Perfectly Damaged

by E. L. Montes

  What is this feeling? I have no idea, but I know that it hurts and heals and nurtures all at the same time.

  “You see over there?” Logan says, his tone low, almost a whisper, but the words sound loud in my head, pulling me out of this trance I’m in.

  Fluttering my eyes open, fighting back the urge to cry—I have no idea why I have this urge, but I do—I lift my chin and meet his gaze. He looks down at me and his forehead wrinkles with worry. Quickly I force a smile, hoping to distract him. “You see over there?” he repeats, his head nudging behind me.

  It takes me a moment to work up the courage to look over my shoulder. Farther down, a few feet away from his truck, is a huge wooden, worn-out sign that reads Coven Pocono Nature Trail in bold red, chipped paint.

  “Is that where we’re going?” My question comes out soft. I’m not sure he’s heard me until I turn my head back to him.

  Wetting his lips, he lets go of his grip on my hand. I’m upset at first because I need his touch. I need the contact. And he gives it to me by bringing both of his hands up to cradle my face.

  I’m safe again.

  “Jersey Girl,” he whispers and I shut my eyes. Now and forever, I will always love that name. I don’t care how much Charlie makes fun of it; it’s mine. All mine. Logan gave it to me and it will forever be only mine. “We don’t have to go in. I just… I don’t know. I wanted to show you how beautiful it can be. It may look scary and dark on the outside, but on the inside there’s so much more. So much potential, so much room to grow.”

  Swallowing back a hiccup lodged in the center of my throat, I meet his gaze and nod.

  He smiles.

  Logan drops his hands from my face and takes ahold of my hand again. We step forward, side-by-side, toward the entrance of the trail. I lean in closer to him, and my eyes focus on our sneakers crunching against old fallen branches and leaves underfoot.

  Logan stops abruptly just before we walk into the trail. “I almost forgot,” he says, slinging the backpack in front of him and catching it between his knees. With his left hand still tangled with mine, he struggles with the zipper using his other hand. Once it’s halfway open, he opens the flap. “Can you grab the camera in there?” he asks me.

  Raising my brow in question, I do as he asked, digging my free hand in to remove an all-black, older Canon model camera with the extended lens perfectly intact. It’s sturdy and a bit heavy in my delicate hand, but I keep it secure while Logan zips up the book bag and swings it back into place behind him.

  “What’s this for?” I ask.

  “We’re going to take photos.”

  “Photos?”

  “Yep.” He nods. Then he wraps the strap from the camera around my neck. It drops heavily, dangling over my chest.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” He moves forward, turning to see what’s keeping me in place when I don’t move. His features relax. “Do you trust me?”

  I nod.

  “How much?”

  “With all I have,” I admit.

  He steps back to me and tilts his head lower, pursing his lips and then giving me SLKs (Special Logan Kisses). Nose. Forehead. Chin.

  My body instantly relaxes and before I know it, we’re in the woods, walking down the trail. At first it’s just like any nature trail—tall trees, leaves and branches shielding the sky, a hint of sunlight beaming through.

  My fingers grip Logan’s hand tight as we tread on. I look all around us: up, left, ahead, right, over my shoulder. No one is in sight. I let this roll through my mind a few times before I relax again.

  We continue to walk in silence for about twenty minutes when Logan stops midstride. I look up at him. His head is tilted back, staring up as his shoulders move steadily with his breaths. “Do you see that?” he asks.

  I look up, trying to figure out what he’s looking at, but I don’t see anything, well, except for the branches and leaves above us. I look back to Logan who has let go of my hand and is now bending at the knees. He lies down on his back, crosses his legs, and then folds his hands over his stomach.

  I step up beside him, looking down as he smirks up at me. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Admiring.”

  “Admiring what?”

  He taps the ground beside him, gesturing for me to lie next to him. I look around us. We’re in the middle of a trail with no one in sight and he just wants to lie down? It’s weird, but Logan always has a reason behind his actions, so I just shrug it off and get comfy beside him. Positioning my body the same as his, I adjust the camera on top of my chest so it doesn’t tip over to the ground.

