugh. No. I will not fall victim to other people's diseases. Besides, with Park Bay being the pathetic little town it is, there's only one bus to the city every three hours and vice versa. Apparently, everyone in town has to go together and return together like the lamest field trip in history. Oh the horror. Inside I shudder just from just thinking about it. Sitting up close and personal with the biggest and baddest idiots this town have to offer, making small talk, trying to keep all my crazy contained in it's nice little prison, and pretending to be a normal girl.

No.

I force myself to stop the nightmare creeping into my mind, the sharp edges of anxiety clawing in the shadows of my brain. Damn it. This is what I hate the most about my illness. It sucks me into its black hole without any word of warning, sucker punching the wind out of me at the most inconvenient times. It seems to be getting worse. I'm finding it harder and harder to pull myself together and act like a normal human being. I can feel the people around me, feel all of their stares cutting through me like a sharp knife. Their judgement is threatening the tiny pieces of string that stop me from falling apart. I pull my feet onto the bench and bring my knees to my chest in attempt to make myself as small as possible. If I'm small, they can't find me.

"Hey, are you okay?" Callum ask, distracting me with his hand on my knee.

Thank God for Callum Reeves - hero of the day.

"I don't want to go on a weird ass field trip with the morons in town," I whisper, which is ridiculous considering there's only us in the truck. Awesome.

He chuckles, "Are you calling me a moron?"

I offer him a small smile, which he probably takes as me agreeing, but in reality I'm honestly not sure what the hell will come out of my mouth.
Be cool, Lyds
. I reach forward and rifle through the CDs in the glove box. Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw, Johnny Cash. Damn, he sure likes his country music.
Yeehaw.

"So, what are we shopping for today?"

I glance back at Callum as he starts the engine and pulls away.

"No clue," I shrug. "Stuff."

"Stuff?" His attempt to mimic my voice is piss-poor at best. "You want to just stroll around the city buying random crap?"

"Yes," I roll my eyes and push in a random CD. "Retail Therapy, my darling."

He doesn't respond, just expels a weird sort of exasperated, disbelieving snort. I choose to ignore it because I'm a grown up...ish.

We drive for almost an hour to Greenvale City, and thankfully, my brain has fully restored itself to its usual marvel. I'm not quite seeing rainbows and shit, but I'm definitely up there with the unicorns. After parking, I drag Callum on to the main street. It's lined with shops, coffee places, and everything else a girl needs. I beam inside when he groans beside me. This is going to be fun. I love shopping. Any girl who says she doesn't obviously isn't doing it right. There is an art to fashion that not everyone understands. Most see it as a shallow hobby, but not me.

You can tell a lot by a person by what they wear and their appearance. It's an expression of personality, our subconscious choosing the clothes we wear in accordance to our moods or what we want to be. People dress the way they want to be portrayed. An independent woman wears a no nonsense fitted suit to let the world know she has the biggest balls in the office. A preppy student wears a white sundress so the people around her think she's pure and sweet. I wear loud colors and change my hair every couple of weeks because I want people to see the clothes and not me. No one can see the timid little blonde girl I am inside. It's all part of the bullshit production we take part in to deceive each other and hide our true selves. I look over to Callum. His outfit screams casual, laid back, approachable. It's not so far from the truth. It's his day job suit that doesn't blend with his personality. I bump my hip against his.

"Come on, grumpy. Let's go get you a coffee to cheer your miserable ass up."

He throws his arm over my shoulders and leans in close, "Can we keep my ass out of this, please?"

I laugh, "But you have such a pretty ass."

He halts our steps and turns me around to face him, "Pretty? Fucking pretty? Little Bit, that is not how to describe a man."

I arch my eyebrow, let my lip curl in a half-smirk, "You think you're manly?"

When his eyes narrow, I laugh again and duck into the coffee shop next to us. His chuckling follows me in. I feel him behind me as I lean against the counter and wait to be served. A guy, obviously college aged, pulls his attention from whatever social network idiocy is on his cell and flashes me a crooked smile. I bite back my insult at the way his hair is hitting twenty different shades of brown. It's not like I can really judge someone's odd hair. Mine is currently black with fuchsia tips and twisted into a crazy knot with a chopstick.

"What can I get for you?"

I smile, "I'll take a Venti Caramel Macchiato with an extra 2 shots of expresso and he'll have..." I look at Callum and wait for his order.

He smirks, "Guess."

As if I don't know his coffee preference. So he wants to play games. Awesome. I'm the fucking game master. Today is going to rock. Really rock.

"Easy. You're boring as hell," I turn back to the barista. "He'll have a Venti Americano, light on the cream."

After a minor disagreement over who was paying for coffee - I won, obviously - we head out to the stores. It's time to make myself feel a million times better, and maybe change up my wardrobe.

"Stop being such a pussy bitch and get in here!"

I huff out my frustration when he declines the offer to come inside the changing room for the third time. It's not like I'm asking him for a kidney. Geez. I pull out my pills from my purse, pop two, and then stash them back into the safety of their home.

"Callum," I say, calmer than I feel. "I don't know what the big deal is. My nipples and vagina are covered up, so can you please come in here and help me with this."

I stand with my hands on my hips, looking at my reflection in the full length mirror. The dress I'm trying on hangs loosely off my shoulder thanks to not being able to tie the corset at the back. It's a beautiful dress, vintage and perfect for the new look I'm aiming for. I hear him shuffle outside the door before it creaks open.

"I swear to God, Lydia. If you're naked in there like last time, then I'm not going to be pleased."

I laugh inside. That was hilarious. He's referring to two stores earlier where I was trying on a fancy pants negligee. I called him in because I wanted to see his reaction. He almost fell over. It didn't disappoint. His head creeps around and I smile.

"See, no nipple. Honestly, you have to be the first guy to ever be pissed about seeing me naked," I put my back to him so he can tie me up.
Oh, there's a thought
. "I feel like I should be offended."

He grunts and begins to tighten the lengths of ribbon that make up the back of the dress. The feel of his fingers as he brushes my skin causes goosebumps to pimple along my arms so I distract myself my smoothing down the white lace skirt of the dress. He pulls the ribbon tight at the bottom and I gasp silently from the bite of pain. His chest is suddenly flush to my back, so close I can feel the rise and fall of it. He releases a ragged breath, hot on my neck, and sighs.

"You're so beautiful, Lydia," he whispers and my stomach drops. "I just wish..."

He trails off so I spin to face him. He looks torn between regretting saying what he just said, and what he didn't say. I wonder if he knows he gives everything away, that he shows every emotion he feels on his face. I wish I had that ability, that confidence. I keep everything I feel locked up tight for only me to see. Handing someone that knowledge is like giving them the only weapon that can destroy you. I will never let someone have that sort of power over me again. I force a wide smile and throw my best Madonna pose.