The Beauty Beneath

by DC Renee

  Carter threw his head back and laughed. I might have watched, truly fascinated by him for a little too long, but hey, he didn’t notice.

  “All right, Em, tell me more about yourself,” he finally said after he finished laughing. “Tell me everything you can think of that I don’t already know and you think is relevant.”

  “That’s a vague statement,” I responded.

  “Anything.” He shrugged. “Tell me about your first crush or your childhood nickname. Anything really.”

  “I don’t even remember the name of my first crush.” I chuckled. “But I know I was in third grade.”

  “You mean I wasn’t your first crush?” he asked in mock shock as he put a hand over his heart.

  “You’re the first person I wanted to crush. Does that count?” I responded with my sweetest voice.

  “A first is a first.” He smiled.

  I shook my head in response. “Let’s see, childhood nickname … well, kids aren’t really nice. I was called ‘Freak,’ ‘Goth Girl,’ which doesn’t really make sense since I’m not gothic at all. ‘Nerd’ was a popular one, but I didn’t mind that one. ‘Fugly,’ was my favorite. That one stuck around for a while. Oh, there was this one kid that called me ‘Butt Face Fatty.’”

  “Fuck, Em,” Carter cut me off. I looked into his face and saw the pity written across it. I didn’t want his pity.

  “It wasn’t all bad,” I told him to wipe that look from his face. “My dad used to call me Sunshine.”

  “Oh, like the song.” He nodded as if he understood.

  “No,” I told him. “Because of my hair.” He looked at me strangely, and I knew it was because the wig I had been wearing ever since I met Carter was pitch black and looked like I had a bowl cut. My eyebrows gave away my natural hair color if anyone paid enough attention, but they were half-hidden behind my typical eye makeup and my goofy glasses.

  “I was blond when I was little.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal. I was still blond, but Carter would never know that. “He used to tell me that when I was born, the sun shined so brightly that day, announcing to the whole world that his little princess had arrived. And the rays hit my hair, turning it the perfect shade of golden so that every time my dad looked at me, he’d see the sun.”

  “You loved your dad,” he said it as a statement and not a question, but I still said, “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Em,” he told me, and I nodded in response. We stayed silent and somber for a moment before I announced it was time to watch the movie.

  We ended up arguing over which movie to watch and then settled on Lucky Number Slevin. We sat on the same couch, but we never touched. He had a small bowl of popcorn, and I had mine.

  “Thanks, Carter. That was fun,” I said when the movie was over, and he insisted on walking me out. I tried to tell him I could handle the walk to my car all by myself, but he didn’t even bother responding, just led me out.

  “Yeah, it was. Let’s do it again,” he told me as he leaned against my car, preventing me from getting in.

  “Sure,” I responded, knowing he was just being polite.

  “No, I mean, let’s do this again next week. We’ll make it a tradition.”

  “I … uh … we’re only going to be in each other’s lives for another couple of months.”

  “You know that’s not true,” he said, and I literally lost the ability to breathe. That was the plan. He wasn’t going to remain in my life for more than what was necessary. “We can do your place next week if you want. We’ll switch it up. And Beth might end up joining us. I had to fight her not to come today.”

  He was rambling, but I caught it all. “Beth,” I said because that was the only thing my mouth could form.

  “Yeah, she said something about loving to watch us banter. I didn’t really get it. Girl stuff, I guess.” He shrugged one shoulder and looked at me as if I understood.

  “Carter, we’re not making this a tradition.”

  “Yeah, Em, we are,” he said it with such finality that I literally shut my mouth. Like my mouth was open one moment, then lips pressed together the next. It was probably comical, but it totally wasn’t. “Drive safe,” he said before I could respond. “Text me when you get home.”

  “What are you? My dad?”

  “Your friend.”

  “I don’t do friends,” I tried again even though I knew it would be pointless.

  “Yeah, yeah. Haven’t you figured out by now that I always get my way? You’re my friend, so deal with it. We’re doing this again next week even if I have to force my way into your home and stuff the food down your throat. Deal with that too.”

  “Having friends sucks,” I muttered.

  “You love it.” He smirked. And I did. I really did. But I hated it too.

  “You suck,” I said as I stuck my tongue out. Real mature, I know.

  “That’s one I’ve never heard before. I usually hear, ‘you rock.’”

  “You rock? Really? Are the girls you hook up with stuck in the eighties?”

  “Okay, okay, smartass.” He chuckled, pushed off the car, and then lightly brushed my cheek with his lips. “Bye, Em,” he said and walked away as I stood stunned. The first time, I thought it was because he felt bad about the douche at his sister’s party. Now, I realized this might be yet another tradition I’d have to get used to. I guess I could suck it up and endure this hardship. I mean, if I had to, of course. If I had no other choice. Oh, who was I kidding? I enjoyed the warmth his lips left on my skin entirely too much. I finally got into my car and drove home with a stupid smile on my face.

  I was home for about twenty minutes when my phone chimed. You forgot to text me you got home safe.

  Sorry, I responded. I was too busy being killed by an ax murderer.

  Ha-ha. At least, he didn’t kill your sense of humor, he said a moment later.

