Perfectly Damaged

I fucking hate her.

“How was that date, Jersey?”

My head snaps to the left. Logan is by his truck, packing his tools away. I didn’t realize how late it is. His shift must be over. I roll my eyes, not in the mood to joke or flirt or anything. My fingers clench the strap of my clutch as I focus directly on the double doors, behind which my mother awaits. Do I go in, dreading what’s to come, or do I just walk away and give us both some space?

The second sounds like a better idea. I chuck off my heels, reach down for them, and then turn, walking up the slight hill of our long street.

“Jenna?” Logan calls out. I avoid him and keep going. Not running, not strolling, just walking at a normal, even pace with my focus determinedly straight ahead.

She’s pissed off at you. She hates you. She’s never cared about you…

Well, I hate her back.

You’ll never live up to her expectations. You’ll never be perfect—her perfect little girl…

My feet push forward faster now, keeping up with the voices trying to seep through my sanity, trying to take over. I realize now—and damn me for never putting it together before—that my mother is a major trigger for me. I don’t know how or why I allow her to crawl so deep into my psyche, but she does and she always has.

Tires crunch over rocks alongside me. Looking over, I see Logan driving slowly in his truck with a smile tilting his stubble, irritatingly gorgeous cheeks up. Irritating because I don’t want to look at him this way. I don’t want to notice his handsome features and I don’t want them to do anything to my heart or my chest or my head or anything. I just want him to go away.

“You know, I’m starting to get a feeling you like to be barefoot outside,” he says.

I scowl at him, shake my head, and focus forward, not bothering to pay him any attention.

Logan chuckles. “How ‘bout you hop in and we can go for that ice cream you owe me?”

“I’m not in the mood for ice cream,” I say, deadpan.

“Even more reason why you should definitely go.”

“Can you just leave me alone?” I continue along. My thoughts are racing. What I need is a distraction and he is not helping right now.

“No.”

I stop and whip my head toward him. “No?”

He stares down at me as he sits up high in his truck, the whisper of a smile on his lips. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“What do you want from me? What does anyone want from me?” Anger bubbles up from deep within. I tighten my jaw and clench my teeth. “I just want to be left alone. Is that so damn hard to ask?” I’m not sure where it came from exactly. I’m just frustrated. Logan shrugs once, one hand hanging casually out the window, while the other grips the steering wheel. His worn-out Phillies baseball cap hangs low over his eyebrows. The rim shadows his eyes, concealing any emotions within them, which means I can’t get a read on him at all. I hate it. Just effing hate it. “Would you take off that stupid hat?” I practically yell.

He laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” he says.

“Well,” crossing my arms, upset with myself for getting worked up—especially in front of him—I retort, “I’m glad I can entertain you. At least you’re a first.”

His lips tug into a lopsided grin. “Come on, Jenna. I can tell something is bothering you and in my experience, ice cream solves everything.”

Now I laugh. I laugh because I’m exhausted. I laugh because I’m exasperated. And I laugh because I want to cry, but I don’t.

I shake my head, temporarily releasing all of the emotions bottled up within me. Fine. If I want to get away for a while, maybe he can distract me. Maybe he can help rid me of this ache, even for just an hour or so.

Watching Jenna struggle up into my truck is an exercise in self-restraint. I’d love to wrap my hands around her waist and... Fuck me. I mentally kick myself in the ass. I should’ve gotten out and helped her, but the fact that she’s even agreed to hop inside my truck to begin with has thrown me off. My mind has been wrapped up with Jenna since she left the lake house Sunday morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I actually looked forward to work on Monday just so I could see her. But I never did. Tuesday went by, and still no sight of Jenna. Until today, when I saw her all dolled up and beautiful—for another guy. Yeah, it stung, but I couldn’t show her it affected me in any way. So, as always, I used humor to distract her from how I truly felt. But that’s the thing—it shouldn’t have affected me nearly as much as it did.

I make a mental note for next time to help her in and out of my truck.

Finally settled into the seat, she moves on to her next battle—this time with the seatbelt. She huffs and puffs a bit before clicking it in place and facing forward. Though she’s looking straight ahead and isn’t making a peep, it’s obvious she’s pissed off about something. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me because for the first time I haven’t done anything. My mother’s advice hums through my mind as I put the car in drive. She said when a woman is pissed, leave her alone to cool off, but never leave her side because if she’s in need of a hug, you’ll be the first person she’ll find. So I turn up the volume on my radio and allow my favorite band to fill the silence.

As I drive, Jenna remains quiet. The last notes of one song fade as another begins. The melody of a guitar strums through the speakers. It’s one of those songs that once it begins, you just know—you know the words are going to hit you hard, and the melody… Well, it’s as if the melody weaves its way into your very existence, easing itself inside of you, altering your mood with its highs and lows. When the lead singer’s powerful voice begins, you pray for mercy, because you know what it’s capable of. It seizes every emotion you’ve ever experienced and wrenches them all to the surface, leaving you completely exposed. Exposed because sometimes we keep everything bottled up for a reason. But it’s songs like this that have the potential to change everything. They can put everything into perspective and make you feel like the words and the song itself belongs to you and only you.

I love this fucking band. This band does that for me—every single time. The words and music course through me, and I have to sing along.

“Who’s this?” Jenna asks, her tone soft. I shift my eyes toward her. She’s blankly staring at the radio, taking in every word, hypnotized by the sound, the lyrics. She feels a connection too.