Damaged (Damaged Series Book 1)

by J. Benson

  I was alone at last.

  I turned over in bed to look for the birds again, but they seemed to have left my window. I was too depressing for even birds to be around.

  I waited until I was absolutely sure that my grandmother's car had left the driveway, before I climbed out of the safe sanctuary of my bed and shuffled to my computer. I checked my email, which had been neglected for several days. The only thing in my inbox at the moment was an email from my mother, which I didn't bother to read. I simply deleted it on the spot and shut down my computer. There was no point in reading what she had to say; nothing in our situation had changed and I was sure of it. I didn't need a lame courtesy email to tell me anything I didn't already know.

  I wandered down to the main floor of the house and soon found myself curled up on the sofa in an afghan that my grandmother had crocheted years ago. It was surprisingly warm, and before I knew it, I had watched three episodes of a trashy talk show and my grandmother had called twice to see how I was doing. I insisted I was alright, and argued I was sure it was some kind of a stomach bug that seemed to be going around the school. I also insisted that she didn't need to come home or cancel her plans for me.

  It was easier to lie to her over the phone, where I wouldn't have to see the expression on her face as I blatantly faked an illness that I really didn't have.

  Nearly an hour after I got off the phone with my grandmother, I was entirely bored with the smut of day-time talk shows, and I was finding myself increasingly annoyed with lame television antics. I went to the kitchen and got myself a glass of water and was making my way back through the house toward the stairs.

  I stopped abruptly in the entry hall as I heard a heavy pair of footsteps clambering up the steps to the front porch. I thought for a moment it might have been my grandmother, but her footsteps weren't that heavy nor were they as clumsy.

  I froze in alarm, but knowing that whoever it was couldn't see me through the frosted window of the front door, I gradually began to move again. I moved to the stairway and pressed myself against the wall, and waiting for the person to leave before they had even touched the doorbell.

  The sound of the doorbell rang shrilly though the house; I had never realized how obnoxious the sound was until that moment. I wasn't about to wait for the bell to ring again, and I wasn't going to stick around and wait for the person to go away. I crept slowly and silently up the stairs like a child sneaking around on Christmas morning, and once I was safely on the second floor, I broke into a run back to the safe sanctuary of my bed.

  I inhaled deeply, and nestled under the covers, closing my eyes. My sheets and blankets were still blissfully warm from the sunlight filtering through my window.

  I figured that if I were at least going to pretend to be sick I might as well get some rest. And if I wasn't fully conscious, I couldn't very well let myself think of all of the horrible secrets I had spilled to Taylor.

  I blinked rapidly, my eyelids gradually growing heavy.

  At first, I thought I was imagining it, but there were two hands on my window. The hands moved under my window, slowly pushing it open.

  Chapter 17:

  Alarm Clock Weapon

  I sat frozen in complete and utter shock, not knowing what to do. I couldn't even gather the conscious thought to run and make it out of the house before the intruder made it into my room.

  The hands beneath my window made quick work of pushing the window up, and I immediately reached for the closest thing I could find to use as a weapon. Before I knew it and faster than I would have imagined, the window was wide open and a blond head bobbed inside followed clumsily by a long, slender body.

  "Shit, you scared me." Taylor grinned at me hugely.

  "I scared you?" I demanded in disbelief. "You crawled in through my bedroom window!" I shouted in disbelief."And you're brandishing an alarm clock to immobilize your attacker?" he raised his eyebrows in question.

  I finally looked at the object that I was wielding to protect myself. Sure enough, my vintage alarm clock was clutched tightly in my left hand. I immediately put it down. It was older than I was and I wasn't about to break it.

  "I went to the door and rang the bell but there was no answer." Taylor explained.

  "So you thought you would give breaking and entering a try?" I demanded.

  He laughed softly. "Yeah, I know it's kind of stupid, but I knew you were here, and I was worried about you." He admitted. "You weren't at school today and your car is in the driveway..." He paused. “I probably should have knocked on the window first." He grinned at me, slyly.

  "What the hell is wrong with you? There has to be something seriously wrong with the wires in your brain for you to think that climbing through someone's window when they don't answer the door is okay!" I demanded. I was furious.

  Taylor shrugged. "I saw it in some chick flick movie. I was being romantic and spontaneous... girls dig that, right?" He asked.

  "You are unbelievable." I scoffed.

  "I know." He smirked. He really was obnoxiously full of himself.

  "That wasn't a compliment!"

  I was suddenly very aware that I was in bed and only wearing my pajamas. I pulled the blankets up over my chest and frowned, folding my arms over my chest.

  He stretched across the foot of my bed casually on his side, looking suddenly like a male model posing on the cover of a glossy magazine. "So what's wrong, are you sick?" He asked, studying me carefully. "Is it contagious? Should I have brought one of those paper hospital masks?" He asked, teasingly covering his mouth with his hand.

  I was infuriated that he thought he could waltz into my room--after essentially breaking in--and stretch out on my bed like he owned the place. I was feeling uncomfortable in my own home and I wasn't happy about it. But on the other hand, he was so gorgeous that he looked as though he could probably own any room he was in.