  We gaze at Mother Nature above us. The vibrant colors of tea-green leaves, lemon chiffon sun, and celestial sky blue artistically paint the perfect image. It’s soothing and perfect. I take in a deep breath and just marvel at it. I wish I could capture this and keep it forever.

  Then I remember the camera. Reaching for it, I remove the lens cap, switch it on, and bring the eyepiece in view.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I stop midclick, tilting my head to find Logan with a full-tooth grin, still looking up. “Why so happy?” I ask him.

  “Just because.” He shrugs.

  Click.

  He tilts his head to look at me.

  Click.

  His smile weakens. “Stop snapping pictures of me!” He moans.

  I giggle. He looks cute when he’s upset.

  Click. Click. Click.

  “I’m going to rip that camera out of your hands and return the favor.”

  I stick my tongue out at him and adjust the lens to snap another shot when pink shoelaces appear in the frame right beside Logan’s head. Slowly, I lower the camera and follow the shoelaces up two little legs to a small body and curious round face.

  “Momma, look!” A little girl—no older than three—points down at us. I sit up. The mother runs up and quickly grips her daughter’s hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” the lady says to us.

  Logan chuckles as he sits up. “No problem.”

  “Momma, I’m big girl,” the toddler says, wrinkling her nose as she tries with all of her strength to pull her hand away from her mother’s.

  “Yes, Lana, a very big girl. But big girls need to hold their mommy’s hand. Besides, I’m not ready to let you go. You think you can do that for mommy?”

  “O-tay,” the little girl says, defeated. Then she jumps up and down. “But come on! We go on adtwenter.”

  “Yes, Lana. Let’s go on the adventure.” The woman treads forward with her daughter, looks back at us, and mouths “sorry” one more time.

  I watch as the mother and daughter walk side-by-side, the toddler’s tiny sneakers stomping and hopping around as she talks away—her words barely understandable—and the mother nodding, laughing, and just enjoying her daughter. A smile pulls at the corner of my lips. I lift the camera, zoom in on the two of them, and take the perfect shot.

  “All right,” Logan announces with a single clap. “You ready to finish the rest of our adtwenter?”

  Jersey Girl and I spent a little over two hours on the nature trail. At first she was a bit hesitant, but after a little push she really enjoyed herself. She took pics of everything and anything we hiked by, which is perfect for what I have planned.

  When we finally arrived at the lake house, we did our usual: ate, jumped in the lake, and then showered—separately—but the thought of how Jenna would look naked, with her hair soaked underneath a showerhead, did cross my mind. Just for an instant. All right, you caught me. Who the fuck am I kidding? It was on my mind for my entire shower. The only excuse I have is that I’m a guy.

  Right now, Jenna is getting dressed in her room while I’m in the kitchen, grabbing a beer. The back door swings open and Bryson steps in, his arm wrapped around his not-so-better half, Blair Mega Bitch. She slightly nods my way, flashing an arrogant smirk, and then treads her slutty, potentially disease-infected self toward the living area. Honestly, I’m shoc
ked I haven’t heard any more stories about her cheating, yet. It’s only a matter of time, though. After all, it’s only been a couple of months since her and Bryson patched things up.

  “What’s up, Bry?” I say, uncapping the beer and taking a swig.

  “Nothin’ much. We’re just getting in. How long you been here?” he asks.

  “Jenna and I got back a couple hours ago from that nature trail Mom used to take us to. We hung out a bit when we got back. Now she’s upstairs getting dressed. She should be down soon.”

  “The Coven trail?”

  I nod.

  “Damn. I haven’t been there in forever,” he quietly reminisces. “What made you go there?”

  Shrugging, I say, “I wanted to show Jenna.”

  “Ah.”

  I pause midsip of my beer, narrowing my eyes. “What’s the dumb smirk for?”

  “Nothing.” He raises his hands, palms forward. “You’re so defensive.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Bry. I know you better than anyone.”

