Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

  “But you’re allowing it to happen long-term. You promising your time means you’re acknowledging you have that time to promise.”

  Well, shit.

  I hadn’t even thought of that. Like Alexander had said, I’d been too wrapped up in the fiction of what could’ve happened to see the fact of what had.

  I hadn’t held myself back for fear of letting her down if I died—by my own hand or otherwise. The specter of Death hadn’t made my decisions for me.

  Stunned, I sat back, and Dr. Linda leaned forward. “This is great, Briar. You’re taking control of your life. I’m proud of you.”

  I was proud of me, too. Even more so when her shining a spotlight on the deeper implication of my actions didn’t send a huge tidal wave of panic through me.

  Just a small one.

  A kiddie pool’s wave of panic.

  At the risk of self-sabotaging all that progress and proudness, I brought up the topic I’d been dreading. “Does all this progress mean I don’t have to add another group session?”

  Dr. Linda grabbed her book again—never a good sign. Tapping her pen in a way that was grating and anxiety inducing, she was quiet for a second. “What about just an extra session every other week?”

  And what about I flee with my money tree to my own personal deserted island for sun, sand, and sex with Alexander?

  Wait.

  Could he actually do that? I wouldn’t let him, but could he?

  “Yeah, every other week sounds okay,” I agreed since we both knew I didn’t really have a choice anyway.

  I’d promised Aria I’d stick with the program, however intensive they wanted to make it.

  Plus, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to get better.

  You’re in control.

  Alexander’s words flitted through my head.

  Yeah.

  Maybe one day.

  _______________

  “WHAT DO YOU think, Muppet? You like it here when you know you can leave?”

  When we’d first arrived, Muppet must’ve recognized the rescue because he’d flipped out. Thankfully, I’d been able to calm him down with an extended race through the dog run.

  An anxious mess like his Auntie Briar and a runner like his mama.

  He really was made to be a Dillon.

  Now that we were packing up to head home and wait for Aria, the brown doodle was a bundle of joy and excitement.

  “Yeah, it was fun, huh?” I scratched his ears and yawned for the millionth time that hour alone. “Cereal for dinner or cereal for dinner?”

  Muppet barked his answer.

  “Cereal it is.”

  My phone dinged, and I pulled it from my purse.

  Tech Nerd: You almost done in there?

  Me: Are you outside?

  Tech Nerd: …

  Tech Nerd: Maybe.

  I shook my head at Muppet. “And I thought I was crazy.”

  Muppet barked again.

  I was already having better conversations with him than I did with most humans.

  Me: How do you feel about dogs in your fancy car?

  Tech Nerd: You’re not supposed to embezzle from work. But if you’re going to do it, I can only fit four. Five tops.

  I used to wonder how those annoyingly chipper people could smile all the time without their cheeks hurting. Thanks to the animals and Alexander, I finally had my answer.

  It did hurt. It was just worth it.

  I grabbed my stuff and Muppet before heading outside to Alexander’s car. My body was sore, and I was wiped, so I was grateful I wouldn’t have to deal with the bus. Not that I was gonna tell him that. “I think I’m going to have to change your name in my phone.”

  “To what?” he asked as he closed the distance to help with my load.

  “Stalker.”

  “In my defense, I missed you.”

  As far as defenses went that was a pretty damn good one.

  “What do you have it as now?” he asked, not expecting me to reciprocate the sentiment.

  “Tech Nerd.”

  “When it comes to you, stalker would also be accurate,” he openly admitted with a chuckle. He scanned over my head—which, given our height difference, just meant he looked straight ahead—before kissing me.

  I knew he didn’t care who saw us. His discreetness was for my benefit. It made me melt into him, which pretty much nullified that effort, but it was still appreciated.

  If I hadn’t blown our stealth, Muppet’s barking surely had. It didn’t matter that he’d never seen Alexander before, he went wild, barking and fighting to lick before barking some more.

  The barking I didn’t get.

  The urge to lick Alexander, I definitely related to.

