Fixing It

Savannah

Percy and I have kept this little mishap under wraps for the past two days.

He has been trying to figure out whose locker I broke into and how I can return the clothes if it was this Damon Henley.

Since he is the biker king’s son and had an ongoing war between the police, and me being the niece of the deputy sheriff—that wouldn’t go over well, so Percy says.

On day three I figure I should just face the music and take whatever problem this Damon wants to throw my way.

Two hours before we normally get up for school I snuck out of the house and walked to the gas station down a few blocks.

Buying a gas gift card at four in the morning got me a strange look from the cashier.

Getting back home in under thirty minutes and sneaking back in was so easy I thought about talking to Uncle Jonah about the security system being shit.

I had made a thank-you letter with no name to say sorry for “borrowing without asking” his clothes and shoes.

And thanking him for leaving the lock off so I could use them in my time of need.

I explained the gas card as a thank-you.

I even ironed his clothes and put them in this black velvet box that I tied a blue ribbon around to make it seem like I put extra care into returning his clothes.

I wanted to make sure this guy knew I wasn’t stealing; it was an actual emergency and I was grateful.

I hid it in my backpack, and when Percy and I got to school I asked him to point out Mr. Damon Henley.

I told him it was so I could make sure to stay out of his way.

Believing the lie, he did just that.

“Okay, so don’t look yet, but the one in the middle with the black hair. The tallest one by the bathroom.”

He nonchalantly pointed without actually turning to point them out to me.

Acting like I was just looking around the hall, my eyes soaked in the man I needed to talk to.

Percy talked about Damon like he was legitimately Lucifer’s heir, and looking at him I could connect some truths that made me almost want to laugh.

They say Lucifer was the best, the most glorious and handsome Angel in heaven, and looking at this Damon Henley, I saw the truth in that.

~Damon, sweet baby Jesus.~

He looked like a fallen angel in black leather and ripped jeans.

His inky black hair slicked back with gel that kept it out of his face…the length was like something out of a wet dream…

Perfectly long enough that you wanted to play with it, and it gave off this bad-boy-smoking-under-the-bleachers look.

Tattoos played peek-a-boo up the white V-neck that showed off chiseled shoulders and collarbone.

I never thought a neck could be sexy, but seeing Damon turn to look at the guy next to him, and the tattoos that were checkered along it, it was like my panties disintegrated.

In all my seventeen and a half years of life, I have never seen a human being so fucking good looking.

It should be illegal.

And when he combed his hair with his fingers, leaving wide streaks through it and this almost tousled wave, I was entranced.

Growing up, I started noticing boys kind of early on.

At ten, I got in trouble for playing spin the bottle, and at thirteen, truth or dare was my favorite game.

I like the male species.

I never dated anyone seriously or went all the way, but I was hot-blooded like my mom tried to explain.

Saying how I was more impulsive and needed to think things through before I went off and did the things I did.

I always accepted dares, I broke some bones, and got into trouble quite a bit growing up.

In the summers when Percy and I got to spend an endless amount of time together, he got sucked in for the ride even though I made sure he never got the blame.

I hadn’t felt like this though, ever.

Damon was dripping with sex appeal, and Lord did I want to be the sponge to soak it all up.

“Hey, Earth to Van.” Percy snapped his fingers in front of my face, making me fall back to my harsh and cruel reality.

“Oh no,” I whisper, giving Percy a look that made him hit his textbook to his forehead.

“No, bad Vannah! Absolutely not.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the hall.

He shoved me into the lunchroom and pushed me into my seat.

“Do not, and I mean it. Do not try anything with him. He is bad news.”

I know he’s being serious, and it’s laughable how badly he’s trying to convince me to stay away.

If this was six months ago, if I was the same person as back then, I would have walked right up to him and started talking.

I used to be able to instantly make friends whenever I walked into the room.

I used to be a lot of things.

I had killer confidence; I loved my body and loved what it felt like.

I showed it off and owned every inch of my skin. It helped being the star in my choir; I won every competition, either going solo or as a part of a group.

I loved me.

Which was super rare being a teen girl.

The world around me preyed on the idea of insecurities and made us vulnerable.

Now I was that girl I always thought I was lucky not to be.

Now I was broken and insecure.

I had scars, the worst ones being invisible to the normal eye.

I used to be full of life and joked around, I loved making people laugh.

I was bright, warm, and loud.

I smiled all the time; I was the party.

Now, I don’t know shit about this new version of myself besides the bad.

I used to be fearless.

I would go after anything or anyone I wanted; I used to command the stage and live in the limelight.

Looking at me now, you wouldn’t believe it.

It feels like a distant reality.

That girl died with her family.

