Toxic Bad Boy Part 2

"Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever."

-Lance Armstrong FEBRUARY.

GIANNA.

I couldn't breathe.

Ripping the comforter from my body, I stumbled over to my bedroom window. I flipped the lock open and pushed the heavy window up. Leaning my face against the screen, I shivered as cold winter air hit me. It wasn't snowing like last night, but the temperature was below freezing nonetheless.

Not that I cared. I was always cold inside nowadays. Taking in gulps of the crisp air, my heart rate began to slow down. The nightmares always did this to me. I'd wake up in a full blown panic attack. It didn't matter that Josh had been locked up at a facility for dangerous teen criminals.

He was still here with me, in my thoughts and dreams. Sometimes, it seemed I'd never be rid of him.

The nightmares weren't always the same. Some were variations of the attack and others involved fears like Josh getting out of juvie and coming after me. After so many nightmares, my mind was triggered to wake up before their conclusion.

My therapist promised it'd get better, that the nightmares would come less and less frequently before stopping altogether. It had been four months since the attack and the dreams were still a nightly occurrence.

Mixed in were sweet dreams. The kind which involved hazel eyes gazing at me in adoration. Those dreams almost made it worth closing my eyes at night.

Turning to glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand, it was after five in the morning. I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep so I grabbed my robe and a towel and went into the bathroom.

Under the hot spray, I leaned my head against the tile. If I didn't get these feelings under control, my psychiatrist told my dad she'd prescribe an antidepressant for anxiety. I couldn't help replaying the awful night in my head over and over again.

Even worse were thoughts of it happening again. Every strange male was a potential attacker. A guy who ended up on the same aisles at the grocery store could be waiting for me to go out to my car. Another guy driving behind me too long could be counting on me going home to an empty house. I never left the house at night unless it was with my dad.

Shampooing my hair was still a bit of an alien experience with the shorter strands. Cut right at my shoulders, it still had some length, but nothing like what I was used to. I'd dyed it the dark brown color myself last month, but went to a salon for the cut. My blond roots were starting to show so I'd have to dye it again soon using the same box of dark chocolate brown.

My mom had hated my hair at first sight when we'd gone out to dinner as a family. Three Fridays ago, my dad had driven us to meet her and Chance at a restaurant downtown, an approximate halfway point between our new house and hers. Her eyes had narrowed in disapproval and she'd complained it was much too short and my natural color was perfect.

My dad had shut her down without making a scene in front of Chance and the entire restaurant, but I could practically hear the snap of her mouth closing and the grind of her teeth. Her unhappy perusal at my hair told me she wanted to say more and probably would at a future time.

We had Chance most weekends and I spent an hour or so with my mom when we picked him up or dropped him off. I loved my mom despite our many differences of opinion. She had her issues, but I'd learned recently everyone did. Not that I always enjoyed my time with her. She fluctuated between concern for my mental wellbeing and the desire to have her golden girl back.

Still, I didn't blame her for what happened. I'm the one who'd chosen Josh and I'm the one who hadn't handled the breakup in the best manner. Take me out of the equation and Josh wouldn't have flipped out. Caleb and Ian wouldn't be locked up.

School was hard. I hadn't made any new friends yet despite a few overtures from girls in cla.s.s. Friendship meant trust and it was difficult for me to believe a stranger had good intentions. Even in our short time as friends and later more, Caleb had become a security blanket. I'd been popular at my old school, but it hadn't been of my own doing. I didn't have a naturally outgoing personality and I wasn't confident people genuinely liked me for myself.

I'd considered making the thirty minute drive everyday and transferring to Cece's school for senior year. Maybe I'd just transfer now, mid-semester junior year. With her exuberance, having Cece as a friend was like an entire group of friends. Jared, Taye and a couple guys from the crew were also at the same school.

Instead of feeling like a freak, I'd probably feel secure. I was suspicious of any guy who tried to talk to me. Feeling panicked whenever a boy flirted or asked me about an a.s.signment in cla.s.s was embarra.s.sing. The alarm had lessened a bit since first returning to school. Rationally, I knew a guy asking which page in the textbook the teacher was on wouldn't lead to him hurting me, but I couldn't convince my racing heart or churning stomach.

Wrapping myself in my robe and drying off my legs with the towel, I used the same towel to wipe the moisture off the mirror. My face looked pale with the dark hair and faint dark circles hanging under my eyes. I applied concealer and foundation so my dad wouldn't worry. Maybe I'd take a Tylenol PM tonight so I could get more sleep. The minty smell of my lotion as I rubbed it into my skin was soothing and I made a mental note of stopping by Target for some candles after school.

