Flawed Beauty

by Potter, LR

  With a deep, exasperated sigh, he said, “Tanga, we’ve discussed this. Nothing in life is free. We all have to do our part. This is your part. If you think about it, it’s really a small thing to do for your family. Don’t you think?”

  “But I’m scared,” she said, still unconvinced.

  Firmly, he stated, “You will do as you are told. I don’t want you to bat an eyelash if the man wants you take off your nightgown. You hear me, girl?”

  “I think this is wrong, Daddy. Please don’t make me do this, please!”

  “You listen to me, you little tramp. You will do as you are told. Don’t make me force you…”

  Tate woke up with a gasp. She slid a hand over her face to discover tears. What would make her have this dream? She should have gone back to see Dr. Randall. She assumed it had to do with the kiss between Jace and the redhead. But that was innocent.

  With a flip of her head, she glanced at the clock radio, four thirty-three. With the palm of her hand, she thumped her forehead. Two hundred twenty-two dollars and thirty-three cents, the cost of her software package! Crawling out of the bed, she clicked on the lamp and padded into the kitchen. Earlier the day before, she’d gotten a newspaper. With a quick flick of her wrist, she snapped open the paper and began searching for another part-time job. There had to be something she could do to make some extra money. As she combed the ads, her hopes began to wane. Her time was so limited, what with going to college fulltime and working at night and during the weekend mornings. When was she supposed to squeeze in another job?

  She shoved the paper onto the floor and snapped on her laptop. With a few strokes of the keypad, she entered into a help-wanted website. As she scrolled down, she saw in big, bold letters: WANTED – younger companion for older gentleman; all expenses paid.

  Her heart began to pound and her hands began to sweat. Fragments of her earlier dream, mixed with the ad, forced Mr. Smith into her mind.

  She swallowed convulsively as she waited for Mr. Smith to arrive. She glanced down at the nightgown she wore. She was startled to realize its sheer fabric had become see-through in the bright lights of the room. Tears welled up in her eyes and splashed onto the sheer material. Her head snapped up when the door opened. Her father entered first, followed by an older, bald man. He had a grey mustache which seemed to curl at the ends. He smiled as he made his way towards her.

  She wanted to turn from his gaze – a gaze which made her uncomfortable; unclean even, but she didn’t dare. There would be hell to pay if she so much as flinched. As he neared, his smell reminded her of her grandmother’s house – old and stale. She held her breath when he reached out a hand and tipped her face up to his. He smiled down at her.

  “Why, aren’t you the prettiest little thing?” Mr. Smith straightened, and addressing his question to her father, asked, “Can I see her without that thing on?”

  “Of course. Tanga, go ahead, honey, take off the nightgown. Show Mr. Smith how pretty you are.”

  The tears really started to fall now, but fear had her trembling hands unbuttoning the gown and allowed it to fall.

  “Now, spin around like we practiced, sweetheart,” her father said encouragingly.

  Her body infused with bright color, but she slowly moved in a tight circle. When her back was to Mr. Smith and her father, she felt a hand touch her on shoulder.

  “Hey, no touching until the deal is done,” she heard her father say.

  “How… long do I get to keep her as my… my… my companion?” Mr. Smith choked.

  “We’ll discuss that in the next room,” her father answered simply.

  “And she’s never been… touched?”

  “Never.”

  With her head bowed, she heard Mr. Smith say, “I don’t know, the price is a little steep. How do I know she’ll be worth it?”

  “Mr. Smith, we are not bargaining here. I have someone else coming tomorrow. Either you want her or you don’t. But there can only be one first. The next time, the price may be less, but the reward of being first will be gone. The choice is yours.”

  “What time is the next appointment tomorrow?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “Five o’clock.”

  “Let me think about it, it’s a lot of money. I’ll let you know before five, okay?”

  “As you wish,” her father answered.