  And deprive you? Never. Good night, C. I texted him.

  Sweet dreams, Em, his text said. And I really hoped I would have sweet dreams, but I wasn’t sure what would win out – my guilt or my happiness. But for once in my life, I hoped happiness would defeat my guilt.

  Twelve

  Carter

  I had been working on a big case that had been a pain in my ass for some time. I worked in entertainment law, and most of the time, things were easy. But every so often, we got clients who seemed to fit every cliché there was about Hollywood. So this particular case was one I hadn’t looked forward to. Many long nights had gone into working it, but Monday afternoon, I’d received the final documents I needed.

  I literally wanted to jump for joy. I was so glad to be done with that case, rid of it, off my damn plate. The first thing I did was to, no joke, hiss, “Yes,” very loudly. The second thing I did was lift my phone, found the number, and waited for an answer.

  “Don’t you work?” Emerson’s teasing voice held a hint of annoyance.

  “Too much, Em,” I responded with truth. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I added with a smile.

  “Let me guess, you need me to be somewhere with you. When?” I could physically hear the irritation in her voice. I didn’t know why, but it made my smile wider.

  “Yep, we need to celebrate.”

  “Huh?”

  “I just got the final documents on this crap case I’ve been working on.”

  “That’s great, C,” she said and sounded genuine. “But what does it have to do with me?”

  “I … uh ...” Hmm. What did it have to do with her? I mean, I picked up the phone and called the first person I wanted to share my news with. And apparently, it had been her. It’s almost as if somehow I knew she’d be more congratulatory or more understanding than my friends. Beth would have too, but she was family. That meant she was proud of me regardless. Emerson’s opinion of me meant something. “I wanted to share the news with you,” I told her honestly. “And we’re going out tonight to celebrate.”

  “Carter, really, I’m happy for you. And I’d love to he
ar all the details. But in case you didn’t realize this yet, I’m not the going out type.”

  “You do great in social settings,” I told her.

  “Fake it ‘til you make it,” she muttered.

  “Okay, fine, dinner at my place?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t you rather hang out with your friends? Or Beth?”

  “You are my friend, Em,” I answered with frustration.

  “Would it be pointless for me to argue with you?”

  “If I said yes, would you give up this stupid conversation and never bring it up again? We sound like a broken record.”

  “Fine, whatever,” she responded, and I could actually hear her huff on the other end. My lips curled up at the ends on their own accord. “Well, then, I’m cooking you dinner to celebrate. That’s the least I could do,” she tacked on.

  “Are you trying to poison me?” I asked, chuckling at my own joke.

  “Hardy-har. So funny. For your information, I am a pretty damn good cook.”

  “Anyone alive to vouch for that?” I teased her.

  “You can celebrate all on your own if you’d like,” she snapped.

  I laughed in response. “Okay, I’ll be at your place at seven. Is that enough time?”

  “Yeah,” she said and hung up without so much as a good-bye. Damn. That girl managed to entertain me every time.

  When I got to her place, I thought it only nice to bring a bottle of wine. I figured it would be good with dinner. But when I walked through the door, she laughed at me.

  “I didn’t expect you to drink the kiddie stuff.”

  “Here I am, not coming empty handed like my mama taught me, and you’re making fun of me,” I retorted.

  “I work for a liquor distributor, C. I might not go out and party, but I’ve had my fair share of drinking disasters.”

  “Oh, do share.”

  “Yeah, another night,” she said as she opened up a cabinet and put a vodka bottle on the table.

  “Going for the big guns, eh? All right, I’m game. If you can keep up,” I taunted her for fun.

  “It’s you who’s going to have to keep up,” she responded with a smile. “Shot before dinner?” she asked as she poured us two shots.

  “Sure, why not?” We both clinked our shot glasses, and I watched as she downed hers without even flinching. I had to physically restrain myself to keep from making an “oh shit, that burns” face. “Smells delicious,” I told her as I walked around the counter and looked at the chicken in a skillet and pasta in a pot.

  “Chicken Marsala with angel hair pasta,” she said as she made us two plates and handed them to me as she grabbed a salad from the counter.

  We walked over to her small kitchen table, and we spent the evening talking about work. I told her all about my case in gruesome details. Okay, so I was venting a bit. But she listened, commented at the right moments, and actually cheered me on whenever I talked about the things I had accomplished successfully. I learned more about her work, how she ended up where she was, stories about her boss, and I even got her to tell me one of her “drunken disasters.”

  It went something like Don, her boss, had found out she hadn’t gotten drunk on tequila and declared it a sin not to have puked your guts out from too many tequila shots. So he kept plying her with them, promised to watch her when she got shitfaced, but apparently, she somehow gave him the slip. Ended up passed out on a bench in his backyard, but he hadn’t thought to check back there, so he went looking for her all night. Only ended up finding her after he finally heard the buzzing of her cell phone over an hour later.

  “That’s not too bad,” I told her. “You should hear some of my stories.”

  “So tell me,” she responded.