The one that woke up is hollow and dark, staying in the shadows and hating the thought of ever singing again.

She’s quiet and reserved.

Cautious and withdrawn.

No more parties or jokes to tell, no laugh to be heard, no smile to give.

I’m not bright or cheerful anymore.

I went from Tigger to Eeyore and somehow Percy was forgetting that.

“Chill, I’m not going to.” I swatted his hands off my shoulders and moved a seat over to give us some space.

Head trauma, like any trauma, sucks massive donkey dicks.

After all the tests and the pills and the therapy, psychiatric and physical, I ended up with a list of diagnoses.

I used to be just Savannah Gabrielle Madis.

Now I was more of my diagnosis than a person.

Every doctor, I felt, overlooked me and just saw the problems in my body and not who I am, what those problems were doing to me and causing to me.

What kind of toll the medicine was taking on me.

It’s like they only saw what I had and not me.

My brain is scarred and mutilated from the car crash, along with other parts of my body.

It would be easier if my mind had been spared…not like I lost enough, right?

On my ever growing list of fucked-up parts, I have PTSD, claustrophobia, anxiety, depression, stress-triggered schizophrenia and the list goes on…also it changes.

Isn’t that fun?

Different therapists give me different diagnoses.

~Yep.~

~Fun.~

Different meds too.

I currently take a handful in the morning and at night, along with “rescue medication.” That I keep in my bag like a safety blanket.

After we parted ways for the gym, I acted oblivious to the girls in the locker room giggling and whispering behind my back.

If I was the old me I would have run up and handled my business, but…things change.

For the last few days I’d kept all my stuff in my real locker.

When we started our run, I finished my first lap before asking Coach Kline if I could change out of my shoes.

Knowing he wouldn’t let me go to use the bathroom, I acted like I had completely forgotten I was wearing sandals and not my tennis shoes.

Being a gruff asshole, he agrees, telling me to hurry back before he has to come looking for me.

Thinking I can sneak back into the locker room and I’ll remember the locker when I see it, I do just that.

Grabbing the thank-you card and the black-velvet-trimmed box, I raced to the doors of the boys’ locker room and listened for anyone inside.

Hearing nothing, I moved in—stealth-like as ever, I channeled my inner 007 and moved fast around the rows of lockers until I found Percy’s.

Recreating that day, I stood in front of it and walked down. Sure enough, the only locker without a freaking lock was D. Henley.

Opening it up, I set the box down with the thank-you card on top.

Feeling good about this, I shut the door, giving a thumbs up to the locker itself like it should be proud of me, and snap my fingers like I’m cool before spinning on my heels…

…only to smack right into a wall of fabric-clad bricks.

Falling to my butt, I let out a panicked gasp that involuntarily rushes from my chest.

Holding a hand to my nose and rubbing it in circles to work the sting of it out, my eyes crawl up the dark angel and his two goons in front of me.

“What the fuck did you just put in my locker?” he growled, his arms crossed at his chest like bulging pythons.

If I wasn’t so surprised, I might have swooned from the deep masculine voice that would sound like smooth melted chocolate in any other conversation.

My neck had to crane all the way back to look him in the eyes.

“Speak, girl,” he barked, glaring down at my shocked state.

“She’s cute, stop scaring her,” the ashy blond to his left flirted.

“Aw, she just wants to be your friend, be nice.” The dirty-brown-haired boy on his right flashed a charming smile and fluttered his lashes.

“No, I don’t. I was just returning something.” I got to my feet, wiping my hands clean on my blue shorts.

“Returning what?” Damon stepped forward; the glare he cast down at me could make babies cry.

“Oh fuck, she’s the one who took your shit, look.”

The blond held the box, handing the thank-you card to the brown-haired boy and popping the lid open.

I watched the blue ribbon I took a lot of time to make sure looked good fall to the floor and be forgotten about in a second.

“So you’re the dirty little thief. Want me so bad you steal my dirty clothes? Man, you must have it bad.” Damon rakes his eyes down my body like he was disgusted by the sight of me.

I felt my cheeks light up; anger hit my bloodstream. Adding to my obvious embarrassment was not a good combo.

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

“Wow, conceited much? I don’t even know who you are.”

~We know that’s a lie, but I didn’t when I took the damn things.~

I stepped closer; going toe to toe with this jackass wasn’t on the to-do list but here we go.

His eyes practically hit the back of his head with his own challenging eye roll.

“Secondly, I am not a thief. I borrowed your things without asking, and now I’m returning them.”

I crossed my arms and mimicked his stance, adding my own glare back.

“She got you a thank-you card. And oh, a $40 gift card to Murphy’s. Nice.”

The brown-haired boy handed it to Damon to look at, which he gave a quick flick of his eyes to before he was back to trying to mentally catch me on fire.

