Hello and welcome to my next Transformers fic. I wanted to write something more original, so this is what came from that. Chapter titles will be named after a song I listened to while writing each chapter. I'll include the artists too. More authors are doing this, so I thought i'd join them.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own OCs.

Damaged - Adrian Lux

Depression support groups were always the same.

The same five teenagers came, the same six adults came, and I came, the girl who we too old to be a teenager and too young to be an adult. Oh the joys of being twenty.

The instructor, Mr. Downey would go around the room and ask you your name, make you admit to the group you're clinically depressed and then you have to tell everyone how you have felt since our meeting last week.

To which I would reply: "I'm Jenna Wayne. I'm depressed. Same as last week, I still hate everything."

Given I didn't hate absolutely everything, I always said this's as a form of rebellion to show that I'd rather be dead than be sitting with a bunch of depressed kids. He would smile at me as if I had given him cake and go on to the next person who would also says something around the same lines I did.

Now, if you suffer from depression like me, you understand how how much I would dread going to these things and talking about how depressed I am and being in the presence of a man who's overly joyful attitude only makes me more unhappy.

I would be perfectly content staying home, taking my medication every day and watching endless reruns of Doctor Who, The Walking Dead, and Teen Wolf. I could stay on the internet for hours and watch as many movies as you put in front if me and don't even get me started on video games.

Of course, even though that's the only thing that makes me happy, my doctor says that staying inside and not wanting to do those things is a side effect of my condition.

So, to get me out of the house, he forces me to go to these meetings.

I groan as I lean back into the plastic chair as one kid, Mark, talks about how at school yesterday he decided he would join the football team so he could get out more.

Yeah, I was happy for the kid, but I didn't care about his story. I couldn't care less. Plus, he was small, scrawny, and wore glasses so thick he had to hold his head back to keep them from falling off of his face. He would never make the team.

Of course, we all had to clap at his accomplishment and lie to poor kid by all chanting 'you can do it'. He smiled widely as the next volunteer told the group of their accomplishments of the week.

I never had any accomplishments to tell.

With the combination of having one real friend that lives in my house with me, never leaving except to pick up the latest movie I wanted, trips see my doctor/go to these meetings, eating out because I'm too lazy to even make ramen noodles, or to buy more Dr. Pepper, I never left the house.

It was hard to make friends when there wasn't the opportunity, much less anything more than friends.

So, each week I would listen to people talk about how they are actually trying to improve their lives, while I did nothing to improve mine. Sure, I wanted to be better, but I didn't know how.

Plus, I wasn't the most appealing person to have a conversation with unless maybe you're also an antisocial loser.

I really don't see how my best friend, Holland, (the one who I mentioned earlier that lives with me) even deals with me.

Holland isn't necessarily Ms. Popular, but she is way more outgoing than I am. She's constantly encouraging me to get out, but she doesn't push me to. That's our center line. Also, since she lives in my house, she doesn't spend as much of her own money on things like rent. She of course wouldn't want to screw that deal up.

The last segment of our meeting is explaining to the group what caused our depression. Basically, we explain our sad life story. We went around the room, telling each other (again) why we are so sad.

Jason talks about his cancer.

Maria explains how her grandfather died.

Mark talks about how his house was burned down last year.

Nina talks about the car accident that killed her best friend.

Then there's me. I always sigh and say the same thing. "My father left my mom before I was born. My mother died of cancer. I have hardly any family left, so I went around between my aunt and my mom's friend after she died and before I could move out and live alone. I was bullied through high school, and the only boyfriend I ever had cheated on me with my old best friend. So, I have a bunch of trust issues and stuff."

Every gives me these horrified pained looks of pity as if they hadn't already heard this story.

I then add, "yeah, it's sounds really bad, but my grandparents were loaded so I received a nice house with enough money to rival Tony Stark through inheritance once I turned eighteen, so it's fine."

The would give me relieved smiles and say things like "at least something came from nothing."

It seriously wasn't as bad as it seems, yet at the same time, it is worse.

Once the meeting was over we all stood around and talked for a minute. We only did this to make Mr, Downey think we were making friends with each other.

I never stayed too long. I waved a goodbye to everyone in the most sarcastic matter I could muster and made my way through the double doors.

The parking lot of the community center where we met was entirely empty for a few cars from people who drive to the meetings and some cars parked here because the Marathon gas station next door was too full.

My blue Mustang sat in my view, I began walking excitedly to it. Right before I reached it, I was grabbed back.

I turned quickly to see a man, a little older than me, had done it. He was holding a knife up. "Give me your money."

"I-" I gulped. "I don't have any money."

"Well, I'll just have to get my payment some other way then." His hand snaked up my thigh and under my shirt, his fingertips trailed against the bottom of my bra.

"Please, no." I whispered, struggling to force him away.

He laughed. "Why?"

Before I could even think of an answer, he had let me go. He flew down on the concrete roughly. I turned again to see another man who had appeared in the dark.