  “Is this your sister’s dog or are you actually swiping office supplies?” Alexander took the leash before the amped up pup tugged my arm out of its socket.

  “This is Muppet. And he’s not just Aria’s, he’s my new nephew. I’m bribing him with treats so I can be his favorite.”

  Wrapping his arm around me, Alexander grabbed my ass and hauled me closer. So close, I could feel his hard muscles and his hard something else. A wicked smile curved his mouth. I’d never known a smile could be so depraved, yet there we were. “You’re my favorite. And you don’t even have to bribe me with treats.”

  “Really? Because I was thinking earlier that I was in the mood for you to eat my treat while I enjoy yours.”

  Alexander’s hold on my ass tightened, his fingertips digging in. “I take back what I said. Bribe me. Multiple times. All the fucking time.”

  “Too late.”

  “You, my pretty flower, are a tease.” He released me and opened the passenger door.

  Muppet jumped right in and faced forward. If he had thumbs, he probably would’ve buckled up.

  “This is gonna be awkward since I like to hold hands while I drive,” Alexander said.

  Once we were all in the car—with Muppet panting on my lap with his head out the window and my hand securely in Alexander’s—I asked, “Could you afford a private island?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “Would you name it Briar Isle?”

  His lips tipped. “If you wanted.”

  “I don’t. I’m not big on sun and sand chafes. But I was just curious if you could. Anywho, what’s the plan for tonight?” At the look in his eyes, I added, “Before that.”

  “Figured we’d go to my place and I’d fix you dinner, but I’m guessing your sister has to pick her dog up later?”

  “You’d guess correctly.”

  “And I’m guessing you don’t want her to pick him up from my house.”

  “That is also correct.” Before he could take offense, I rushed on. “I do want you to meet her. Eventually. It’s—”

  “All good, flower.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s all good. We’ll go to your place. Do you have anything I can cook?”

  “Cereal, bread, and frozen fish sticks.”

  He grimaced as he began driving. “I’ll drop you off and go shop.”

  “I don’t have pots or pans.”

  “None?”

  “I have a cookie sheet and a microwave.”

  “Got it. We’ll go to your place and order delivery.”

  That was it. Simple as that.

  Even though he was okay, I still wanted to explain. “I’m private, but it’s more than that. Aria’s spent the last six years worrying over me. I’d say like a mother, but as you know, ours wasn’t very, well… motherly. Now she’s got something going with a new guy, a new practice, and a new dog. I want her to focus on that new.”

  “You’re a good sister.”

  I mulled that over in my head for a minute. “You always do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Say the right thing.”

  “And that’s why I’m your favorite.” Releasing my hand, he encircled my thigh and squeezed hard. “But don’t worry, flower. I’ll still bribe you with a treat.”


  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Filter

  Briar

  For cheese sticks, milkshakes, and warped support

  “LET’S TALK ABOUT the people in our lives.”

  That sounded about as much fun as juggling chainsaws in a ragweed field during allergy season.

  Derrick leaned forward in his chair. “Everyone knows having a support system is key. Humans are social beings who crave interaction. But it’s important that those people we surround ourselves with aid our mental health not hinder it. Tell us someone who lifts you up…” He scanned the small group. “Meghan.”

  “Uh, Ethan.” Her cheeks heated, tinging with pink. “He gets me.”

  “Good. That’s important.” He gave her one of his signature sad smiles. “Frankie?”

  “My girl and my mom. They don’t make me feel like shit for feeling like shit.”

  “Feeling your emotions is vital. Jenna, what about you?”

  “I’ve had to cut a lot of toxic people from my life. Like, a lot. I think my bestie Chelsea is, like, my anchor.”

  “An anchor would weigh you down and drown you,” Jared pointed out.

  “Oh. Right.” If Meghan’s cheeks had heated, then Jenna’s were a full-on fire. “Well, she helps me. She always listens and goes out of her way to do nice things for me.”