  I ended up regaling her with all the mischief my friends and I got into when we were younger. We were laughing hard by the time we finished with dinner. And by the way? She wasn’t a “pretty damn good cook.” She was phenomenal. And her homemade chocolate chip cheesecake? I think heaven was made out of that stuff.

  I definitely felt like I could float on air from all the alcohol we consumed, and if I was any indication, she was heavily buzzed by the time we cleaned up and decided to watch a movie.

  I wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but I must have fallen asleep. Because one minute, I was watching some action movie, and the next, an earthquake was waking me up.

  I snapped my eyes open and groaned, already feeling the effects of a hangover. It was still dark out, but it was starting to get light. The last thing I remembered before my eyes closed of their own volition was looking down at Emerson. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell with a steady beat as her body was angled toward me, almost snuggling into my side. I vaguely remembered not minding that at all – her using me as her pillow, which was something I wasn’t used to. I was seeing her softer side, and I liked how I could almost believe she felt safe with me. She was just a vulnerable girl letting her guard down as a peaceful sleep settled around her. I liked that. I liked it very much. And then I must have dozed off.

  “What happened?” I asked as Emerson kept shaking me.

  “Carter, you have to leave.” She spoke urgently, but my fuzzy head wasn’t comprehending.

  “My head is fucking killing me. You have any ibuprofen?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll give you some, but you have to go. Now.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s already five a.m. We both must have fallen asleep. Please, Carter, get up. Go.”

  “It’s okay.” I tried to calm her down. “I can just take a quick shower here then swing by my place and grab some clothes on the way to work. That will buy me at least an hour more of sleep,” I told her.

  “Carter, you can’t shower here. You can’t be here.”

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “My mom will see you here,” she responded.

  “Huh? Wait, what? And why is that a bad thing?”

  “Don’t worry about it, but please, please, Carter, I’m asking you to leave now.”

  “All right, all right, I’m getting up. You owe me, though.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, I owe you. Now, go.”

  “Ibuprofen first,” I demanded, and she practically ran down the hall to her bathroom before bringing me some pills as I grabbed a water from her fridge.

  “Thanks, Em,” I said as I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for celebrating with me. And thanks for kicking me out,” I said with a teasing smile.

  “You’re just bitter because the tables have turned, and for once, a girl is kicking you out instead of vice versa.” It could have sounded harsh coming from anyone but her. Yet she managed to make comments like that sound fun and playful. And her wide smile also gave away that she was messing with me.

  “Okay, got me there. You still owe me. Bye, Em,” I said as I headed out. And I swear I saw her shoulders actually sag in relief as I walked out. Now, that wasn’t a reaction I got from girls … ever. If I wanted to figure her out before, I wanted to figure her out tenfold now. And I would. Slowly, I would.

  Thirteen

  Emerson

  Don’t call me an angel

  I’ve never been one

  Don’t call me a princess

  So you can keep your tongue

  I don’t hold back

  I don’t even try

  I am who I am

  Don’t ask me why

  I sang the words as I scrubbed my body, humming lightly between lines. The song wasn’t amazing, but the lyrics had come to me as I thought about the previous night. Carter and I had downed way too many shots. I had a killer headache when I woke, but Don’s special cure and a couple of ibuprofen helped it subside significantly.

  I didn’t mind the hangover aftereffects because some kickass stories usually preceded it. Even with my extremely limited social capabilities, I’d still gotten into some tricky situations a handful of times. Too bad, I never had anyone to share those with until last nig
ht. I’m pretty sure I told Carter too many things about myself. But we were laughing and joking, and the alcohol had completely numbed my nagging guilt, so I was having a grand ole time.

  Then we bickered over a movie, finally settled on one, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up because I was ridiculously hot. I tried to throw the covers off my body without opening my eyes, but when my hand skimmed across another hand that wasn’t mine, my eyes snapped open.

  The reason for me being hot? I was wrapped in my own personal Carter blanket. My mother hugged me, sure, and even then, it was practically against my will. And on very rare occasions, Don hugged me too. But that was it. Until Carter came into my life. It was starting to seem like Carter was responsible for a ton of new changes in my life.

  For a brief moment, I allowed myself to stay in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder, our legs slightly intertwined. I was still hot but in a completely different way. I could hear his heartbeat beneath the shallow rise and fall of his chest. I felt the hard ridges of his body. And I noticed the way his arms held me tightly and gently at the same time.

  I might have checked out of the real world, choosing to live in my bubble, hidden by my mask, but I was still a red-blooded woman. And this red-blooded woman felt incredibly alive for a few seconds until I realized the severity of the situation.

  And then it hit me that I was cuddling with Carter. That was like the ultimate “getting close” to a person. I sat up quickly and ran my hands over my body, realizing that if I had stayed in Carter’s arms as he woke up, he’d get a feel for my body, a body I tried desperately to cover up. And shit! Where were my glasses? I found them on the floor and put them on as fast as humanly possible, only to realize my wig was crooked. After some adjusting, my panic subsided only temporarily. But I had come very close to something that was way too personal. And what if he’d caught me while little bits of the real me were poking out? And to top that all off, my mom was going to be here soon. I needed to get rid of any traces of someone being here with me.