The mystery guy grabbed my attacker and lifted him up by his shirt and threw him against a car nearby. "Leave her alone!"

The guy seemed so sure, but he was my height. I myself was at least a foot shorter than the attacker. That meant he was too.

My attacker stared at the guy. "Or what?"

The guy shrugged. "Because I'll kick your ass." The attacker approached the other guy, only to be shoved harshly against the car again. He ran away this time, deciding it wasn't worth it.

My savior stepped into the light of the street lamp. It shocked me to see him and know he was the same guy that could beat anyone like my attacker up.

He had blonde hair that swept across his forehead, tan skin, my height (as I said), bright blue eyes, and an extremely youthful face. He had to be eighteen or nineteen.

He walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah," I added a smile. "Thanks to you."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

He started to leave but I found myself stopping him. "Wait."

He turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"You just may have saved my life...I owe you."

He shook his head. "No, you don't."

I walked to him. "Yes. Yes, I do and you will not convince me otherwise."

He smiled slightly. "It's fine really, but if you're that sure about it..."

"I was gonna go get food. You hungry? I know it's not much, but it's as much as I can offer."

He nodded. "Sure. Sounds great." Even though I could tell he didn't want payment, I could see that he genuinely would allow it since I wanted to.

Hey, I may be depressed but there are too many movies I haven't seen yet to die.

I smiled. "Do you like Chinese?"

He nodded.

"Do you know where the Hibachi-Sushi restaurant is on 12th Avenue is?"

He laughed. "I'll meet you there?"

I gave him a thumbs up. He began walking across the lot (probably to his car), occasionally looking back, probably to make sure the guy didn't come back to finish having his way with me.

When I made it to the restaurant, i didn't see him. So, I stood at the entrance and waited. I started to think about how out of character inviting a stranger to dinner with me is. Life saver or not.

I must have been really out of it, he had arrived at some point, waving a hand in front of my face.

I shook my head at myself. "Sorry."

We went in and got a table for two quickly because of how late it was. The lady who came to take our orders was even fast.

"Sweet tea with honey chicken and vegetable noodles." I said.

"Dr. Pepper with the vegetarian plate." He said, handing our menus to her.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?" He questioned, a light smirk on his face.

"Vegetarian? Religion or...?"

He shrugged. "Personal decision. Don't really feel right about eating animals..."

I nodded. "I'm sort of nosey."

He smiled. "It's fine. I don't mind."

I decided to try and deduce what this guy's story was. I noticed his teeth as he spoke. They were perfectly straight and white. I also noticed the leather jacket he wore was real leather and his black converse were new. He had money.

He had unruly, yet nice hair. He had slight muscle, so he obviously worked out. He looked nice. Money with a job that he looked nice for?

The waiters dropped our drinks off, informing us our food would be out shortly.

"So," I started. "Do you work? Job?"

He nodded. "I'm a photographer for the Nashville Times."

So he lives here and has a nice job. I was right.

"And you?" He asks, putting the straw in his drink.

"I'm also a photographer. I don't get paid though. I post them on my tumblr."

He laughs.

"But," I continued. "My photos. Sometimes people pay me for them so they can print them or use them. My main source of income are inheritance. I do thrive to become a photographer or a writer, though."

He smirks again. "You're lucky. Of course, I enjoy my job and I make money, so it all works out."

Our food arrived.

"So, what kind of music do you like?" I decided this was a safe question. I looked him over. I bet he says rap.

"Classic rock. Anything like Pink Floyd, Def Leppard, Skid Row, or AC/DC."

"That's surprising."

"How so?"

"Not a lot of fans in this generation. I like it, just not a lot of others do. At least there's some hope." I smile.

"How about I be nosey." He took a bite of noodles.

"Go." I say.

"I notice your shirt,"

I look down at my faded shirt with the Superman symbol on it.

"Please tell me Superman isn't your favorite superhero." He continues.

I shake my head furiously. "No way! Never! Superman is cool but he's..."

"Basic."

"Yes." I point to him. "Thor and Spiderman are where it's at."

He nods. "I respect that. But, Batman is the way to go."

"I respect that."

"I'm gonna be nosey again."

I point to him again, deciding not to talk with my mouth full.

"Were you at the support group thing or were you just walking around?"

I sigh. "Support group. My doctor makes me go."

He nods. "I'm not going to get into your business. I was just curious."

"What were you doing in the parking lot?"

"Gas station."

I notice we both are finished and so does the waitress. She brings me the ticket and we get up.

He stands beside me as I pay for the food and he follows me out as I leave.

I wave a goodbye and walk to my car, but I stop and turn around. "Wait!"

He turns back to me.

"We didn't even tell each other our names." He laughs and walks back to me, extending a hand, which I grab. He shakes it. "I'm Jenna."

"Ben."

He lets go and gives me one last smile before walking to a car across the lot.

I see which car is his and I yell one last thing. "Nice car!"

He turns around, laughing again, giving me a thumbs up before getting in the driver's seat.

It was a yellow and black Camaro.

Please review and tell me if I should continue!