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

out of a dream—though that was true.

But because I was scared my nightmare was just beginning.

Again.

No.

No, no, no.

I’d been rundown. Exhausted to the point where it felt like my bones were tired. My body ached, my mind was foggy, and I just felt off.

I recognized it.

I’d been down that road before.

Pushing down the panic—choking on it—I sat up and checked the time. “What’re you doing here? You’ve got that…” I moved my hand in a circle, “thing with the stuff.”

I barely remembered the surreal group session, texting Alexander, the bus ride home, or falling asleep. There was no way I’d remember his technical whosie-whatsit.

He didn’t even tease me about my impeccable understanding of his work. “It’s covered. How’re you?” His lips tipped, but it was a sad smile, loaded with concern. “Stupid question, I know, but it’s important.”

Well, someone in my group therapy killed herself.

If my cancer has returned, I may be dying, too.

And, for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to.

I want to live.

“I’m okay.”

It was a lie.

He knew it, too. I couldn’t fool him using my A-game. And right then? I didn’t have the energy or desire to bust out my Vegas bluffing skills.

Gathering my nerve—and unsure if I wanted to know the answer—I asked the question that had been hovering at the back of my mind. “This wasn’t you…”

He looked aghast at the insinuation. “No. Christ, flower, I don’t… No.”

“Well, I didn’t know. Before, with me—”

“Was different. You’re so fucking different, flower.”

There was weight to his words, a meaning far deeper than just discussing our past.

As was my response. “Good.”

For a lot of reasons, and not all of them sensical, it was good.

“Come here,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to sit or stand or go anywhere. I didn’t want to do anything.

I should’ve known Alexander would know what I needed because all he did was lift and carry me to my room to gently place me on my bed.

“Sorry, I just need a minute,” I said as he covered me up.

“Take all the time you need, flower. Did you eat?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll fix you some toast in a bit. Or get you enchiladas. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, shakily running my fingers through my ponytail.

My beautiful hair.

Hair I loved.

Hair I rarely even cut because it’d taken so long to grow back after chemo.

Hair I might lose again.

A sob forced its way over the lump in my throat. It was the culmination of everything. But the fact the potential loss of my hair was even on my radar made me feel like the worst kind of bitch.

God, I’m a shit person.

Fully clothed, Alexander climbed onto the bed and hauled me to him. He held me tight as, through my tears, I told him about Jenna. I didn’t mince words.

She was annoying.

Narcissistic.

Immature.

But under all that, she was genuinely a good person. Kinda self-centered and fucked up, sure. But never cruel. Never a mean girl.

After a while, I fell into an old, reliable depression nap. It’d been a while since I’d had one. Only that time, Alexander was there to make sure I ate something and stayed hydrated.

And to keep the nightmares away.

_______________

LOCKED IN ONE of the shelter offices the next morning, I eyed the phone as though it were a coiled snake, poised to jump and attack.

You can do this, Briar.

Just pick up the phone and… do the phone thing.

God, I really do suck at this. Poor Aria, if I’m her hype man, she’s really screwed.

I needed to just get it over with, otherwise I’d have to use my cell. And I did not want to do that.

I wasn’t ready for Alexander to know.

I wasn’t even ready to know, but I kinda had to.

Finally working up the nerve to pretend I was braver than an inanimate object, I picked up the phone and dialed. It rang and rang and rang, the shrill noise like a taunt in my head. I was afraid they’d pick up and I’d have to voice my concerns. As if verbally unleashing them into the universe would make them real. But I was even more terrified they wouldn’t, and I’d have to find the nerve to call back. That I’d be left waiting.

Wondering.

Obsessing.

Finally, the call connected and a friendly voice greeted me. “Department of Oncology.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Fear had sucked it dry—as if gritty sand coated my tongue, cementing it in place.

“Hello?” the woman prompted when the silence stretched.

My chest was so tight, I wondered if anxiety and fear could wrap themselves around my heart until it stopped beating.

Closing my eyes, I found my strength and forced the words through the gravel in my throat.

I can’t believe I’m saying this.

“I need an appointment with Dr. Elio.”

“You’re in luck, he had a cancellation this afternoon.”

Yeah.

That’s me all right.

Lucky.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Band-Aids

Briar

For enlightenment

“I THINK WE should break up.”

There. Done. Band-Aid ripped off. And with it went my soul.

“No.”

I’d come home from the doctor, hoping to have time before Alexander arrived. I had to strengthen my defense because I knew I’d falter when I saw him. I needed to organize my argument because I knew there’d be one. And I wanted to freshen up because no one wanted to look exhausted and sloppy during a breakup.

Un-fucking-fortunately, when I’d opened my door, there he was, sitting on my couch.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Sorry, I misspoke. We are broken up. You can leave now.”

“Sorry, I also misspoke,” he shot back. “Fuck no.”

“You don’t really get a say in this.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“Things ran their course.”

He stood—tall, strong, and dangerous. I had to lock my knees. Not so I didn’t step away from him.

So I didn’t move to him.

“It was fun, but don’t let the door hit me on the ass on my way out? Is that what you’re saying?”

No.

I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

“And this decision would have nothing to do with the oncology appointment you had today?”

All the bravado I’d feigned vanished, and