  With a violent thrust of her hand, Tate swept her laptop onto the floor. Why? Why would her father subject her to that? He was her father. The man who was supposed to protect her from men such as Mr. Smith, not encourage it – solicit it, even. With a sob, Tate laid her head down on her forearm and cried. She hated herself for allowing what happened nearly ten years before affect her so deeply. All the many counselors she’d seen over the years had told her not to let it define her life. But what choice did she have? It had defined her life. She’d lost not only her naïve innocence, but also the only family she’d ever known – no matter how deviant they’d been.

  The words of her father once more passed through her mind: But there can only be one first. The next time, the price may be less, but the reward of being first will be gone. The choice is yours. She wished with all her heart she’d been given a choice on who her first would be. But she hadn’t. While she’d been saved from the clutches of Mr. Smith, she’d had her virginity stolen by the equally cruel Nick Tracey. The string of others who followed him hadn’t really been her choice; but a necessity. Not that it had helped salve her wounds, no matter how many times she tried to obliterate the image of Nick above her, panting, holding her shoulders down tightly, with the bodies of others.

  She was dirty, stained, no good. How many times had she heard those words? Jace wouldn’t want her if he knew. She could already see the disgust marring his smooth features. She couldn’t take that. She didn’t know what to do anymore. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. She’d been taking care of herself for such a long time and she was tired. She’d guarded herself against this very thing. She was so stupid!

  Scrubbing the tears from her face, Tate, not caring it was five in the morning, moved to the cabinet and removed the bottle of Jim Beam she’d gotten as a gift from Zek last Christmas. Removing the packaging, she grabbed a glass and pounded the fiery liquid. She poured another measure and walked woodenly back to her bedroom. She’d have to break it off with Jace. He deserved someone much better than Patanga Moon – someone whose father hadn’t tried to sell her to the highest bidder.

  She opened the door to her medicine cabinet and withdrew the pills she sometimes used to sleep. She so wanted to sleep and not think about her father, Mr. Smith, the two hundred, twenty-seven dollars, and thirty-three cents, Nick Tracey, or even Jace. Jace, who would surely be lost to her if he discovered who she really was. While she normally only took one, today, she decided to double the amount. She read the directions, which recommended two tablets anyway, so she shoved the pills into her mouth and drank the whiskey in her glass. With a heavy heart, she crawled back into her bed and sobbed – deep, wrenching sobs.

  There was a play of light and shadow in the enclosed space. A constant sound of dripping water seemed to echo throughout the massive area. The humid air smelled dank with an underlying hint of vegetation. Up above was an angel with glowing hair. The angel held her by her wrist and spun her round and round. Laughter welled up inside her and spilled from her lips. Her head swam as the angel continued going round and round. Gradually, the spinning decreased, then stopped. She swayed on her feet, liking the dizzying sensation in her head.

  The angel patted her cheek and said, “You are so beautiful, like a little doll.”

  “I’m not a doll,” she answered, “I’m a dandelion.”

  Hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her, then hands slapping her sharply against her cheeks slowly brought Tate back into consciousness. She desperately wanted to remain in the large room with the angel. She’d had that dream repeatedly over her lifetime. It made her happy. In her youth, she wondered if the dream meant deep do
wn she had a death wish. Now, she just took it as the soothing balm it was.

  More slaps against her cheeks, then a harsh, clipped voice began to shout her name, “Tate. Damn it, Tate. Wake up!”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. As she squinted against the light in the room, she saw Jace leaning over her, his mouth set in a grim line. She saw tendrils of panic in his face. What was wrong? What could have upset him so much? When he once again began to slap her face, she clumsily brushed his hand away. The slapping hurt, damn it.

  “Tate, can you hear me? What did you take?”

  Her brain foggy, she struggled to sit up, but he kept pushing her back down.

  “Damn it, Jace. Let me up,” she slurred.

  “What did you take, Tate?” he demanded.

  Take? What kind of a question was that? Then she remembered. “Sleeping tablets,” she murmured.

  “How many?” he asked brusquely.