In my closet, I scanned my choices, settling on black jeans and a hooded gray sweater. The sweater was thin, so I slipped on over it a black military-style jacket, reaching back to pull out the hood of my sweater. Tying up a pair of Dr. Martens, I was ready for school at five-fifty in the morning. Sunrise wouldn't be for an hour.

I didn't bother much with styling my hair anymore and wore minimal makeup, but with time to kill I decided to brush on some blush to hide my paleness and coat my eyelashes with mascara. There, now I appeared the healthy, happy teenager.

When I got downstairs just after six, my dad stood in front of the coffee pot, wearing a robe and pajama pants. Obviously just woken up, his wavy hair lay untamed. He gazed at me with a worried expression. "You need to dry your hair, Gianna. It's cold outside."

I dropped my backpack on the floor and hopped up onto a barstool. "By the time I leave for school it'll be dry, Dr. Thorpe."

He let out a sound reflecting something between amus.e.m.e.nt and annoyance. On his way out of the kitchen he walked past carrying a cup of coffee, pausing to kiss me on the forehead. My dad had never been a morning person and I suspected he drank coffee until noon most days.

I'd had little appet.i.te in the weeks following leaving the hospital but I finally gained back the weight I'd lost. Taking my instant oatmeal into the living room, I picked up the remote to put it on a channel airing a music doc.u.mentary. The program was about a band from the '90s which Caleb loved.

I started crying.

It was a good thing I hadn't put on eyeliner. My unstable emotions often surprised me like this. Bringing my feet up onto the couch, I set my bowl onto an end table. My therapist advised me not to hold back tears, to let it all out. Sometimes I supremely disliked her.

The idea of being on antidepressants scared me. I'd already lost so much of myself and I was afraid of losing more. As horrible as I felt, I refused to let my emotions be controlled by drugs. I'd rather be strong enough to heal on my own. My dad remained undecided and my mom was horrified at the thought of her daughter being medicated for mental problems.

I understood that prescribed drugs were a G.o.dsend to some people, but I couldn't help thinking it would be like giving up. As if Josh had defeated me more than just physically and I'd be waving a white flag of mental surrender.

The shower shut off upstairs in my dad's bathroom. I turned off the TV and raced up the stairs to my room before he could notice my blotchy face. I closed my bedroom door and sat down at my desk, pulling Caleb's last letter from the bottom drawer.

I'd read the letter four times since receiving it two days ago. It was written on binder paper in pencil. His handwriting had a slight forward slant and he must push down hard when writing because the pencil marks were thick and dark. My fingers ran over the word I liked most, love.

I missed him so much it was like a physical ache. I realized he sensed the distance I put between us now, but I couldn't help it. It was as if a gla.s.s jar trapped the tender words and openness I used to share with him. The emotions were there inside the gla.s.s jar, clear to see and trying to flutter out, but unable to escape.

My love for him had only grown in our time apart. The problem was my belief that Caleb deserved to love someone more worthy. I'd ruined his life, got him sentenced to confinement. Loving me had only brought him trouble.

If Caleb got to know me as I existed now, he probably wouldn't want anything to do with me. Being stuck in juvie, he didn't understand how pathetic I'd become, afraid of my own shadow and on my way to being labeled the weird girl at school.

Returning his letter to the bottom drawer, I slammed it shut and logged onto my laptop. My email contained another new message alert from Facebook. Impulsively, I clicked on the link, going onto Facebook for the first time in months. My inbox was full of messages from people at my old school, three alone from Seth. I was ashamed of them knowing what happened to me.

As I deleted the messages without reading them, I pretended I'd also erased their knowledge of the attack. Urgency coursing through me, I then moved on to my friends list, deleting almost everyone. Cece would notice and ask me what was going on. I'd probably lie to her again.

I reached Caleb Morrison on my friend list and tears formed again.

It was twisted how I could talk to him on the phone every Sat.u.r.day, putting on a strong front, but totally lose it when I was alone in my room looking at his name on a computer screen. While speaking on the phone we verbally tiptoed around each other, making a conscious effort not to upset the other person. My I love yous were heartfelt but guilt ridden.

At times there existed a sense of numbness, a disconnection with reality that haunted me. I was stuck in a fog that I couldn't see clear from. It was as if our relationship never happened, or we were broken up without saying the words.

