Perfectly Damaged

I step aside, still holding the door open for her, and close it after she steps in. “How’d you get here?” I ask, following behind her as she makes her way into my kitchen.

“Matthew.”

Matthew. I’m happy her back is facing me so she can’t see the way my expression sours at the mention of his name. “You asked your date to drop you off at another guy’s place?” That makes me smile.

“Nope. I told him it’s a friend’s place. I didn’t stress it was a guy’s place,” she says, opening my refrigerator. “I’m so hungry.”

Jersey looks good. She’s wearing tight jeans—which accentuate her ass perfectly—and a loose yellow blouse that brings out the color of her eyes. Her hair is done in long waves that fall just past the middle of her back. I love when she wears her hair like that. It looks good on her. She’s bent over, her head in the fridge, and I can’t help but picture all of the things I want to do to her. In the kitchen. On the couch. In my bed. Then something flares in my stomach as an earlier thought prods my mind. She got dressed for another guy. She got dressed for another guy and it pisses me off. I lean back onto the counter, crossing my legs and trying to compose myself.

“What the hell, Logan? You have nothing in your kitchen except for old Chinese food and a bag of large marshmallows.” She shuts the fridge, turns around, and faces me with a pout.

She’s so damn cute. “Don’t downplay marshmallows.” I say, uncrossing my arms and legs. I open the fridge and grab the bag of marshmallows.

Jersey lifts herself up onto the counter and sits beside the stove, facing me. She watches as I grab a fork and plate and turn on the gas stove. I stab a marshmallow onto the fork and roast it over the fire.

“You’re roasting a marshmallow on your stove with a silver fork?” she asks.

“Yep.”

She shakes her head. “I’m hungry for real food, Logan.”

“Matthew should have fed you. I’m sure you didn’t have any coffee either, since you don’t drink caffeine.”

She stares at me for a few seconds before responding, “I had a water.”

I shake my head. Douchebag didn’t even know that much about her. “I’ll feed you after you try this.”

“Okay.” She nods.

She watches the white puff light up in flames. I slowly rotate the fork until the marshmallow turns charcoal, then I blow it out. I let it cool down before bringing it up to her mouth. She looks down at it first, hesitant. Then she wraps her lips around the fluff and closes them over the fork, taking the gooey sweetness into her mouth. And fuck is that sexy. I wish it were something else her lips were wrapped around.

“Mmm. Delish,” she says.

“Told ya, Jersey Girl. Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

“Food. Please,” she demands.

“All right, all right. I’m gonna go throw on some clothes.”

“Why? I don’t mind if you go like that,” she jokes.

I smile. “I bet you don’t. Wanna go to the diner?”

She nods, her gaze lingering over my chest.

I shake my head, laughing as I head to my room.

As much as I try to repair my damaged soul, it’s useless.

How can you fix me, when I can’t even fix myself?

It’s dark out. I can barely see…

No. My head turns to the right.

I’m cold from the rain. My breathing is uneven as I search around…

No. My head moves to the left.

I’m so scared. I can hear the boots trudging through the mud. They’re getting closer. I run…

No. White-knuckled, my fingers grip the bed sheets.

I run faster, harder. Out of breath and lungs burning, I run, not looking back, just pushing forward…

No. Go away. Just go away.

I lose balance, slip, and fall. With shaky hands, I try to lift myself up. My gaze meets the tombstone.

No! My eyes flash open.

The dream. It’s the same nightmare over and over again. When I think there’s no way it’ll come back, it proves me wrong every single time. It usually happens when I’m under a lot of stress, when my life is chaotic. Like now—or at least I think it is. I don’t know. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been.

I wet my dry lips and sit up, leaning my head against the headboard. There’s nowhere to run or hide. I’m trapped in this room. My eyes quickly scan the space. The creeping feeling that someone is watching me crawls over my skin, and I nervously peer into the dark corners, praying someone isn’t lurking there, waiting to attack.

My large bedroom feels small all of a sudden, like the walls are caving in. I’ve felt safe behind these walls for the last twenty-one years of my life, but now they’re betraying me.

My stomach churns and my throat starts to close, as if an invisible hand is slowly choking me.

I’m suffocating.

I need air or water or an escape. I just need to breathe. Find some way to just breathe. I push the sheets off. It’s so damn hot in here; I brush away the sticky strands of hair from my face. Talking myself into it, I allow my legs to dangle off the side of the bed. I’m dizzy, my mouth is dry, my chest is tight—I need to call someone. I reach for my cell phone on top of the nightstand. With a shaky finger, I skim through the short contact list. Charlie is away on vacation with her family for the Fourth of July week.

I’m stuck. The walls are zooming in. Closer. I breathe in and out, three soothing breaths.

Logan.

He’s been an amazing friend over the last month, but the more time we spend with one another, the closer I feel to him. Too close. And I’m frightened that one day he’ll pull away. He’ll pull away as soon as he knows. I suspect he has an idea of what’s wrong with me. Even though I feel better about myself when I’m around him, I sink right back into reality when we’re apart. The reality where Logan can never be mine.

Mine? What is wrong with me? He’s not an object I get to claim; he wasn’t handed off to me or gifted or purchased. Logan remains the sole owner of himself. But shamelessly, I still want him to be mine.

“Hello?” Logan’s voice, low and raspy, prickles through the speaker. I look down at the phone in my hand. Oh God, I didn’t realize I hit the call button when I saw his name on the list. “Hello…Jenna?” I hear again, his voice sleepy.

I quickly bring the cell to my ear. “I-I’m so sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to wake you. Please, try to go back to sleep,” I whisper.