E. Montes - Perfectly Damaged

It fucking scared me. So much shit ran through my head after that. I watched her sleep. I wondered if she’d be okay if I left for work. Would she hurt herself? So this morning I packed up any and all sharp items—knives, tools, anything she could use to harm herself. I’m still on the fucking fence about it all. I shouldn’t have left her this morning.

Bryson storms down the driveway. He looks pissed off. I bunch my brows as he walks over to my truck, opens the door, and hops into the passenger seat. “What the fuck happened between you and the McDaniels?”

“What are you—”

“Don’t fuck with me, Logan. Mrs. McDaniel called Pop this morning in a rage. She was threatening not to pay the balance. When Pops told her that the job is ninety percent done and he’d take her to court if she doesn’t pay, she said fine. But she refuses to have you on her property. What happened?” he demands.

Fuck. I slam my head back, groaning.

“It’s all just one big fuckup. That’s what happened.”

“Well, tell me. Pop is pissed off right now.”

I run a hand over my face and sigh. I tell Bryson everything: about Jenna’s disorder; about how Blair isn’t a mega-bitch after all and Laura takes the fucking cake on that one; about how Brooke died and how Jenna was there. I tell it all.

“What the hell.” Bryson huffs.

“I know.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to take care of her.”

“Logan—”

“No. Before you give me this long spiel bullshit, I love her and that’s that.”

He sighs. “I know you want to help her, but she needs more help than just you. You can’t save her. It’s impossible. She’s sick, dude.”

“She’s fine.”

“Logan. We kept saying that Sean was fine, and look what happened. If you really want to help her, get her professional help.”

“I’m not fucking sending her off.”

He shakes his head, opens the door, and says, “I’ll talk to Dad about having you start on the Royersford place. At least you’ll have some work.”

I nod. Then he hops out and slams the door behind him.

Each day is unexpected. No matter how hard you try,

you can never prepare for the life ahead.

Logan

“Where the hell is she?” I mumble under my breath, pacing up and down the narrow hallway. The screams and sounds of items crashing and breaking ring loud and clear from behind my apartment door. So far three neighbors have stepped out to complain and said if I don’t get her to stop, then they’re calling the cops. I gave them my fucking death glare, and they stepped back into their apartments without another word.

I huff out in relief when Charlie—in her sleepwear—storms down the hallway. She narrows her eyes as she passes me. Without a single word spoken, she enters my apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Silence.

It’s like clockwork. I don’t fucking understand it. What am I doing wrong?

Forty minutes later Charlie steps out. “She’s sleeping now,” she says, deadpan. Then she moves to walk away.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because there is nothing else I can say.

She turns around, her features distort into anger, and then she steps forward until she’s front and center. “Six times this month, Logan. Six times!” she stresses. “I can’t keep taking midnight runs over here every time Jenna has a breakdown.”

“I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not! I told you what’s best for her, but you’re so against it. She needs help, Logan.”

My nostrils flare. “I am helping her.”

“Keeping her locked in this apartment”—she points toward my closed door—“with no medication and no therapy is not helping her. She just remembered that she witnessed her sister being brutally attacked, that she was almost raped as well. That’s not even a trigger, that’s a fucking nuclear bomb that just exploded in her world, and that’s why she’s been getting worse.”

“Then get her medication.”

She laughs, shaking her head at my ridiculousness. I know I am, but I’m desperate. “She needs them prescribed.”

I shut my heavy eyes. This past month has been fucking hard. I’ve never felt this lost in my life. I want to help her, I just don’t know how. It’s as if she’s hanging from the edge of a cliff and I’m the one holding on to her hand. She’s begging for me to help her, to not let go, and I’m fucking trying the best I can. But she’s slowly slipping.

Every time I think of what happened to Jenna and Brooke I get pissed off all over again. “I wish I could find the bastards who did this and kill each one of them. I swear to God I would, Charlie.”

