E. Montes - Perfectly Damaged

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.

Logan

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.

“It’s City of Sound. They’re an indie rock band from Philly. You’ve never heard of them before?” I ask, completely shocked. They’re popular and have been around forever.

She shakes her head, her solemn gaze still stuck on my dashboard. “No.”

“Oh. Well they’re one of my favorite bands. This song is called ‘What’s the Point?’” The lyrics speak about life and whether it’s worth it. With all the fucked-up things we all go through, what’s the point of still living? There are times when you just want to give it all up. But then it goes on to say that maybe, just maybe, there’s a purpose in your life and that purpose could be sitting right next to you.

The light ahead of me flashes to red, and I take this time to study Jenna. Her head rests against the headrest, and her eyes are shut. Brown hair tumbles down her shoulders and touches her hands as they rub along her biceps. Goose bumps cover her arms. I have the air conditioner on, but it’s low. “Are you cold?” I ask.

“No. It’s just…the words. They’re dead-on. So dead-on. That’s all.”

I know exactly what she means. “I love their music. It’s always powerful, real, and raw. Their albums got me through some tough shit in my life. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of them.”

Jenna tilts her head along the headrest, large beautiful brown eyes looking into mine. “I’m surprised I haven’t either. Do they have more like this?”

“Ch-yeah!” She smiles at my response. “Do you want to hear one of my favorites?” She nods. I scan through the album on my radio until I find it. “This is ‘Rain on Me.’”

Her lips curl into a grin as the song starts. Listening intensely to the words, she leans back again, closes her eyes, and allows the music to just seep through. After the first verse, she starts bobbing her head side to side along with the beat. She’s enjoying it, feeling it. I can’t stop smiling. It’s like I’m listening to the words for the first time.

Jenna flashes her lids open when the song ends and looks at me. Her eager eyes widen at catching me staring at her, but then she blinks as she beams from ear to ear. “I love it. I want to hear more.”

I chuckle. Whatever was bothering her before isn’t on her mind now. “All right, here’s another one of my favorites.” I find the song and continue to drive.

* * *

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me pay,” Jenna argues, her round button nose wrinkling as she slumps down into a chair.

“I told you, it wouldn’t be fair to make you pay when you’re not in the mood for ice cream, so it’s my treat.” I wink, settling in a seat across from her.

“You think you’re just so smart, don’t ya?”

“Well, I didn’t get the highest SAT scores out of my entire senior class for nothing.”

“Really?” she asks.

“No,” I confess. “I had a terrible score.” Jenna’s cheeks color as she laughs at me. I smile charmingly and continue, “But I’m sure I could’ve done better. I didn’t bother to study. There was no reason to. I already knew college was out of the question for me.”

Her features shift out of curiosity. “Why was that?”

“’Cause I knew I had a set job with my uncle. I hated school to begin with. I hated studying, for that matter. I just didn’t see the point.”

“Is that what you always dreamed of doing? Working in construction your entire life?” She seems disappointed.

“Look, Jenna, not all of us have it easy. I didn’t want to try and scrape up money and then work three dead-end jobs just to pay for a diploma. I knew a piece of paper wasn’t gonna get me anywhere in the end.”