Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

my small space before deciding to put them on my TV stand. They blocked the lower corner of the screen, but that was okay. I liked seeing them.

On second thought…

Keeping them this one time won’t hurt.

Chapter Eight

Wrong

Briar

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“TELL US ABOUT the new apartment, Briar.”

I’d rather take a long walk off a short pier. Or play in traffic. Or…

No.

No, Briar.

Remember what Dr. Linda and Aria say about snarky, toxic thoughts leading to outright toxic emotions.

I’d rather eat raw, unseasoned kale.

Eh, on second thought, that also seems a little too toxic.

“Briar,” Derrick prompted when I remained silent.

“It’s good.” I fought the urge to fidget.

“That’s all you have to say? Tell us more about it. How big is it? Anything interesting or unusual?”

“It’s… an apartment. I mean, there’s not much to it. One bedroom, a kitchen, living room, bathroom. All the usual stuff. I haven’t had time to do much with the space.” I thought about the weird flowers that sat in front of the TV and added, “Flowers are pretty much my only décor.”

That must’ve been the right thing to say because Derrick smiled. “Flowers—or any plants—are a great thing to have.”

“I can’t keep plants alive,” Meghan said with a lot more dejection in her tone than necessary. It wasn’t like the plants found her so insufferable, they killed themselves to get away.

“Neither can I,” Jenna added before going full-on story topper. “I had an orchid that was so expensive, and I did everything right, but it died. I was out so much money.”

Jenna was a different story. I could understand plants committing suicide to get away from her.

“I don’t understand the point of all that,” Jared, one of the newer group members, tossed in. “I went to a girl’s place and it looked like a jungle. She called them her plant babies—instant bon… er, mood killer.”

Apparently, plant life was a hot topic because the rest of the session was spent in a lively discussion about whether plants were a useful hobby or a messy waste of time. Who knew it would be such an effective diversion, allowing me to sink into the background? I’d have to use my newly gained power for good.

Maybe.

It took Derrick a few tries to settle everyone and get their attention. “Okay, time’s up. To build on this topic, I want you all to use the week to think about something that gives you purpose.”

Easy. The shelter. Bam. Finished my assignment.

“Other than work,” he added.

Damn.

“It could be a hobby. A pet.” He looked at Jared. “Or, yes, even plant babies. Something in your life that relies on you.”

“My hobby is knitting, but it doesn’t rely on me,” Meghan said.

“Sure it does. If you didn’t work on it, it wouldn’t get finished.”

Her head tilted to the side for a moment as she mulled that over before nodding. “You’re right. I never thought of it like that.”

“We’ll talk about it next week,” he finished.

Everyone stood and chatted as they grabbed their belongings.

Meghan looked at me. “Are you coming to the diner?”

I offered what I hoped was a regretful smile. “I wish, but I’ve got errands to run. It’s my only night off.”

Lies, lies, and more lies.

I wished I could flat-out say, I’d never gone before, I wasn’t going then, and I would never go in the future unless hell froze over. But that kind of antisocial behavior wasn’t good for my recovery, mental health, or the supportive bond I was supposed to form with my fellow therapy mates.

She seemed to buy my bullshit. “Next week?”

“Definitely.”

So long as I fall, hit my head, lose my memory, and wake up a different person.

Well, that or some other life altering experience occurs.

Since I’d already gotten out of dinner, I didn’t bother to hang back. My mind was on my couch, my TV, and a bowl of cereal as I headed for the door.

“Briar, can I talk to you for a second?”

Derrick may have only been five to ten years older than me—his sad, cartoon puppy eyes made it hard to tell his exact age—but he wielded a lot of power. Power that, unfortunately, included the ability to make my stomach drop with irrational guilt and enough fear to choke me.

Feeling like a kid who’d been called out by the teacher in front of the class, I did my best to ignore the prying eyes that burned into my skin. It didn’t work, so I settled for just hoping no one could tell I was two seconds away from falling apart.

I’d done nothing wrong.

I’d said nothing wrong.

I’d thought a lot wrong, but he didn’t know that.

Fighting to get air into my lungs, I blanked my expression and turned to face Derrick. He let the silence hang heavy, each ticking second tightening the vise around my stomach and chest.

Once everyone was gone, he finally spoke. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good.” Though the longer we stood there, the further from the truth that was.

“You didn’t seem yourself when you were telling us about the new place.”

Relieved I wasn’t in trouble, I nearly wilted like all the old flowers in my lobby. “No, everything is fine. There’s just not much to say about it right now.”

“Do you need anything? The center offers a lot of assistance, including programs to help get patients on their feet and settled on their own.”

I shook my head. “I’m really good, promise. I just haven’t decided how to decorate. It’s still bare bones and not very interesting.”

“Moving can be difficult, especially when you’re getting your own place for the first time. There are a lot of things people don’t think of. Decisions, logistics, responsibilities. All that newness. The unknown and unfamiliar… It can add up until even caring for flowers is overwhelming.”

His words came from a good place. An understanding therapist trying to ensure his patient knew she wasn’t alone.

But each panic-inducing word that fell from his stupid mouth sent me closer and closer to the mental edge. Because he was right. It was daunting to go