1 Chapter One

"Are you excited about the move, Lilly?" my therapist asks me from across her desk, looking at me with an open expectation and an air of professionalism. I hate her. In the last 8 months since I have been seeing her, I have not once spoken to her outside of saying 'hello' and 'time's up'. I don't think she expects me to answer her questions. I think she expects me to just sit there quietly as I always do.

"Oddly enough, I am," I tell her, watching her face as her gaze snaps back to me. She can't smooth down her features quick enough to hide her shock or her smug expression on her face. Like she has won some sort of game now that I have deviated from my usual two replies. She thinks she finally broke me down on my last session, but truthfully? I'm just tired.

I am tired of being in a town where my trauma is open record. I am tired of people looking at my scars with looks of disgust and pity. I know what happened to me. I was fucking there for it. Their pity makes my stomach roll and turn. I am tired of my parents most of all… they look at me like I am made of china, that I will crack and break apart at a moment's notice. They don't see me anymore, just the scars, they just see the trauma.

Granted I can hide most of them, but there is one on my face I can't hide. It's not particularly gross or brutal, just a line of pink and raised scar tissue running from the corner of my left eye down to my jaw. The rest are carefully hidden by my clothes and the worst are thankfully tucked safely hidden in my psyche. I think my parents were happier the first few months I was home, secluded in my room, barely speaking or eating. Sure, they were worried like fuck about me, but lately, I have just been admittedly awful. I go out to parties and come home so high or drunk that I can't see straight. I fucked my way through the bad boys of our town because the golden boys no longer appeal to me. Those boys that are made up of sunshine and hope. I hate them. It's a reminder of who I was before, the happy go, lucky sweetheart. The person that didn't have scars or had any clue of what the dark was like. Now? Now I live there. It's my comfort.

"Do you think it will be a relief?" my therapist asks me, breaking me out of my train of thought. I look back to her. Her lined face seems pinched with concern, but it's practiced and fake. I start to answer her, to spill all my thoughts and to tell her just how fucking happy I am that I won't have to be in this fucking town anymore. I start to tell her how happy I am that I won't have to look at my parent's faces anymore, seeing that pity and disappointment laying just under the surface. The relief they feel when I walk in the door at 5 am, that I lived through the night. Then I remember myself and I glance at the clock.

"Time's up doc," I tell her, standing from my seat and walking out the door without another glance or word to her. I walk straight past the receptionist and out the door. I know I should turn to her and thank her for trying to help me, try to reach me. I should apologize for being such a bitch to her. I should do a lot of things, but I can't bring myself to do any of them.

"Lil!" I hear from behind me on the sidewalk and I don't have to turn around to know who it is. Still, I do. I turn to look at the one person on this planet that made me smile. My ex. Yeah, weird right? Exes are supposed to be hated and loathed. I guess a part of me does, but it's not his fault. Brian was, well, that guy, you know the type. The kind you could put your faith in, the kind who would never push you, the kind your heart was safe with. He was perfect, sweet and kind. He tried so hard to be there for me, tried to ease the pain but I shoved him as far away as he would let me.

"Brian," I say, sucking as much warmth out of my tone as I can but he pretends not to notice. Flashing me his signature grin that makes his dimple pop out, that fucking dimple. He is what you would expect from a small-town heartthrob, shaggy sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned and muscular. He plays football, gets good grades, loves and respects his mother. Like I said, perfect. No scars.

"I'm glad I caught you. I hear you're shipping out tonight." He tells me, falling in step with me as I walk.

"Yep, flights out at 8 tonight," I say simply, doing everything I can to not look at him. There is a part of me that craves the warmth he gives off like he is his own sun or some sappy shit like that.

"I was hoping that…" I cut him off, already shaking my head. I know he wants us to hang out before I go. I know he wants to give it one more go of trying to fix me.

"Never gonna happen, Brian. Just leave me alone." I tell him, not even bothering to stop walking. God, I feel awful about it, but it's better this way. I don't love him, not really, but it still hurts to push him away. He was a constant in my life since we were little. He was my best friend before he became my boyfriend. That same feeling as I had in the therapist's office hits. I want to tell him so much, this time though I don't stop myself. I stop walking, looking down at the concrete and then back to him where he had stopped walking. I meet his gaze.

"It wasn't your fault, Bri, and this isn't your fault either. I know you want to fix me, I know you just want me to smile and be happy like before…but I can't." I hadn't told him yet even though I knew he blamed himself for everything. I knew he took it to heart. I knew he was weighed down by it and yet, being the bitch, I am I said nothing. "If you still need absolution… I forgive you." I tell him honestly, watching his face as I speak. There's a myriad of emotions flickering across his face but the one that guts me is hope. "I can't be fixed. The Lilly you knew is gone, she died, all that's left is me. I am bitter and angry. I will tear you apart without blinking. I will destroy you and you… you are the only thing left of my old life that isn't destroyed. I need you to stay that way. I need you to live and live well. I need you to be okay." I add on softly and he starts blinking hard like he might cry, and I must turn away. I start to walk away but he catches me, hugging me hard from behind. I hear his breath hitch as he breathes me in. I don't move to try and hug him back, but I allow myself to lean back against him just a little. Then I pull his arms away and keep moving. I keep walking.

I should hurt. It should tear me to pieces to walk away from him but in truth? I feel nothing, yet I owed it to that boy who never left my side when I was sick as a kid, I owed it to the boy who helped me with my homework, I owed it to the boy who carried me back to the house when I twisted my ankle, I owed it to my first love, my first everything. I owed him. Now that debt is settled and just like everything else in my life, I let that part of me die. I let it burn and wither away inside me like it never existed. Love isn't meant for people like me. People who are ruined and become the very monsters that made them. I feel a lot like Frankenstein's monster, pieced together from death and left to wander the world set apart from the rest, rejected for being damaged.