Broken Beauty

by Bry Ann

  The bruises.

  The numbness.

  The pain.

  My mom.

  I came out of the bad memories and numbed state when, just like all those years ago, Dad scooped me up in his arms and walked me right out of that school. Once we were outside, I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried. He got me in the car and just held me until the worst it of subsided.

  “What do you need right now?” he asked.

  “I just wanna go home,” I whispered.

  But he didn’t take me home. He knew me too well. He took me to a pet store, where I looked around at the dogs, cats, birds, and especially the lizards. I love lizards! Especially geckos. They are perfect. I haven’t told Dad because if I do, he’ll buy me one and I don’t deserve such a wonderful creature. I'm terrified I’ll hurt it. I'm terrified it won’t like its cage and I’ll be the one holding it captive. So I settle for admiring them from the pet store.

  Afterwards, he takes me to see my therapist. He got me in that afternoon. We talked and ran through the trigger in detail. I was also told it was a boy who found me. Some kid named Ajax; we both have weird names so I won’t forget who it was. I got my therapist’s advice on handling him. I don’t want him to judge me and I definitely don’t want him to tell anyone. My therapist gave me advice on that, too. When I got home, Dad had Gabriella make my favorite dinner. We then played in the pool until it was dark out. It was rare he was able to spend this much time with me. That really helped my mood. He also gave me approval to take three days off school and no more. Only if I needed it, which I did. I was embarrassed and not ready to face Ryan again. Dad insisted he could get him expelled, but that punk will never respect me if I let my dad handle it. I may be broken, but I’ll stay that way if I let people keep breaking me.

  So after three days, when I go back to school, I put on my coolest outfit. It’s kinda inspired by Katrina, to be honest. She has a really cool style. I'm in a short cargo skirt with combat boots and an olive green, wrap-around t-shirt. Dad gave me permission to wear eyeshadow and nail polish so I feel more confident going back to school. The new makeup definitely helps when I arrive at school. I stay hidden in the corner of the hall until I see the boy that was described to me—Ajax. Scrawny. Strawberry blonde hair. Green eyes. I don’t want Ryan to see me until I speak with Ajax.

  You’ll see why.

  I'm starting to get anxious when I see him. His head is down like he’s avoiding everyone. He has his backpack hanging over one shoulder, just kinda slung there. He is one miserable looking boy, let me tell you that. Without hesitation, I jump in front of him and plant a hand on my hip.

  “I think we need to talk.”

  He looks up slowly and shrugs. “Well, yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Follow me.”

  I turn and walk out the front doors of the school. The teachers won’t question me. School hasn’t started and not to mention, my dad probably gave them hell for not having teachers around when I was thrown in the closet. They’re probably scared to challenge me. Probably scared I’ll sic my dad on ‘em. I laugh to myself a bit at the thought. My dad is protective of me but I don’t tell him to do anything. He just does it most of the time.

  I turn when we’re far enough outside the school. “If you tell anyone what happened, I’ll ruin your life.”

  He tilts his head. “I'm not gonna tell anyone, Rain. Are you okay?”

  “Am I supposed to trust you?”

  “First, I'm not an asshole.” I bristle at the bad word, which makes him smile a bit. It’s a good smile, in case you wanna know. “Second, I don’t want any drama. I'm just trying to pass and get out of here. Third, I doubt I’ll be around long.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Foster kid,” he states easily.

  “Oh,” I whisper. “I'm sorry. My dad adopted me. I got super lucky.”

  His eyes widen. “You were adopted?”

  “Yep.”

  “I figured all the rich people here had these perfect families,” he scoffs.

  I can’t help it; I laugh bitterly. “Dude, you saw my little zone-out thingy. Does it seem like I come from a perfect family?”

  His head tilts the other way. “Well, I'm sorry ‘bout that.”

  “Eh, whatever. So you won’t tell. You swear?”

  “On my life, fille.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Girl. In French.”

  “You speak French?”

  “Yeah, a bit. I was born there. Moved here when I was pretty young, but I remember some stuff.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. I'm learning Italian! My mom was born there.”