  I racked my brain desperately for an excuse to give him about my mysterious illness, but I couldn't find anything. I was too distracted by him lying across the bottom of my bed and only inches from my feet.

  "Listen," He concluded before I could find any appropriate words to say. "I was actually kind of thinking that this might have something to do with what happened on Friday..."

  I held my breath. "I suppose the whole school knows my entire life history by now..." I muttered.

  He sat up suddenly. "What? Why would you think that?" He asked worriedly.

  "Because it's high school..." I sighed. "I'm sure the fact that I'm severely disturbed and the dirty little secrets of my entire family would probably go over quite well with curious high school students who crave more gossip like its oxygen." I was rambling, and I knew it. I was grasping at straws even as the words came pouring out of my mouth.

  "You think I would tell anyone? Emma, you told me something in complete confidence! I would never betray you like that. I would never go behind my friend's back like that! Okay, that might be every single other person in high school, but that is not me. I value my friends and my friendships and I would never maliciously spread anything around that was never meant to get out in the first place. Don't you trust me at all?"

  "No." I said quickly. "I know I can't trust you. Not even a little bit."

  "Then why did you tell me all that stuff?"

  I didn't respond. I looked away, training my attention to my bedroom door. I hoped that maybe he would get the subtle hint and leave.

  "You can trust me." He assured gently. "I just wish there was something I could tell you; some kind of major secret that I could trust you with so that you could know you can trust me, but I've got nothing."

  "There has to be something." I hugged my knees to my chest and spoke softly. "Tell me something, anything..."

  He paused for a moment, thinking it through. He glanced from me to the window and slowly back again.

  "Anything... you wet the bed until you were nine, you can't tell time... you never learned to tie your shoes... Anything." I rambled.

&nbs
p; He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I hate lima beans." He admitted.

  I sighed and looked down at my knees. "I think you should go." I said quietly.

  "No, wait." He reached out and touched my knee, sending a surge of warmth throughout my body. My blood rose hotly in my cheeks.

  His hand slowly left my knee and brushed lightly across my cheek, "When I was younger, I was teased because to some people I guess I look really... effeminate. I had long blond hair and soft features, so I got picked on pretty badly. Once puberty hit, I grew into my looks, and girls started to notice me more. That gained me the respect of my male peers..." He sighed. "And now I've got plenty of friends and I guess to some people I would be deemed popular... but none of that matters. Inside I'm just that skinny kid with long hair that everyone picked on... But I'm very glad that you moved to town. Because I want you to see me for who I am... I'm not this popular guy who all the girls chase after... I'm just normal and I've got my baggage like everyone else."

  I laughed dryly, surprising him entirely. "You think that's baggage? You got picked on in middle school? That's nothing. Everyone gets picked on. Everyone gets made fun of, Taylor. It's part of growing up. For most people, those scars heal. When you've seen what I've seen and had the most important person in your entire life die slowly and miserably, then you can come to me and talk to me about baggage." My words stung, but I knew they hurt me more than they hurt him.

  His eyes studied mine carefully again, but this time I held my ground.

  "Why are you even here?" I demanded rudely.

  Taylor shrugged lightly. "I'm here to help... I'm here because I want to be your friend. I thought you could use one."

  "I didn't ask you to help or be my friend." I insisted, coldly.

  "No one asks for friends. They happen...." He supplied.

  "I think you should go." I repeated again, this time quietly and evenly.

  Taylor nodded slowly and stood to leave. He made it as far as my bedroom door before he paused and glanced back at me. "That kisses...” He began “On Friday when you kissed me... did you mean that?"

  I swallowed hard, holding back tears. "No." I replied, and shook my head trying to assure us both. My heart was beating hard and fast, struggling in my chest to tell me to tell the truth. But the word had left my lips already. It was too late, no matter what I couldn't take it back.

  He nodded slowly. "Okay." With that, he turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  As soon as the door clicked closed, the tears started and the floodgates opened. I sniffled and curled up in a ball on my bed, crying heavily. I hated myself. I had stupidly pushed away one of my only potential friends in the world; and friends were not something I had an abundance of these days. If I kept going down the road I was headed, I wasn't going to have anyone. And no matter how much I tried to tell myself that having no one was better than having someone in your life and then losing them, I was beginning to realize that deep down that I was wrong.

  Chapter 18:

  Situational Irony

  On Tuesday morning, I arrived at school early, gathered my books and moved immediately toward my English class. I had spent the night tossing and turning until I finally dragged myself out of bed to shower. I decided at last that I couldn't keep hiding in my bedroom. And I knew that I couldn't keep up my pretend illness much longer before my grandmother saw right through it and forced me to go back to school.

  I arrived at school a good half hour earlier than I needed to be, and had even managed to stop by a coffee shop for some much needed liquid energy. The coffee was strong and bitter. And once I added two sugar packets to the steaming hot beverage, it was perfect. Even the crappiest cup of coffee tasted like the best when you went without for a while.

  I slid into my seat in English class, relieved that someone had unlocked the door and I wouldn't have to sit outside and wait in the hall for the classroom to be opened. I needed some extra time to myself, and I was relieved for a few extra moments alone. Besides, I had a project due that I unfortunately could no longer avoid.

