Sweetbitter-Bad Boy's First Love #SAMPLE

Chapter 10

Lydia's P.O.V

That was a close call, a really close call. That's what I thought to myself as I closed and locked the door after Lyric had departed...for the night.

Something told me, this wasn't going to be the last time he's shown up at my door uninvited. And that same something told me that he wasn't going to give up on digging up my past this easily either. He's like one of those hound dogs who's gotten a scent and won't rest until the source of that scent has been detected.

It's not like my past is a huge secret. Almost the whole of Kansas knows about it, knows who I am. And that had been one of the main reasons I had to get away from home. Some stories never get too old apparently and people always believe what they want to believe.

There are several versions of my story floating around my home town and each day there would be another new invention. And then I'd once again be surrounded by people who wanted to know the truth even though it had been announced several times in public and on social media.

It makes me wonder, what version will Lyric believe?

Shaking my head at the absurdity of the thought, I went to the kitchen to clean up after me and found Lyric's cup sitting on the counter. It made me question a lot of things about myself and how I've been acting around him the last couple days.

It's hardly been three days since I met him and my life already seems so different. From fighting with him that first day about my bike, then picking him up from the streets half conscious and bleeding to taking care of him and then taking care of him again. I didn't make it my life's purpose to interfere in other people's business, especially a guy like Lyric and yet, as soon as he comes here wounded and bloody, I'm running to find my first-aid box.

"Damn! I forgot to ask him about his ribs!" I said out loud before slapping myself in the forehead.

Why was that any of my business again? I shouldn't be concerned, shouldn't be worrying about things that he himself was responsible for bringing upon himself.

That's the thing with bad boys and the rebels. They act a certain way that seems attractive to you and it draws you to them and then you instinctively want to 'fix' the problems they have and make them the better person. But what most people fail to realize is that bad boys are just jerks and spoilt brats that blame the society and everyone else around them for the trouble that they cause.

They don't need fixing, they just need some people who are stronger and meaner to bash their heads in and teach them a thing or two about respecting others and the correct way to treat people around you. Or maybe they just need a mean mom with a handy spanking spatula.

I never quiet understood what the whole charm about bad boys was all about and I had vowed to myself that I'd never let myself be that person who tries to fix the bad boys...and yet, here I am, bandaging Lyric's wounds and concerning myself with how his 'rib injury' is healing.

I'm not a fucking doctor for God's sake! I'm simply a psychologist who had just started her degree and is no way qualified to be treating wounds. Lyric should just find himself a doctor.

Come to think of it, I did get a few whispers at college stating that he was filthy rich. So why doesn't he already have a doctor at his beck and call? Why come to me to patch up? I admit that I was the one who brought him inside my house and let him stay the night the first time around but that's because I saw a guy nearly pass out in front of my house and since I somewhat knew him, I couldn't just leave him out on the streets where his wounds could get infected or worse, stray animals could decide to take a bite out of him.

But he came of his own volition the second time.

Maybe it's just like he says, that he's found a new toy that he wants to play with. My face certainly would've drawn his attention. While many people just think that I'm rude or too stuck up, Lyric seems to have found some kind of fancy in my condition.

Although I have to admit, he just thinks that I don't show emotions on my face voluntarily, like I have a choice in the matter. He doesn't know the fact that I can't show emotions on my face.

And just like that, my head started pounding with an incoming migraine attack.

"Shit!" I placed my hands to my temples and massaged them lightly.

Having a brain damage meant you'd have random migraines at the oddest of times; you can't overthink or worry too much or take a lot of stress. I can still remember when my doctor had told me to forget about studying and taking the rest of my life easy and not stress at all. He said it could lead to a lot of complications in my brain and even lead to my death.

Well, I had just proven him wrong when I'd graduated from school three months ago with my brain intact and also my life out of any danger. It had taken me time since I still got the dizzy spells, my vision went blank sometimes and then there were these damn migraines! But I had pushed through. And I will continue to push through until I made something out of my life. I wasn't a victim, I'm a survivor and survive I will, no matter what life decides to throw at me.

Coming to college was my decision as well, even though my parents had begged me not to. But I am thankful for my brothers who had swallowed their worries and overly protective brotherly instincts and stood by my side like my pillars.

Although I never admit it in front of them, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Nathan and Stephen. From the day I had opened my eyes in that hospital, they had been my guide, my biggest supporters. They had helped me heal and stand back up on my feet, literally. I can't let their hard work go to waste just because I'm intrigued by some bad boy who has taken an interest in me.

It's time to keep distractions aside and focus on my life. To do what I came here to do and go my own way. There was no point in thinking about boys or sidetracking my goals for one because in the end, once he finds out the truth, he'll be just like every other person in my life who had walked away from me because I was damaged goods. And no one likes damaged goods, no matter how intriguing they might look at first glance.