  He doesn’t ask what happened to my mom, like I don’t ask about his parents. “That’s a good language. So, we done here?”

  “No, I need one more thing.”

  He groans. “And what’s that, Rain?”

  “I need your help putting Ryan in his place.”

  “And what place is that, fille?”

  I smile. “Below me.” He chuckles. “Don’t laugh! I need to make a point. Otherwise, he and other kids will keep stomping on me. I may be breakable, but not if he’s too scared to come near me.”

  Ajax thinks for a long time before nodding and sighing, deeply. “So much for no drama. Alright, Rain, what do you need?”

  I smile. Yessssssss… Boys are gonna learn not to mess with me real fast.

  We set up the whole plan and it's perfect. It starts with Ajax telling Ryan that he filmed him attacking me and ends with me filming him trying to punch Ajax. I want Ryan expelled, I just don’t want my dad to do it. I want Ryan to know I did it. And that I could do it again.

  But I never get the chance, because the day we are supposed to do it, Ajax isn’t at school. He doesn’t show the next day either. I ask Katrina and she says he’s not in school anymore. It hurts my heart knowing why, knowing he got moved to another family again. I beg my dad to find out more but when I do, his eyes narrow.

  And I find out the truth.

  Ajax was accused of my attack.

  His family found out and had him moved.

  I cried in my room that night, wishing I knew where he was, wishing I could apologize and make things right for him. I cried knowing I was the reason that kind, sad boy had another crack in his broken heart—a broken heart we both shared. Because when you lose your parents or your parents hurt you, there’s always a crack in your heart, even if people try to mend it.

  It’s always there.

  5

  Rain

  Sixteen Years Old

  “Rain!” I faintly hear someone scream but it sounds far away.

  “Come here,” Dad growls, snatching me by my hair and dragging me across the tile.

  “No, please, hun. Let’s go to the bedroom,” Mom begs, tugging at Dad’s arm.

  He spins and punches her in the face. She falls to the ground. I don’t say anything because Dad will get mad but, in my head, I'm screaming for my mom. She tries to get up but Dad narrows his eyes at her, looking super evil.

  “Stand up, bitch and you’ll regret it.” When Mom still moves, he tugs harder at my hair, making me whimper. “And I don’t mean physically, Molly.”

  Mom’s head falls and she starts to cry. “Sii forte, Rain,” Mom whispers.

  I don’t know what she said but I just want her to stop crying. When Daddy lets me go, I look up at him, waiting for direction. He takes a book from the side table and hits me hard in the side, almost knocking me over. He does it over and over again, until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

  “Nightgown off. Then get in the punishment box. You’ve been a very bad girl.”

  I don’t know what I did, but no one argues with Daddy so I do as he says…

  “Rain!” I'm shaken hard. It’s hard to tell if it’s a dream or reality and my entire body tenses. “Rain, honey, you’re okay. You’re safe. Richard!” our live-in maid, Tami, yells.

  I shake my head and try to shake the dream from my mind. “It’s
fine. Don’t worry him.”

  Tami looks at my hair that I now have to cover with a hat or thick headband. On top of PTSD, I’ve been diagnosed with trichotillomania… a.k.a. hair-pulling disorder. I pull my hair out, y’all. It’s awful. I try so hard to control it, especially since I have such a passion for beauty. The disorder is ruining everything. The only people who know how bad it is and have seen me without head coverings are Dad, his staff, my therapist, my psychiatrist, and Katrina. I knew she wouldn’t judge me. Honestly, we’re practically sisters at this point. She knows everything about me (yes, everything) and I know everything about her.

  “Richard!” she yells again, making my blood boil.

  “I'm fine. Just leave it, Tami.”

  I turn and it’s then I realize I'm all the way downstairs. Shit. I sleepwalked again. Dropping my head, I absentmindedly run my hand through my hair and start to tug until a few pieces of hair come out with my hand. I know Tami texted Dad. He would never sleep through a text.

  Still, I make my way to my room on the other side of the house. I slept across from Dad until I was eleven and then it was mutually agreed that it was best I had some of my own space. I'm dragging my feet on the way there. God, the abuse ended eight years ago. Why are things getting worse?