While at school, I went through the motions in a haze of automatic motions and responses. Perhaps the same gla.s.s jar which trapped my feelings for Caleb also provided a protective barrier around me around me in public. Only to be broken when something set me off, causing me to enter real life and usually act like a spaz.

The first couple weeks back in school, even a new school, had been the worst. On my second day, I'd left chemistry cla.s.s to use the restroom, walking down an empty hallway. Rounding a corner, I'd b.u.mped into a guy wearing a navy blue shirt. I'd completely freaked out. It brought me right back to the attack. Josh had worn his navy football jersey that game night.

The poor guy who'd collided with me had probably carried bruises from me hitting him. I pictured him showing them off to his friends as he told them about the crazy girl who'd ran into the girls' bathroom after punching the c.r.a.p out of him.

Locking myself in a stall, I'd missed my next two cla.s.ses that day. I'd almost expected to be called to the office in the afternoon for suspension. I could only guess the boy had no idea who I was or he'd laughed it off.

On the phone with Caleb, a part of me always burned to confide in him, tell him how messed up I really was. Instead, I constantly a.s.sured him everything was fine. The part of me that still wanted him to see me as I used to be always held me back from opening up. I was too embarra.s.sed by my weaknesses to tell the truth. Soaking up his love in phone calls and letters was what I lived for nowadays. I couldn't take the thought of losing his precious love.

But I was afraid of him turning away from me after he was released.

Did he think about what Josh did to me? Did it disgust him? Would he even want to touch me like he used to?

I imagined him getting out of juvie and realizing he didn't want damaged goods with anxiety problems. In my worst moments, I pictured him deciding he didn't love me anymore.

I studied the girls at school, the happy ones who kissed and held hands with their boyfriends. Was that what I'd looked like with Caleb, so carefree? Would Caleb want the kind of carefree girl I'd been? Didn't he deserve that?

Right before Christmas break a guy on the basketball team asked me out. While he was waiting for a response, I'd just stared back at him in panicked silence. The appropriate response had been drumming in my head. All I'd had to do was tell him I had a boyfriend, but I couldn't get the words out of my mouth.

Eventually, he'd given me an odd look deserving of the freak I was and walked away shaking his head. I'd missed the period after lunch that day and hid in the bathroom again. Every time I ditched a cla.s.s, I had to tell the school psychologist so it could be excused.

The confessions were their own special humiliation and they always notified my dad.

When Caleb had casually mentioned one day over the phone that he wished we could talk during his phone time during the weekdays, I'd almost laughed. How could I tell him I missed cla.s.s all the time? That the girls' restrooms at school were becoming my own person panic rooms? I even had a favorite stall in each one. I might as well take a Sharpie to the metal walls and write Gianna was here...again.

Weekends breaking with the crew were actually somewhat calming. I slept over some Friday nights at Jared and Cece's house and we went to ballet together Sat.u.r.day morning. We usually ate at her family's restaurant afterward for lunch. By the time we got back to her house in the afternoon, the rest of the crew waited in the garage for a session.

I knew there was no way they knew about what happened. Caleb had promised not to tell Dante or Taye. Other than me, my friends didn't know anyone else from Broomfield. The paranoia about them finding out existed anyways.

At first, when the guys had to get up close to me during a routine, I'd start to feel panicky. Blaming it on my newly healed injuries, I'd tear myself away from whatever guy I danced with, trying to get myself under control. I'd fooled most of them, but Jared and Cece's concerns had been harder to brush off.

Cece kept giving me probing looks. She questioned my supposed cheerleading accident and Caleb being locked up around the same time. I lied as I always did, feeling guilty for the necessary deceit, but preferring it over my best friend finding out about the attack.

Jared was even more intuitive than Cece. Maybe it was some sort of ingrained male instinct, the ability to sense a damaged female. The old Jared would have pounced on Caleb being in juvie. Instead, he treated me with nothing but consideration, in a purely brotherly way.

At seven-fifteen in the morning I went back downstairs. My dad, now dressed in a dress shirt, tie and slacks, stood drinking another cup of coffee in the kitchen. Having now had an adequate dose of caffeine, he appeared much more cheerful. "Hi, princess."

How weird was it that Caleb and my dad called me the same nickname? I'd never told Caleb, because it might have freaked him out, but I'd secretly found it hilarious.

Plus, I liked it.

"Hey, I was just heading out."

My dad checked the microwave clock. "Yeah, me too. My first appointment is in an hour."

