Page 5 of Beyond Repair, Part One (Damaged Duet #1)

Nina

M y bedroom is decorated in soft purples and grays. I love my bedspread the most with its swirly flowers and heavy feel.

Four boxes of clothes surround me on the floor, and I know I need to figure out what else I'm going to pack, but that's the problem. What am I supposed to bring?

This has always been my childhood bedroom and I have never once changed it. I remember coming home for the first time since I was sixteen after...well, everything horrible, and being shocked to see my parents hadn't changed a thing.

It's been my safe space ever since. If I'm being honest with myself, it's becoming harder to live here. As upset as I am about my parents encouraging— forcing —me to move out— move on —there's a sense of relief in it.

I’m not sure how much longer I can be surrounded by all the pictures and memories of my childhood before I break down and try to reconnect with the old me.

The younger, na?ve, happy Nina used to lie on her back with her head hung over the side of the bed while chatting with her friends on the phone.

"Nina?"

I jump a little at the sound of my mom's voice. "Hi," I greet.

She's in black leggings and one of my dad's old college sweatshirts. Her hair is a replica of my own—an inch past her breasts, multidimensional brown and wavy. Meg Solace is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

She lingers in the doorway for a moment as she looks around my room. Where my gaze was calculating, hers is just plain sad. I cock my head, watching her as she leaves, walks into my bathroom across the hall, and returns carrying a purple tote.

"I don't need that, Mom," I argue as she places it in an empty box by my closet. She doesn't say anything, just meanders over and sits beside me against the wall. I sigh. "That's not my thing anymore."

"No?" Mom challenges with a cocked brow. "Then what is your thing , Nina?"

I stiffen and drop my gaze. "I don't know, I guess."

She hums softly in the silence of my bedroom. I can't believe I'm moving out in a week. "Then start with painting your nails, sweetie. Come on, now, you can't let that entire bag of nail polish and nail files go to waste."

"I'm sure they expired long ago, Mom."

I cringe, realizing how dark that comment really was.

The truth is I haven't painted my nails since the night before my sweet sixteen.

The night before a monster kidnapped me.

I remember the maroon color like it was only yesterday because I would wonder some days if I was seeing my blood or the polish.

My mom's answering gulp is loud in the sad silence. "Are you going to be okay?"

A choked laugh puffs out of me before I can control the urge to cry. The tears fall freely from my eyes, pulling my head down to rest on my momma's shoulder. "I can cook and clean. I'm very good at staying out of trouble too," I tease morbidly.

"God, Nina," Mom cries, swatting my knee gently. "It's not funny."

"Sorry," I mutter, even if we both know it's true. Mom and Dad know most of what I endured from the ages of sixteen through eighteen.

I learned really fast that if I didn't cook and clean properly or quick enough, I wouldn't be able to breathe properly, let alone move easily the following days. The beatings I took taught me to stay out of trouble and follow orders.

The urge to joke that I'll make an amazing employee because of what Mr. M taught me is strong, but I’d rather not upset Mom any more than I usually do.

It's true, though. I was trained to serve the most vile of creatures, so getting a job with a half decent boss should be easy.

I'll keep my house clean and feed my parents whenever they come to visit.

"You'll remember to eat?" I nod at my mom's wobbly question. "And no food before bed."

I nod again. "I know. It makes the nightmares worse." All that means is we've learned that I scream louder if I have a snack right before I go to sleep.

"I love you so much, baby. I'm so proud of you." She sniffles and kisses the top of my head.

Another couple of tears fall as I soak in her eternal love and warmth. "I know. I love you ."

"Anything you need, I'm there."

"Me too," my dad adds from the doorway with a gentle smile on his face as he watches me and his wife snuggle.

I nod, knowing they're being honest. Our love is that of soulmates. If something like that exists, then my mom and I share a bond across all planes of existence. My dad is our eternal cheerleader and sidekick.

No matter how far I go, or how much they encourage me out of the nest, they will forever be my heart and soul. I'm afraid I'll plummet because I'm pretty sure my wings are broken beyond repair.