  What was his problem? He was beginning to make her mad. “Two, damn you. I took two.”

  “How long ago did you take them?”

  Lifting a hand slowly to her brow, she struggled to concentrate. “What time is it now?” she asked groggily.

  “Eight,” came the clipped answer.

  “Don’t you have to work this morning?”

  “Eight p.m., Tate. It’s nighttime.”

  “Eight… at night? How can that be?” she muttered to herself.

  Jace slapped her cheeks again.

  “Damn it, Jace. Stop that.”

  This time, more forcibly, she pushed his hands away and struggled into a sitting position. She struggled to lick her lips, to relieve the overwhelming cotton-mouth she possessed.

  “Can I have a glass of water, please?”

  Jace grabbed the glass off her dresser and raised it to his nose.

  “Really, Tate? Sleeping pills and booze do not mix. You know better. What were you thinking?”

  Ignoring his question, she said again, “Water, please.”

  With a huff, he stamped off into the bathroom. Within seconds, he returned with the glass filled with water.

  She took the glass and was surprised to see how shaky her hands were. She drank greedily – glad to be able to lick her dry, chapped lips. Her head began to clear as she drank. She watched Jace over the rim of her glass. He paced back and forth while continually running a hand through his short-cropped dark hair. It was no secret he was exasperated.

  “I must have overslept. I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He stopped suddenly and spun to her, anger like bright lights shooting from his eyes.

  “What the hell is going on here, Tate? I come by at seven and don’t get an answer. You don’t answer your cell phone. I look inside and see your laptop smashed on the floor. I break down your door, expecting to find you dead – hacked up into little pieces or something. But no, instead, I find you passed out cold. I don’t understand. Please make me understand. Please tell me you weren’t trying to kill yourself… or that you don’t have some sort of drug/alcohol problem. I mean, you refuse to tell me anything about yourself… so I really don’t know.” He ended abruptly and inhaled deeply in an obvious attempt to regain some internal balance.

  “I wasn’t…. I didn’t… I don’t,” she stammered.

  “Well, please tell what the hell is going on,” he shouted.

  Thinking of all the reasons she’d taken the sleeping pills, she couldn’t find one she was willing to share with him. She studiously avoided his eyes and remained silent.

  With a shouted oath, he stormed out of the room. Her hands began to tremble even more, so she set the glass down on the bedside table. She scrubbed her face with her hands. Her fit of anger and self-pity had been costly. It’d cost her a laptop and most likely, Jace. Not that he was ever hers to begin with.

  Her head snapped back up when she saw Jace storm back into the room.

  “Why is there no damn food in this house? How do you eat? Do you even bother to eat? Get up now and get dressed. I’m taking you to my place so you can eat.”

  Deep color infused her cheeks. She was embarrassed that he’d found out she couldn’t even afford food.

  “I don’t….”

  He cut her off before she got three words out of her mouth.

  “I don’t give a damn what you do or don’t want. You obviously have no idea how to take care of yourself. Instead of buying that bottle of booze and those pills, did you ever consider buying some food?” he admonished.

  “It wasn’t… it was a gift…” she once again stumbled for the words to make him stop being so angry.

  “Just get up and get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen. You have five minutes, Tate. Five minutes or I’ll take you as you are.” With those words, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

  She felt better once she splashed cold water on her face. She felt even more human once she brushed her teeth and hair. Well within her allotted time, she entered into the living room to find Jace sitting at her kitchen table, trying to piece together her laptop.

  He looked up and glared at her, but not as severely as before.

  “I put a piece of cardboard in the windowpane for now. Tomorrow, I’ll have someone come out and replace the glass. I don’t think your laptop is salvageable though.” With forced calm, he asked, “What happened here, Tate?”

  With a shrug of her shoulders, she answered quietly, “I was angry about something and took it out on my laptop, unfortunately.”

  “What? What could make you so angry? Did something happen?”

  Looking down at the smashed laptop, she couldn’t help think of yet another expense she couldn’t afford – but this one had been at her own hand. She sighed heavily.