  “What about you, Jared?” Derrick asked. “Who keeps you afloat?”

  He tilted his head and thought for a moment before answering. “My boy Mac.”

  “Don’t you mean your buoy Mac,” I joked without thinking.

  I really should’ve thought.

  Everyone but Jenna chuckled, so at least my corny humor was appreciated. But it also meant I’d inadvertently turned everyone’s focus my way.

  “Who’s your person?” Derrick asked me.

  Alexander.

  I didn’t have to be a shrink to know that his name being the first to pop into my head said a lot.

  “She’s lucky,” Jenna said. “It’s Dr. Dillon.”

  “Let her answer for herself,” Derrick chided.

  She wasn’t wrong by any means. It was just, for the first time in my life, I had two people. And I was betting I could call either of them for an effective pep talk.

  I wasn’t ready to discuss my love life as if it were a talk show, so I went with my numero uno. “Yup. Aria.”

  “Her career probably gives her a lot of understanding. That’s not just key or vital or important. It’s imperative.” He looked at all of us as he continued. “Think about your person. Do they understand you? Are they aware and mindful of your mental health?” “Too often, people try to hide their true selves and only show the world their best. They slap an Instagram filter on their life. Not only is that damaging to their own consciousness, it’s impossible to maintain. And when the filter comes off, it’s often worse than if they were open and honest from the start.”

  Since I quantify my life in lies, half-truths, and evasions, it’s clear I suck at being honest.

  And I’m the anti-7-Eleven—meaning I’m always closed.

  Pressing my thumb into the barely-there A at my hip, my tense shoulders loosened at the sting.

  But I’m getting better.

  “On the flipside,” Derrick continued, his eyes turning somber—but still managing to somehow stay sad. “It’s important you don’t let another person dictate your happiness. You are in charge of your own emotions. You can’t be dependent on someone to give you fulfillment. Love comes from inside first.”

  It was like listening to one of the meditation podcasts Dr. Linda had recommended. I never got far before falling asleep or switching to a true crime one because those were more soothing than banalities. Right then was no different. I hid a yawn even as his Live, Laugh, Love philosophy filled me with unease rather than optimism and empowerment.

  My brain is so jacked.

  The remainder of the time was filled by people talking about their problems or sharing about their week. Starting the session talking about something so positive worked on everyone but me, and there was less angst. Everyone’s moods seemed to be sunny rather than thunderstorms.

  After we wrapped up, Derrick went through his one-on-one compliment filled goodbyes before reaching me. “It’s nice to see you smiling so much today, Briar.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve talked with Dr. Linda. Do you have a second to schedule your added sessions?”

  I couldn’t handle another well-meaning conversation with him. Not yet. Not with an A etched into my hip and my brain being so… Briar.

  “Not right now.” My eyes darted to the rest of the group. “I’m heading to dinner with everyone.”

  Derrick wasn’t the only one who was surprised by my announcement. Even I was surprised by my impulsive decision. But if it got me out of probing questions, I’d suck it up for one night. It wasn’t like I had any other plans. Aria was at her practice, Alexander was working, and I’d wrapped up yet another rewatch of my favorite TV show—my anxiety appreciated the comfort binge.

  “Good, that’ll be fun,” he said before turning and leaving the room.

  “Ready?” Jenna asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

  Huddled with the group, we walked down the street to a diner. As tempted as I was to come up with an excuse to leave—or just run off into the night—I knew someone would rat me out next session. It wasn’t worth it, especially since my existing reputation of being quiet meant people weren’t expecting titillating conversation from me.

  Or any conversation, really.

  It was great. I got to show the promising growth of going out with my peers, a mega order of cheese sticks for dinner, and I didn’t have to talk.

  It was a win-win-win.

  I even let Jenna pull me in for a selfie with our milkshakes. I knew I’d regret giving her my number to text me the pic, but that was a problem for future-me. I wanted to forward it to Aria.