Charlie looks down. Her shoulders deflate as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I would too. I just keep telling myself they’ll get what’s coming to them someday.” She shakes her head, disgusted with it all. Then she looks up at me, a pathetic smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Look at you. You look like shit. You don’t have to do this,” she says.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her.”

“So do I,” she says. “And because of that we need to get her the best help right now.”

My shoulders drop. “I promised her I wouldn’t give up. Every time I suggest that maybe she should get help, she thinks I’m giving up on her, and then she spazzes out.”

Charlie reaches both hands up and grips my shoulders. I look down at her. “I’m not going to lie to you. She’s going to hate you at first. She’ll even refuse to see you in the beginning. And it’s the worst feeling. You’ll feel guilty that you may have done something wrong, that you didn’t try hard enough. But that won’t be true. And when she’s treated and better, she’ll thank you. Trust me.”

I swallow hard, nodding. “Okay.”

Charlie lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I’ll call you tomorrow. You can meet with her father and me and then we’ll set it all up. You’re doing the right thing, Logan.”

I nod. If this is the right thing, then why do I feel like shit right now?

“Let me have ten minutes with her before you come in,” I say. They nod. I step out of the car, knowing this is it. There’s no turning back. I’m going to break the heart of the one person I love.

With each step I take, my chest rips open a little more. How does someone look in the eyes of the person they love and say good-bye? Is this even love? I’m going to break her heart, tear it right out of her chest, because I claim to love her so much. How do I explain the reason why I’m going to hurt her? That it’s what’s best for her?

The reality is I can’t help her. No matter where we are—whether it’s the lake house or in our own little world in my shitty apartment—it doesn’t help. No matter how hard I try, I can’t help her. She needs more than what I can offer.

I swallow back the nerves lodged in my throat and open the door leading to my fate.

Jenna’s in the kitchen by the stove, her back facing me. I look around. My eyes scan the table filled with pots, pans, and food remnants. The counter is just about the same. The fridge door is open and a gallon of milk is spilling out all over the floor. I step forward, my boots squishing against the spilled liquid. Jenna spins around, spatula in hand. “You scared me!” She jumps, a smile settling on her face.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, taking in the mess.

“I wanted to make you something special to apologize about last night, and I didn’t know what to make. At first I was thinking of a cake, but you didn’t have any baking pans, and then I thought of something healthy, but there’s nothing healthy in the fridge. And I forgot how to get to the supermarket.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to leave the house anyway, so I settled for pancakes, but I couldn’t find the pan to cook it on, so I searched all over until—”

“Jenna,” I cut off her rambling. “It’s fine.” I take two steps, stand the milk container back up in the fridge, and step over the contents spilled on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes roaming over me as I remove the spatula from her hand and turn off the gas range.

“We need to talk.”

“I know. I’m sorry about last night. I promise I’ll get better. It’s just some days are really bad, and I don’t know how to control them. I promise, Logan, I’ll get better.” She reaches her hand to my face, pulling my stare from the counter to look at her face. I was trying to avoid making eye contact. I knew it’d be difficult.

I wet my lips nervously. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

My lips crush into hers. I pull her in, kissing her hard. “I’m sorry,” I mumble over her mouth.

Jersey Girl tries to pull away from my hold, her eyes wide “What are you talking about?”

I silence her again, tasting her, devouring every bit of her mouth before she leaves, before she’ll never speak to me again.

“Logan!” She pushes at my chest. I stumble back, my breathing heavy. Her eyes are zoomed in on me. “What are you sorry about?”

I raise my hands to caution her. “Before I tell you, please let me explain that I’m only looking out for your best interest.”

Jenna shifts, her mouth slightly open as if reading my mind. “What did you do?” I shake my head and step forward. “No. What did you do, Logan?” My gaze shifts to the curtain. Her eyes leave mine, lingering over the window. Her chest expands, and then she looks at me again. “You didn’t,” she pleads. Jenna storms over to the window. Flinging back the curtain, she looks out. “No. No. Logan. Why? Why would you call them?”