  Bryson leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. He still has that shit-eating grin across his face. “Well, I’m just here admiring you, my little cousin,” he says. I raise a brow. He continues in a mocking tone, “Mr. I Will Never Get Strung Out Over a Girl. Ever. But from where I’m standing—front row, I might add—you’re so fucking strung out I think you lost your balls along the way.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Bry laughs. “I’m serious, dude. You have a strong thing for this chick and you’re not even together-together. What happens when you are?”

  “What the hell does ‘together-together’ even mean?”

  Bryson arches a brow. “Come on, Logan. You know what I mean. You guys act more like a couple than Blair and me, but at least we…you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. Enlighten me,” I say, interested in what he means by this “together-together” crap.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?” he prods. I stare blankly at him. Bryson huffs. “S-E-X. Sex, Logan. Blair and I are intimate. You and Jenna are not, but the way the two of you act, you might as well be.”

  “We’re just friends,” I clarify, my tone stern. I’m not sure why I’m feeling defensive, but there are two things Bryson said that I don’t like. One, Jenna is not just some “chick,” and two, I’m not strung out. That’s fucking ridiculous.

  “The moment you two realize how you feel about one another—because, let’s face it, it’s obvious to everyone around you—the easier it will be. Trust me.” He straightens, dropping his arms to his side.

  I open my mouth to say something, but shut it just as quickly when Jenna walks in. “Hey, guys,” she greets. Her hair drapes over her shoulders, still damp from the shower. As my eyes eat up the pair of denim shorts and white tank top that hug her frame, I swallow back the truth. The fucking truth that’s been in the back of my head for the past couple of months. The truth that I’ve buried because I know she doesn’t want more than what we are. The truth that Jenna and I will never be anything other than just friends.

  “Hey, Jenna,” Bryson says, his eyes still glued on me, giving me the you-know-what-to-do look. Then he nods his head and turns, joining his girl in the living area.

  Jenna takes a few steps until she’s standing only a few inches from me. I chug the rest of my beer, keeping my eyes away from her, and place the bottle on top of the counter after I’m done with it. She pushes her body against mine, lifting her arms and wrapping them around my neck. This shouldn’t make me uncomfortable. This is normal for us. But after what Bry just said, my thoughts are racing wild, and it’s fucking confusing.

  Finally, I shift my gaze and look down at her. “About what Bryson just said…” she mutters.

  My heart stammers as my eyes widen. “You heard that?”

  “Most of it,” she confesses. “I walked in and heard the part where he talked about how our feelings toward one another are obvious to everyone else.” Her lips pull into a shy grin.

  Thank God she didn’t hear the beginning of it. I look down on her and she seems calm about it all. I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she going to finally confess that maybe Bryson is right? Sighing, I place my arms around her waist and pull her in a bit more. This doesn’t faze her. Again, it’s normal for us.

  Jenna grabs the side of my face, her fingers grazing the stubble of my growing beard. I like it, the way her hand feels when she touches me. I like us this way, close enough that I can dip my head a few inches and kiss her. I like how comfortable it is for us.

  “Logan, don’t pay any attention to Bryson. He, along with everyone else, just doesn’t understand our relationship and that’s fine. As long as we know what it is, why does it matter what others think?”

  I bite back what I really want to say and settle for, “And what is our relationship exactly?”

  She smiles like it’s the most obvious thing. “Best friends, of course.”

  I laugh and she does too, but I’m sure she’s laughing for an entirely different reason than I am. She probably finds humor in our chat. She probably thinks I’m laughing because, of course, duh, it should be obvious we’re best friends. But that’s not why I’m laughing.

  I’m laughing to cover up the fact that I want to bash my fist through the kitchen cabinet because never in my life did I ever think I’d be placed in the fucking friend zone.

  And that fucking sucks.

  Jenna and I are sitting beside each other on the couch, her hand in mine. Santino is sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa. Bryson is on a La-Z-Boy chair with Blair on his lap. It’s a slow night, which I don’t mind. It’s nice to have a small group and have a relaxing night once in a while.