  Aria: Looks like you’re having fun! I love seeing your smile! Is this too many exclamation points?! It feels like too many exclamation points! I don’t care! I’m just so happy to see you happy!!!!!

  I may not have been wanting to go out—and it might’ve been under false pretenses—but that text made it all worth it. A smidge of the guilt I’d been carrying all week slid from my shoulders.

  Riding that high, I sent the picture off to Alexander, too.

  Not just the picture, but a tiny bit of truth.

  Me: I miss you.

  Tech Nerd: Miss you, too, flower. Christ, that smile. Can’t wait to see it in person.

  Tech Nerd: Who’s that guy?”

  I had to check to see Frankie’s arm and part of his face had just barely made it in the side of the pic.

  “Who’s that?”

  I jumped at Jenna’s voice right near my ear. I bristled from being startled and the invasion of my privacy, but I choked back my cutting retort. “Just a guy I’m talking to.”

  The understatement of the century.

  “What’s he look like? Is he cute?” She rolled her eyes and gestured to me. “Why am I asking? Of course he’s cute.”

  My phone buzzed a couple times as she talked. When Meghan snagged her attention to ask about a movie they’d seen, I angled my phone away to check the texts.

  Tech Nerd: I’m glad you went out.

  Tech Nerd: Could do without the guy sitting next to you but still glad you’re out.

  Me: I’m having dinner with people from group. Calm your inner caveman.

  Tech Nerd: With you? Never. I put an A on it, so it’s mine.

  An addicting jolt of adrenaline and excitement zipped through me, waking me up and tightening my nipples.

  Me: And I licked it, so it’s mine.

  Tech Nerd: Fuck, flower, don’t give me a hard-on during this meeting.

  Thankfully, I’d exited out of the naughty messages before Jenna turned back. She peppered me with questions about Alexander, my job, and my life in general, spinning each back to
her—which, honestly, was preferable rather than focusing on me.

  After a while, she sat back and played with her straw, swirling it in her nearly empty milkshake glass. Her forced smile dropped away and her voice was soft. “It’s no wonder he likes you so much. Totally obsessed. You don’t have to put a filter on your life. You’re already perfect.”

  I burst out laughing. “Trust me, I’m far from perfect.”

  “You are.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ve been trying so hard. I thought…” Shaking her head, she whispered, “But I couldn’t turn my can’ts into cans. I’m just too fucked up.”

  I grabbed her hand, shocking us both. But I kept hold of it and told her basically the same thing Alexander had told me. “We’re all fucked up in our own ways. And that’s okay.”

  She smiled at me, and I could almost see her mask snap back into place—real recognized real.

  Or, in our case, fake recognized fake.

  “I still say you’re perfect,” she said. “Especially your hair. I love it.”

  Thanks, it’s a compulsion.

  She ran her fingers through her pretty black bob. “I get to the in-between stage and it gets annoying to deal with, so I end up hacking it off. How do you keep it so long?”

  Illogical fear.

  “A good brush and a shit-ton of conditioner.”

  “I can’t imagine. My hair is so fine, I have to use the expensive stuff from the salon or it turns into straw. I’d end up bankrupt.” She kept talking about her hair, her friends, and anything else the table’s conversation turned to.

  To an onlooker, it’d seem as if her glimpse of vulnerability earlier was short-lived and she was over it.

  But the tight hold she kept on my hand said otherwise.

  Once everyone was done and had moved outside to chat on the sidewalk, I snagged her wrist and tugged her away from the group.

  I had no business offering support. It was like a warped beam propping up a cracked board. Or the shattered vase that’d been strewn across my floor offering to hold the wilted flowers.

  But I did it anyway.

  “If you ever need to talk or anything, you have my number now. Just text. Phone calls give me hives.”

  “Thanks, that’d be cool.”

  “Cool,” I agreed, leaving it at that.

  We said our goodbyes, everyone going their own direction. I watched Jenna and Jared’s retreating backs as they walked toward the parking lot together. Channeling my inner Alexander, I snapped a picture like a stalker.