He'd been able to get an office downtown in a building filled with other cosmetic doctors. His practice opened for business last month. I'd always been in awe of my dad's intelligence. Even with a wife and kid, he'd been able to get through medical school. He was thirty-three now and a handsome guy. I imagined he'd eventually remarry now that he'd settled into private practice.

"Got all your homework done?" he asked uncomfortably. It'd been years since he'd had to parent full time and the last was when I'd been in the third grade.

"If I said no?" I teased him.

For a moment he looked unsure, then his face melted in a smile. "Get to school, brat."

Ten minutes later I parked my Jeep in a spot close to a side entrance of the main building. It was chilly this morning and I'd had the heater on full blast during the drive to school. Gray clouds painted the sky and my weather app said there'd be AM snow showers. I grabbed my thicker winter coat from the backseat and shrugged it on over the lightweight cropped jacket.

I'd arrived at school a half hour early and had time to kill. I wandered inside, pa.s.sing in the hallway a few teachers and students, none of which I knew personally. The lounge area by the cafeteria had diner-style booths which weren't very comfortable but provided a place to hang out when not in cla.s.s or during lunch. The dimly lit area was decorated in the school colors of green and yellow gold.

Hefting my backpack onto a dark green laminate tabletop, I slid into the bench seat. I took out my used copy of The Scarlet Letter and began reading where I'd left off yesterday. We'd have a big test on the book in cla.s.s next week and I hadn't finished it yet.

The story was sucky and depressing. I wished we had a cooler English teacher who'd picked a better book for us to read. This was the same book kids my age had been forced to read for decades. Surely something less boring had been published in the last century.

The thud of another backpack hitting the table's surface caused me to flinch and suck in a breath of alarm. I let it out and a.s.sessed the guy taking the seat across from me. He put his elbows on the table, templing his fingers in front of his lips. His pensive gesture and expression were unnerving.

"Um, yeah?" I curtly asked.

The three feet of table between us provided me with a limited sense of security. So did the pepper spray in the front pocket of my backpack. It was a definite violation of school rules, but I didn't give a d.a.m.n. If I ever needed to use it I'd deal with the consequences like a big girl.

A grin spread from behind his fingers. "I thought that was you. Saw you, but your hair is different. Looks good."

My face must have expressed my confusion because he brought his hands down and leaned back. "You don't remember me?"

Looking him over, he seemed familiar. His black hair was buzzed short and he had a small s.p.a.cer in one ear. At his left wrist, a hint of tattoo peeked out from the sleeve of his thermal shirt. His features hinted at a mix of Caucasian and Asian ancestry.

I copied his casual position. "You're from my old school."

"You're totally guessing, aren't you?"

I nodded in answer.

He held out a hand. "I'm Kara's brother, Gage."

Since his hand was stretched out patiently, I cautiously placed my own in it, shaking once and pulling away. "I'm Gianna."

There wasn't much resemblance to Kara and I figured they were half-siblings. Kara and I had been friends for awhile when we were little, but I didn't remember her brother.

His hand disappeared with the other one under the table and he gave me a small smile. "Well, I don't blame you for not remembering me. We never had any cla.s.ses together since I'm a grade older and the last time we talked was when you came over to play with Kara in elementary school."

At the mention of my old school, I wondered if he knew about what happened with Josh. Trying to feel him out, I asked, "So what are you doing here?"

A hint of blush stained his cheeks, giving me an unexpected feeling of relief. "Kinda sorta got expelled."

I hadn't been expecting that answer. "When?"

"Last week. This is my first day here. What about you?"

Maybe he hadn't heard about the incident last fall. He definitely hadn't been friends with the same crowd as me. "I transferred here last semester."

"How do you like it?"

It had never been a question of like or dislike. The school was across the city from my old life, that was all that mattered. Shrugging, I finally said, "It's alright."

"So, why'd you switch schools, Gianna?" The question might have been nonchalant for him, but it always forced me to be dishonest.

"My dad bought a house in Englewood. It was easier to switch schools than make the trip up to Broomfield every day."

I gauged his reaction, happy when he appeared accepting of my lie. "Are you a cheerleader at this school now?"

He probably remembered me wearing my uniform to school on game days. "No cheering for me anymore."

"Who do you hang out with here?" He glanced over my shoulder then his dark brown eyes returned to me.

"I, um, don't." At his look of curious disbelief, I explained, "Most of my friends go to school in Denver and Aurora. I just get an education here."