E. Montes - Perfectly Damaged

Run.

Sweat coats my skin, trailing behind a sheet of goose bumps. My fingers grip the edge of the seat as I stare ahead. I stare and stare, waiting for him to jump out—the person watching me. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes penetrating through the trees, across miles of wildlife, through the windshield, and straight into me. He’s waiting for me to step out of the truck.

Run.

“All right, Jersey let’s do this—”

Logan stops midsentence. Shuddering, I slowly turn my head to him. He’s beside me with the door wide open. His eyes cautiously take in the fear in mine. “Are you all right?” he asks.

I’m not. Everything in my stomach is churning, my mind is racing, and my heart stammers in my chest. I’m not all right. I’m scared and though I don’t know the man that I’m afraid of, I can’t help that I am. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.

Logan’s hand finds its way to my cheek. The warmth from the contact instantly soothes me. I lean my face into him, wishing I could shrink and curl into a tiny ball and live in the safe haven that is Logan Reed’s palm for the rest of my life.

“Look at me,” he urges kindly. My eyes flutter open, mesmerized by stormy blues as they fill with concern for me. “We can leave,” he says, acknowledging my discomfort.

You always ruin everything.

Shut up, I tell the voice in my head.

You do! Just because you’ve ruined your own life, doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone else, You’re pathetic…

Straightening my shoulders, I suck in a shaky breath and fight back the urge to burst into tears. As much as I hate the voice, it’s right. I ruin everything for everyone.

Slowly, I shake my head side-to-side. Logan’s brows draw in, “You sure?” I nod. He’s not convinced. “I don’t know, Jersey—”

“I’m fine!” I croak. Clearing my throat, I finally say, “Seriously, I just thought I saw something, that’s all. I’m fine now. I promise.”

Logan stares at me, hyperaware of every bit of my anxiety. He turns his head toward the evil woods. I focus on him, breathing a little heavier than normal. Finally his eyes are back on mine and everything is okay again, if only for a moment. My lips tremble into a shy grin.

“All right, then,” he says. “Let’s get to it.” He reaches his hand out for me. I grab it without hesitation and hop out of his truck.

Logan intertwines his fingers with mine, tightening his grip as he pulls me in closer to him, but our bodies remain inches apart. Using his free hand, he shuts the passenger door behind me.

I take in all of his actions. Even if they mean nothing to him, they mean everything to me. The way his body towers over mine—it makes me feel safe. The way he pulls me in close enough to breathe in the smell of Gain fabric softener lingering on his fresh T-shirt—it sets my senses whirling. The way our bodies touch without actually touching, my chest centimeters from the middle of his stomach—it only intensifies the magnetic pull between us, slowly luring me to him.

I’m falling deeper and deeper into an ocean filled with nothing but emotions for Logan Reed. I’m the anchor sinking to the bottom. Reality is the life vest thrown in to rescue me. But in my life, I don’t want to be rescued from reality. I want to drown in this small world created with Logan. I want to breathe it all in, let it fill me up, and drift away. I don’t care how much it’ll burn or the amount of time I have left before my lungs stop working. I want to just feel this way for as long as I can.

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?”

Logan

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 shocked 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.”