Toxic Bad Boy Read Online Free PDF Page B

it was difficult for me to
believe a stranger had good intentions. Even in our short time as
friends and later more, Caleb had become a security blanket. I’d
been popular at my old school, but it hadn’t been of my own doing.
I didn’t have a naturally outgoing personality and I wasn’t
confident people genuinely liked me for myself.
    I’d considered making the
thirty minute drive everyday and transferring to Cece’s school for
senior year. Maybe I’d just transfer now, mid-semester junior year.
With her exuberance, having Cece as a friend was like an entire
group of friends. Jared, Taye and a couple guys from the crew were
also at the same school.
    Instead of feeling like a
freak, I’d probably feel secure. I was suspicious of any guy who
tried to talk to me. Feeling panicked whenever a boy flirted or
asked me about an assignment in class was embarrassing. The alarm
had lessened a bit since first returning to school. Rationally, I
knew a guy asking which page in the textbook the teacher was on
wouldn’t lead to him hurting me, but I couldn’t convince my racing
heart or churning stomach.
    Wrapping myself in my robe
and drying off my legs with the towel, I used the same towel to
wipe the moisture off the mirror. My face looked pale with the dark
hair and faint dark circles hanging under my eyes. I applied
concealer and foundation so my dad wouldn’t worry. Maybe I’d take a
Tylenol PM tonight so I could get more sleep. The minty smell of my
lotion as I rubbed it into my skin was soothing and I made a mental
note of stopping by Target for some candles after
school.
    In my closet, I scanned my
choices, settling on black jeans and a hooded gray sweater. The
sweater was thin, so I slipped on over it a black military-style
jacket, reaching back to pull out the hood of my sweater. Tying up
a pair of Dr. Martens, I was ready for school at five-fifty in the
morning. Sunrise wouldn’t be for an hour.
    I didn’t bother much with
styling my hair anymore and wore minimal makeup, but with time to
kill I decided to brush on some blush to hide my paleness and coat
my eyelashes with mascara. There , now I appeared the healthy,
happy teenager.
    When I got downstairs just
after six, my dad stood in front of the coffee pot, wearing a robe
and pajama pants. Obviously just woken up, his wavy hair lay
untamed. He gazed at me with a worried expression. “You need to dry
your hair, Gianna. It’s cold outside.”
    I dropped my backpack on
the floor and hopped up onto a barstool. “By the time I leave for
school it’ll be dry, Dr. Thorpe.”
    He let out a sound
reflecting something between amusement and annoyance. On his way
out of the kitchen he walked past carrying a cup of coffee, pausing
to kiss me on the forehead. My dad had never been a morning person
and I suspected he drank coffee until noon most days.
    I’d had little appetite in
the weeks following leaving the hospital but I finally gained back
the weight I’d lost. Taking my instant oatmeal into the living
room, I picked up the remote to put it on a channel airing a music
documentary. The program was about a band from the ‘90s which Caleb
loved.
    I started
crying.
    It was a good thing I
hadn’t put on eyeliner. My unstable emotions often surprised me
like this. Bringing my feet up onto the couch, I set my bowl onto
an end table. My therapist advised me not to hold back tears, to
let it all out. Sometimes I supremely disliked her.
    The idea of being on
antidepressants scared me. I’d already lost so much of myself and I
was afraid of losing more. As horrible as I felt, I refused to let
my emotions be controlled by drugs. I’d rather be strong enough to
heal on my own. My dad remained undecided and my mom was horrified
at the thought of her daughter being medicated for mental
problems.
    I understood that
prescribed drugs were a godsend to some people, but I couldn’t help
thinking it would be like giving up. As if Josh had defeated me
more than just physically and