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

I wondered if the butter knives in the drawer were sharp enough to draw blood.

I wondered how many multivitamins I’d have to take before I OD’d since they were the only pills I had—and they weren’t even pills, they were gummies. I was pretty sure I’d end up barfing from all the sugar before they did any harm.

I worked through my list of all the ways. All the options.

All the paths I wasn’t taking.

I went through each one, a mantra of destruction, until my door opened.

My locked door, not that it seemed to do anything.

Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt—meaning I’d interrupted something more important than watching ESPN highlights in his hotel room—Alexander stalked across the room. His brows were furrowed with concern.

And that did it.

Not because it added to my guilt—though it did.

Not because I was happy to see him—though I was.

But because I’d so rarely seen a look of genuine concern from anyone other than Aria.

And by rarely, I meant never.

There was no slow buildup of tears. I didn’t look elegant and poignant as a single lovely tear slid down my cheek.

Nope.

The dam broke and all the pent-up anguish I’d always wished I could cathartically shed came out as body wracking sobs.

“Flower,” he whispered, sitting on my floor and pulling me into his lap.

I buried my face in his quality shirt and wept on it like it was a one-ply tissue. “Aria… And then… Firefighter. And you… Muppet.”

I knew I wasn’t making any sense to him. Hell, I wasn’t making sense to me and I knew what I was trying to say. But I was too far gone to do anything but have a total and complete meltdown.

Those damn thorny vines of embarrassment and shame and guilt—so much fucking guilt—tore at me. Shredded me. Flayed me open. I was vulnerable and exposed when I’d sworn I would never be again.

“Christ.” Alexander shifted me off his lap, laying me down away from him.

I didn’t blame him.

If people hadn’t wanted me around when I was trying my best, it was no wonder he didn’t want me when I was the absolute fucking worst.

He moved again, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch him leave. I closed my eyes so tight, orbs and sparks of light burst behind my lids.

And stinging and burning burst from my hip, right above the waistband of my sleep shorts.

My lids shot open, and I gaped at Alexander kneeling next to me, a knife in one hand. I wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it, and I didn’t care.

“Again?” he asked.

I nodded.

He sliced again. A tiny, barely-there cut, but it was enough.

The pain grounded me like my mantra never could.

He didn’t ask before cutting one last time.

Tossing the knife into my sink, he sat and pulled me back into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out, fighting for air. Fighting for control.

“Don’t.” The harsh bite of that one word made me jump, and he softened his tone. “Don’t apologize because there’s nothing to apologize for.” Once my breaths weren’t shuddering and I was no longer hiccupping, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m just being dramatic. First Aria has to worry over me and now you had to leave work to come here and deal with me. I’m fucking shit up left and right.”

“Stop.” He gripped my hip and squeezed, increasing the sting. “You think you’re a burden, but you do a shit-ton more for others than you think. Talk to me. Help me understand what’s going through that pretty head.”

Inhaling, I told him about Aria and two of her three Ds—I left out her newfound debt—before the thorns stabbed my psyche and my breathing grew ragged again. “I almost fucked up her life even more than I already have. If I’d—”

“You didn’t. You’re here. You can help Aria, and that’s what matters. Not the what-ifs and never-wases. Don’t punish yourself for fiction while ignoring fact.”

“Okay, the fact is I’m still being selfish right now by acting so melodramatic. Like I’m trying to make her drama my drama so it can be about me. My mom used to say I always needed to be the center of attention, but I swear that’s not it.”

“What a load of bullshit.”

“But she was right.”

“Fuck no, she wasn’t. You have empathy, Briar. Christ, that’s a good thing, and it makes me wonder what kind of psychopaths raised you that you think it’s a flaw.” He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “It’s no wonder you’re always tied in knots. You’re trying to force yourself to be the shitty person your mother was.”

“That’s not…” I shook my head. “You don’t get it. You like me so you think I’m a good person, but I’m not. I’m fucked up.”

His large hands cupped my cheeks and he leaned me back so I had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. “I do like you. I like you a hell of a lot. Because you are a good person. Sweet and funny and snarky and raw and real.”

He believed that.

He saw me at my worst, and he still believed I was worth liking.

“And everyone is fucked up in their own way, flower. You. Me. Aria. Everyone.”

I burst out laughing, but it was tinged with acrid bitterness. “Not Aria. Trust me, wait until you meet her.” My stomach clenched and the bitterness grew to full-blown jealousy. “Never mind. You’re never meeting her. She’s too perfect and you’re—”

When I caught myself before the word could tumble out, Alexander prodded, “I’m what, Briar?”

“And you’re pretty okay.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

It wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to admit that.

Unfortunately, he knew without me voicing it. “Were you going to say that I’m yours, Briar?” Before I could lie and deny it, he gripped my chin and tilted my head up. “Because I am. Just like you’re mine.”

God, in all the good he’d said to me—and there’d been a