  Jersey Girl hasn’t said much since the kitchen scene. I’m sure she hasn’t given it much thought either. I look down at her. Her head is resting against my chest; her breathing is calm. I smile as she traces small shapes on my hand: a circle, turns into a triangle, then transforms into a square, then finds its way back into a curvy, nonexistent object. My eyes drift in Bryson’s direction. I catch him staring at us, and he flashes me a told-you-so grin. I narrow my eyes at him, which he counters with a chuckle. Blair turns her head to see what’s so interesting. As soon as she sees it’s about Jenna and me, she instantly rolls her eyes. Then her expression changes, her eyes brighten, and a smug grin pulls at the corner of her lips.

  “Jenna, I almost forgot to mention,” Blair says animatedly. Between the suspicious gleam in her eyes and the current of malice underlying her words, I can only imagine what Blair’s about to say.

  Jersey Girl lifts her head from my chest and looks in Blair’s direction. Mega Bitch twirls her body on Bryson’s lap to fully face Jenna. “Yes?” Jenna responds.

  “Guess who I recently ran into?”

  I’m glaring at her now. Whatever Blair’s up to is not with good intention. It’s written all over her face.

  “Who?” Jenna asks cautiously.

  Blair allows the anticipation to build for a moment before blurting out, “Eric.”

  From the way I’m seated, I can’t see Jenna’s expression. Her back faces me, but she shifts uncomfortably. Then she straightens her shoulders, I suspect to show Blair she hasn’t gotten to her. That’s my girl. “That’s nice,” she says evenly.

  “Yeah, it is. I mentioned I’ve been spending time with you here.” Blair giggles. “It’s funny, he asked if you were still a nut job. I had no idea what he meant. I told him you seem normal to me.” Blair pouts, mocking a sad puppy dog look. I have the urge to smack it off her face, but lucky for her I don’t hit girls.

  My eyes shift from Blair to Jersey Girl when her hand squeezes mine and her leg slowly begins to bounce. “Thanks,” Jersey Girl responds.

  “No problem. Oh, and he looks good! Did you know he’s engaged? Crazy. Yeah, he seems to be doing really well for himself.”

  “Good for him,” Jenna says with a straight face.

  “Isn’t it?”
Blair digs in.

  “Yeah,” Jenna whispers. Then she stands, excusing herself as she walks away. She doesn’t run or storm out; she just simply walks through the kitchen and out the back door.

  I glare at Blair. “Wow,” I say.

  “What?”

  “There are times I don’t think you can be any more of a bitch than you already are. And you manage to prove me wrong every single time.” I stand and walk off toward Jenna. In the background I hear Blair asking Bryson if he’s going to let me talk to her that way. Bryson simply brushes off her remark by starting up a conversation with Santino. That’s right. Even Bry knows when she’s acting like the fucking queen bitch.

  “Hold up,” I yell out, running to catch up with Jenna. She doesn’t look at me or stop; she keeps going at a quicker pace. “I hate her,” Jersey Girl finally blurts out.

  “I know. She’s a bitch.”

  “A bitch is a nice description. She’s a cunt.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. I’ve never seen her this pissed off. I finally catch up and walk beside her until we reach the end of the dock. She steps close to the edge, looking down. I stand by. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she were about to jump in at any time.

  “Don’t let her get under your skin. She doesn’t have a good bone in her body. She does shit like that just to get a rise out of you.”

  “Well, she sure knows how to hit a soft spot.”

  “Who’s Eric?” I ask, my breath still a bit raspy from jogging.

  Jenna drops her arms to her side, her hands tightening into fists.

  “Who is he?” I ask again.

  She squares her shoulders defensively.

  “Jersey Girl.” I grip her shoulder. “I’m not your enemy. You can talk to me.”

  Jenna shuts her eyes; her breathing calms and the tension in her body relaxes beneath my grip. Then she lets out a long sigh.

  “He was someone I thought loved me.”

  “An ex-boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  I nod. “I see.”

  “He was my first.”

  “First?” I raise a brow. “As in first guy you ever slept with?”