The Girlfriend

Chapter Twenty

Jon

Days after Patrick's proposal passed by in a haze of excitement; Lydia was positively over the moon and was thrilled to meet Pat's parents over a surprise dinner. Maritza congratulated her and even extended the kindness of planning an engagement party, Lydia turned her down since she wanted to plan one with Allison, but she'd barely stopped talking about it even for a second.

The only thing she talked about more was how she wanted to get in shape for her dress, she desperately wanted to go down a size to look "perfect". I had no clue where got the idea that she didn't look amazing already, but either way, it was already off to a bad start.

"Lydia, hold still!" I snapped.

"Work faster, it hurts!"

"I told you not to be playing with my equipment, it's not my fault you hurt yourself." Trusting her alone in my weights room was a mistake, I was wary of leaving her alone in there after witnessing her mindlessly touch the bottom of a hot pan – more than once – and at one point almost leaned on a stove element. It didn't happen that often, but she would distract herself and grab things without thinking. God only knew how she pinched her fingers in the weight rack, but it was definitely in line with the dozen or so times she'd accidentally hurt herself.

"I wasn't playing with anything; I was working out—"

I rolled my eyes and finished fastening the gauze on her hand. "You were fiddling with it and decided not to ask for help. Weights don't just magically fall on fingers." Turing her hand over in mine, I gave it one last once over; her fingers were red and trembling pretty badly. "Alright, keep icing it for now, I'll see what I can do to get a doctor to see you tonight."

Her head jerked up in surprise. "Why?" she asked sharply.

I blinked and was momentarily at a loss for words. Why wouldn't she want to see a doctor? She clearly hadn't broken anything but I'd rather have someone else double-check just in case. "So that you still have working fingers in the morning?" I offered. "We don't have to go out, I can call one in."

"I don't like doctors," she said quietly.

"And I don't like seeing you permanently lose control of one hand, so one us is going to have to cave here." I caught her chin and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "I'll be right there, and Patrick will be back in a little bit, there's nothing to worry about."

She didn't say anything but I could see the fear etched into her features. She folded her hands into her lap, being careful with the bandaged one but didn't say anything else. Lydia didn't talk about her past, I could tell her dozens of stories that she was more than happy to listen to but she was quick to change the subject when it came to questions about her life. She would answer some things; stuff about her dating life prior to us, questions about her schooling and how she managed to get into both Berkeley and NYU, but everything else was avoided.

Patrick and I pieced things together from the fragments of information we had; her parent's divorce, her father's death, never being officially adopted by the Montgomery's, and a history of being on different anti-depressants and anti-anxieties. Children that grew up in the system often ended up being poorly documented, Patrick had dug up a bunch of records from her early childhood but there was a large gap, spanning from ages eleven to sixteen that just weren't there anymore. In cases like this, where she became quiet and withdrawn, it was easy to remember that we barely knew anything about her.

"Lydia," I continued, crouching down to be at eye level. "Talk to me, dove, that's what I'm here for."

She shook her head and got up off the chair. "Do you want something for lunch?" She headed for the stairs and bounded down them, not even glancing back. "I'm making pizza if you want some."