  I sit on my bed and wait. Sure enough, a moment later, Dad knocks on my half-open door. He’s so respectful of my space and privacy. I really like that about him.

  “Yep, come in,” I grumble.

  His hair is sticking up and the shirt he threw on is crinkled. It makes me wish he weren’t so consumed with me and work. I wish he could find someone to love him, someone who could see him like this. He doesn’t let anyone see him in anything but a suit and in full work mode. There’s so much more to him.

  “Hey,” he whispers, leaning against the door frame.

  “Yup, hi.”

  He gives me a flat look at my attitude but lets it go, given the circumstances. He runs his hands through his hair again and sighs. I'm stiff as he makes his way to my bed and takes a seat beside me.

  “I don’t know how to help you,” he whispers. “It kills me to see you hurting.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s absolutely not fine.”

  “Dad, I just want to go to bed. I told Tami not to call you.”

  Dad’s not very affectionate but he hugs me in this moment… and I let him. I squeeze him tight, like I did when I was little and nothing could happen to me as long as I was near him.

  “I love you so much, Rain.”

  “I know. I love you too, Dad.”

  He kisses my forehead and gets up from the bed. He looks back once but he doesn’t know what to do so he leaves. Not to mention it’s like 1 a.m. I'm not going back to sleep tonight. Not after all that. I feel the urge to tug on my hair and pull it out, so I pull out my nail polish kit instead. Once my borderline obsession with beauty and fashion became extremely prevalent, my therapist suggested I try to pull out my nail polish kit when the urge to pull my hair out strikes. It’s something Dad used to do (although, he did a very shitty job—good memories) when I was little and upset. Obviously, that would be super weird now, but it’s something I can do. I find it therapeutic. Picking the colors. The style. The design. It’s like I get to pick who I want to be in that moment. I choose a hot pink color tonight. I paint all of my nails with two coats. I turn on YouTube while I wait for it to dry. I have a complete obsession with YouTube videos. It’s out of control. I watch them until the early hours of the morning. I hear Dad at 4:30 a.m. Every morning, like clockwork, the man goes to the gym—yes, we have one in the house; it’s wild. After the gym, he makes a protein shake. Showers. Gets dressed. Takes a call. Makes sure I'm up and getting ready for school. Eats a real breakfast. Tells me he loves me and to have a good day. Then he leaves. I mean, I swear, if there’s a textbook on success, he ticks every box. The man has his routine down.

  While he’s in the gym, I sneak downstairs. Gabriella arrives at 6 a.m. to get Dad’s breakfast ready, so I shoot her a quick text telling her to sleep in today and to come in for lunch. On the clock, of course. Gabriella, the chef, has gone above and beyond her work duties. She taught me to cook and taught me Italian when I was still young. I know Dad pays her well because he’s that kind of guy, but she’s never asked for anything when she’s helped me. So, any way I can help her I do, and I know Dad agrees with that. I pull eggs out of the fridge along with arugula and avocado. Out of the pantry, I grab some sourdough bread. I grill the sourdough in olive oil and spray another pan to cook the eggs. I hum quietly to myself as I get everything ready. I'm plating the avocado toast with fried eggs, arugula, and an olive oil drizzle when Dad walks in all sweaty to make his protein shake.

  “No shake today,” I tell him, leaning against the counter. “I made breakfast.”

  His smile lights up his face. He may be the strictest parent around, but I could never be mad about it because he loves me so much. He loves me in a way I’ll never understand. I’ve brought nothing but problems into his life.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Rain.” He smiles. “Did you text Gabriella?”

  See? We both adore her.

  “I did.”

  He looks down at himself. “Awesome. Let me shower real quick so I don’t ruin your sense of smell and I’ll hurry down. I’ll be fast. I don’t want your food to get cold.”