  She pursed her lips and made a study out of picking at her hangnail. “I needed some money for school and I couldn’t find a job that worked in my timeframe – it just… upset me.”

  He stared at her a long time trying to understand her answer. “So smashing your laptop helped how, exactly?” he asked sarcastically.

  With a small shake of her head, she said, “Not at all. Anger cometh before a fall,” she quoted.

  “What did you need the money for?” he asked.

  She felt her hackles begin to rise at this line of questioning. She’d never accept money from him – if this was where the conversation was headed.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. Now how about that food you promised me?”

  He studied her for a long time. “You misquoted,” he said softly.

  “What?” she asked, trying to understand his comment.

  “You misquoted, it’s not anger which comes before the fall… it’s pride.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, but made no comment. He rose from his seat and slowly made his way to her. He tenderly wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on top of hers.

  “You scared me, Tate. I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you forever. Please don’t ever do that again, okay?” he whispered.

  Her eyes prickled and she blinked to fight back the tears which threatened. She couldn’t remember a time when someone was actually concerned about her wellbeing. She swallowed and almost soundlessly whispered back, “Okay.”

  They didn’t speak on the drive to Jace’s apartment, but he reached over and tugged her hand into his. The contact of his flesh against hers was so comforting. He’d called in an order for pizza while she’d been getting ready, so they swung by first and picked it up. She had to admit, the aroma of the pizza in the confines of the car was almost her undoing. She’d not realized how hungry she was.

  The pizza was just as good as the smell had promised. She ate three slices before the gnawing in her stomach ceased. He grinned at her as she ate… and she grinned back. They were taking their plates back to the sink when his phone rang. Slipping it out of his pocket, he sighed when he read the display.

  “I’m sorry, it’s the hospital, I gotta take it,” he said as he pu
nched the connect button.

  “Dr. Staton,” he answered as he walked away from her into the privacy of another room.

  While she waited, Tate rinsed their plates and loaded them into the dishwasher. She was drying her hands when he reappeared, his expression grim.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to go the hospital.”

  “Oh, ok. No problem. Go. I’ll get myself home.”

  “No, I’d rather you waited for me. I’ll take you home when I get back. I’d worry otherwise. Okay?”

  Against her better judgment, she nodded her acquiescence. He gave her a quick tour of the apartment.

  “Please make yourself at home. My roommate is out of town for a couple of weeks – so no worries there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be fine. Do you mind if I borrow your laptop?”

  “As long as you don’t throw it on the floor, of course not,” he teased.

  As she blushed at his comment, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

  “I’m sorry, this isn’t how I envisioned this night, at all.”

  “It’s fine, don’t worry… go,” she said, pushing him towards the door. He kissed her quickly and rushed out.

  After he left, Tate wandered aimlessly through the apartment. In the living room, she spied several photographs. She assumed they were taken by Sean Devlin, Jace’s roommate. Jace had been right; he was good. He made good use of both light and subject. There was one framed picture of the surf pounding over a group of boulders. The sun had caught the splashes of water and turned them into diamonds. It was spectacular. She moved further down the bookcase and inspected each of his photos; he had natural talent. She wondered if he’d been professionally trained.

  The last photo had been taken while on a family vacation. There were, what she assumed to be, a mother, father, and either a sister, or girlfriend, all huddled together in front of an orange sign. They all carried the same relaxing, bright smiles. She brought the picture closer and the sign looked familiar; The Lost Sea, Sweetwater, Tennessee. Where had she seen it before? To her knowledge, she’d never been outside Illinois until she came to Gainesville. Absently, as she stared she rubbed a hand against the tightening knot growing in her stomach. Almost in self-defense, she shoved the picture back onto the bookcase and backed away from it. A shiver ran through her body. She assumed it had to do with the sleeping pills from earlier or maybe having not eaten for nearly twenty-four hours and then gorging herself. With a small shake of her head, she moved away.