  Today was the day I was supposed to be doing my presentation with Taylor. My traitorous stomach was twisted in unpleasant anxiety ridden knots. We hadn't spoken since he had rudely broken into my room in the middle of the afternoon. I didn't even know if he was even willing to talk to me, and based on the way we had left things, I was sure that he wasn't going to be too pleasant.

  On one hand I was relieved to get the presentation over with and end all communication between the two of us. That way, I could continue on with my original plan to coast through this last year, get a job and disappear. My original plan would stay intact and so would at least some of my dignity.

  On the other hand, Taylor was the only human contact outside of my grandmother that I had had upon arriving in this city. Even though he could be a complete and utter pain in the ass sometimes, he was still irrevocably sweet at others. And for that reason alone, a major part of me wished the teacher would post-pone the presentations for just a little while longer until I could work things out with myself. Maybe with time things wouldn't be so muddled inside my head.

  Though I also knew I simply wasn't that lucky.

  I sighed heavily and opened my copy of "The Sun Also Rises". I turned to a completely random page and read the first sentence which stuck out like a thorn for my attention to latch onto.

  "You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another." I read.

  I immediately shut the book and dropped it onto my desk. The slapping sound of the cover against the desk echoed throughout the empty room. Even Hemingway was against me. I sighed heavily. I closed my eyes tightly and dropped my head onto my folded forearms, trying to force myself into getting at least a few minutes of sleep before the rest of the class started filtering in.

  When this idea proved futile, I sat up and carefully twisted the lid off my extra-large, extra-strong black coffee and enjoyed the sweet aroma of caffeine as it soaked throughout the corners of the room.

  It wasn't long until the class began to filter in. By now, I was beginning to learn everyone's names, although none of my classmates had formally introduced themselves. Some of the names I was even beginning to remember, but I tried to forget.

  "Are you almost ready for your presentation, Emma?" Mrs. North asked, smiling at me. She leaned against the front of her desk in a chocolate brown paisley dress which more or less resembled a tent from the sixties than an actual dress. The desk slid backward nearly a foot and I half expected her to fall on her ass.

  "I think so." I murmured. I didn't particularly want to be portrayed as the teacher's pet who spent her time going to class early to hold conversations with the teacher.

  "I know you probably had a difficult time working with Mr. Green, but he can be quite the bright student when he sets his mind to it. I can see that you are too." She winked at me. I was mortified at the attention. I hoped none of the other students were watching. "I can tell. You aced your quiz on literary terms last week. I think you were the only student who got all three literary definitions of irony."

  I nodded, but didn't feel the need to divulge that I had taken a similar lesson before. I had been in advanced classes in Manhattan. And my mother was an English Literature professor and the dean of humanities.

  "Umm... listen, Mrs. North... Can I ask a favor? Is it okay if Taylor and I present first?"

  The teacher looked shocked, as though she had never had a request like that before. For a moment, she looked at me as if I was asking to strip naked and dance in front of the entire class.

  "I... I would really like to get the presentation over with..." I continued quietly. "I hate speaking in public..."

  Surprisingly, Mrs. North smiled. "Sure thing, Emma."

  The bell rang and I glanced around awkwardly. I hadn't even noticed that the rest of the class had filled in while I was chatting politely with the teacher. However, I noticed almost immediately that Taylor was not
in the room.

  I was ecstatic. If he was absent, we wouldn't be forced to do our presentation today. We were ready, but I wasn't entirely into the idea of presenting at all.

  Just as Mrs. North was crossing the room to close the door, Taylor slipped in, looking breath-taking as usual in a pair of torn jeans and a Beatles t-shirt. I honestly wondered if the boy owned a pair of jeans that still had the knees in place, but I looked away immediately so he would know that my indifference toward him was still firmly in place.

  I could feel his eyes on me, as he took his usual seat at the back of the room. I was glad to see that he had given up trying to sit near me. That could only mean that my rejection had been well received.

  His friends made snide comments as to why he was late, but he didn't respond, and I immediately tuned them out. I was getting better at tuning people out.

  The teacher began her slow preamble to the presentations, which seemed to drag on for ages before she finally called Taylor and I up for our presentation. As I was turning to exit my seat, I noticed Taylor's slightly shocked expression, clearly not understanding why we were chosen first.

  I removed the CD from my book bag that held our power point presentation on it, and before I had a chance to move to the computer, Taylor crossed the room in several long strides and took the disc from my hand. His warm fingers brushed mine as he slipped the disc from my fingers.

  I had to close my eyes and draw in a deep breath to regain my composure. This was not going to be an easy presentation and I was already feeling rattled.

  My first presumption about the presentation had been right. Taylor barely spoke through the entire presentation. I found a spot at the back of the classroom and stared straight ahead at the wall. He added a few words here and there, rudely cutting me off when he felt I had forgotten something or didn't fully explain something he felt was important. He never once looked at me, and I never once looked at him. I hoped that could be construed as an awkward exchange between two people who didn't know each other and yet were forced to work together.