  “I’ll be counting. One, two, three…”

  With a chuckle, he turns on his heel and makes a run for the shower. He comes back eight minutes later, fully dressed in a suit and all. Men suck; they have it so easy. I spend at least forty-five minutes getting ready. He sits and we talk about random shit. I'm grateful he doesn’t mention my episode last night or the state of my hair without a band or wrap. He treats me like I'm normal and I'm so grateful for it. He may not have a lot of time to give me but when he does, I have his full attention. And that matters more.

  After breakfast, I get ready and head to school, where Katrina meets me to: one, fend off a couple of guys who like to hit on me when I first get to school, which I hate, and; two, to gossip about some guy she’s crushing on. We agree to have me do her hair and makeup tomorrow. Then she’s gonna ask him if he wants to go to the movies, because girl power, right? We’re all about it.

  She and Dad almost make me forget how fucked up I am.

  Almost.

  Ajax

  Seventeen Years Old

  Apparently, I'm getting adopted. I’ll believe it when I see it. Who adopts a kid who’s about to age out? I’ve been around the block before. I don’t trust this shit. But apparently, I am. The woman’s name is Rhonda, the man is Arthur, then they have a son, Anthony. My foot bounces rapidly, which my social worker notices.

  “It’s been a long journey, Ajax. This family will take good care of you. I promise.”

  “Hmm,” I grunt.

  She smiles a bit. “I first met you when you were a scrawny little thing. Look at you now.”

  I can’t help but be amused at that. After, I think, my fourth move, I became obsessed with bodybuilding and weightlifting. I’ve gained around fifty pounds since I started. Part of that is growing up, but the other part is lots of hard work. Lots of food. Lots of me working extra hours to afford extra food to fuel my muscles.

  The door creaks open and in walks a woman with cropped black hair and green eyes, a man with brown hair and brown eyes, and a dude my age with cropped black hair and brown eyes. He meets my eyes and lifts his chin.

  “I'm Anthony,” he says before his parents can speak. “And it looks like we’re gonna be brothers.”

  So, this is real. My heart starts beating faster. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a family again. That’s all I’ve secretly wanted. No one will be able to replace my parents. Ever. Because when you lose your parents, there’s always a crack in your heart. Even if people try to mend it.

  It’s always there.

  But maybe I won’t be invisible anymore. I give them a really awkwa
rd, small smile. I haven’t smiled in a long time. The muscles need to figure out how to work again. Rhonda steps forward and extends her hand.

  “Hi, hun, my name is Rhonda.”

  “I'm Ajax.”

  Arthur steps forward with a huff and says, “I'm Arthur.”

  He has cold eyes. I doubt he’ll be the fatherly type, but who cares? I may have a foster mom and foster brother. I’ve never had a brother. That would be amazing. I could have a family member that’s not tainted by a memory.

  That would be everything.

  If only they accept me.

  6

  Rain

  Twenty-Three Years Old

  I glance at my phone to see Katrina’s name on the screen. I smile. That girl has helped me so much from the time I was sixteen to now. I'm a much different person now. Yeah, I still have a list of issues, but I grew my hair back. I still have nightmares, but I don’t sleepwalk. I go to therapy on the regular. The biggest issues lie with my personal relationships. Katrina is my only friend and I’ve never been on a date. I flirt a lot and men flirt with me, thanks to my obsession with beauty. I need to feel put together at all times. My therapist says it’s because I feel so out of control on the inside that I like to paint a different picture on the outside. But yeah, whatever. I got sidetracked.

  “Hey, girl.”

  “So, I'm envisioning you walking around your mansion in four-inch heels eating steamed broccoli right now in a Gucci dress.”

  I burst out laughing. “Wow, you’re having fantasies of me. I'm flattered.”

  She laughs even harder. “Can’t be a fantasy when I'm not too far off.”

  She’s not. But they’re three-inch heels and I'm eating asparagus. My dress isn’t Gucci. It’s from Lulus. But still. She’s not wrong.

  “So, I know you’ve been wanting to meet Anthony.”

  Anthony’s her boyfriend. They’ve been dating for a while and I still haven’t met him. He’s apparently weird with his time, but I don’t believe that. I think he’s controlling as hell of Katrina’s time but I don’t want to make that judgement until I meet him.