“Borrowing without asking is stealing. You’re a fucking thief, not to mention my dirty clothes? Fucking sick,” he spat like I was inferior and 100% wrong.

“No, actually, it’s not.” I stood taller, my hip cocked to the side, and my eyes pinned to his in an unwavering show of dominance.

“Borrowing without asking is poor manners and rude, but if returned, not stealing. Like the note I left. It was an IOU.

“Thieves don’t typically leave IOUs, nor do they get gifts for their unknowing victims. Believe me, if I had any other options that day, I wouldn’t have gone for your nasty belongings.

“Now, I’m sorry I took your clothes, but I didn’t have a choice. I washed, dried, and ironed them. I said I was sorry, so goodbye and thanks for not having a stupid-ass lock.”

I pointed to the silver padlock that hung from the rest of the blue lockers around us.

Stepping back, I turned and walked away, but when I got to the door, the blond was standing in front of it.

“Who are you?” he whispered with a smile and a twinkle of awe in his eyes.

“I’m nobody.” I matched his voice level, making his soft smile grow.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could leave. Nobody talks to me like that,” Damon growled behind me.

Turning around, I smirked up at him.

~Yeah, I know.~

Damon had followed me around the lockers and trapped me in between the blond and his towering self.

The blond held the back of his hand to his mouth to cover a chuckle.

“Why did you take it?” The brown-haired boy leaned on the stack of lockers behind him.

“Because I needed them.” I looked him in the eyes while I answered back.

“Needed them why?” Damon seethed.

Not wanting to add to my embarrassment, I didn’t want to tell anyone the truth.

“Because I did,” I snapped back.

Looking bored from this conversation, I didn’t add anything else.

Scoffing at me, his inky black locks fell and started to shift down to his forehead.

I lost my train of thought for a second when I saw three thick strands of his hair fall forward and hang in front of his eyes.

The dark color looked like a starless sky.

“I’m not looking for a new toy.”

His voice pulled me out of my little daydream.

“I have no idea what that means.”

I widened my eyes and pressed my lips together to show my annoyance.

“I’m not fucking you, girl.”

“Well thank ~GOD~ for that.” I raised my hands to the heavens in exaggeration just to piss him off.

The other two guys laughed, but the prince of darkness in front of me looked like he was trying to figure me out.

“You are honestly so full of yourself that you think I borrowed your dirty sweaty gym clothes to wear home so I could what? Do some weird perverted fetish shit?

“That has to be the reason why I return them in private and use discretion so you wouldn’t know who borrowed them or who I took them from.

“I don’t know anything about you, not your name, what you looked like, nothing. Don’t worry though, Angel, you don’t make me wet.”

I scrunched up my face as I shook my head up at him.

The two goons sucked in a breath and coughed to cover the chuckles they erupted with.

Damon seemed taken aback by my words—honestly I was too.

~I didn’t know I had this fire still inside me.~

Damon’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with a click from his chiseled jawline.

I made sure my eyes never strayed from the darkness he had captivated me with.

I stared into the endless pits of his dark black pools and never wavered.

“Your name,” he growled.

“Lara Croft.” I smirked at the blond laughing behind me.

“Your goddamn name, girl.” His arms fell to his sides and his face was turning red.

“Fine! If I tell you my name can I go?”

I followed his lead and dropped my hands down too.

We held a staring match for a minute until he licked his bottom lip and took in a deep breath that made it look like he was trembling with anger.

“Tell me your motherfucking name and you can go back to gym.” He said it so calmly it was like he was a different person.

Acting like I was really going to tell him my name, I sighed and looked down, acting like I didn’t want to do this but he had backed me into a corner and this was my only chance.

“Ginny,” I mumbled weakly.

His eyebrow raised up but he didn’t question it.

“Last name.”

“Why?” I faked fear, worried about why he needed it like he was going to snitch me out or something.

“Name, girl!” His face lit back up with the red I was so easily coaxing out.

“Fuck, fine! Granger okay! Now can I go?”

I stomped my foot and shot as much attitude his way as I could.

“Bye.” He waved sarcastically with joy.

I turned around and looked at the blond; he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open for me, bowing and smiling like he loved the show I just put on.

“Thank you, Sunshine.” I waved bye to him and cut my eyes at Damon one more time before I rounded the corner and got out of sight.

I hurried back to the gym, not even changing my shoes, which went unnoticed.

~Ginny Granger.~

~Two of my favorite characters from Harry Potter.~

I thought about my fake full name.

In the last half of the year I haven’t even wanted to laugh.

But thinking about the big bad biker prince thinking my name is honestly and truly Ginny Luna Granger almost made me crack a smile and laugh out loud.