"Thanks." she said, without looking up. She just wanted to get out of the hallway and away from the mocking eyes of her peers.
"No problem," Graham replied. "You don't seem to have the best luck sometimes, huh?"
Maisie's head snapped up, locking eyes with him. He was grinning that grin at her again, and as much as she was mortified that he was witnessing her disaster, the fact that he'd stopped to help her urged her forward.
"I guess not, I can't believe it broke open like that," she said, shaking her head.
"Yeah, well they don't put a lot of effort into making these things," he told her. Having collected what they could, they both stood and he once again turned to leave. Maisie took a deep breath and summoned all the courage she could muster.
"Um, Graham? I was wondering if you might want to go get some ice cream after school? You know, as a thank you for helping me." she added, smiling. She may have appeared calm on the outside, but inside everything was screaming at her to retreat, that she was a fool for even attempting such a thing. He was gonna say no. Of course he'd say no. Maybe if she took it back right now, they could pretend like she never asked. She opened her mouth to do just that, when he replied.
"Sure. I'll talk to my girlfriend, Stacey, and see if she wants to bring a few people too, we can make it a group thing," he answered, smiling back.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces, disappointment flooding over her. He had a girlfriend. And why wouldn't he? He was handsome, athletic, kind. The real deal. But at least he hadn't said no to hanging out with her.
"That sounds really nice. Thanks, Graham."
"I gotta run or I'm gonna be late for class. Thanks for the invite and we'll do that one day after school this week, okay? Have a good one, sport." He patted her on the shoulder and left, leaving her staring after him trying not to be crushed with the weight of rejection she felt. One day, she would be the one that was chosen. One day, she'd be the girlfriend, the one that mattered in someone's life. Or so she hoped.
Present Day
A few weeks after submitting her application for the art showcase, Maisie got the call informing her that her date to bring in her work for inspection was just a couple weeks away. Nerves ate at her as she finally had to face that it was really happening. Her shot was in her grasp, she just had to be brave enough to take it. It was difficult to not get her hopes up, but if she was selected, it would truly be a dream come true. Her landscape painting was still not completed, however, she didn't want to rush herself. She instead flipped back to working on her painting of Brant, and in no time at all, was putting the finishing on his portrait.
She decided to make his favorite meal and show him the painting that night at dinner. It would be a perfect lead in to explain about the upcoming art show and her submission. She spent the rest of the day in the kitchen, whipping up garlic baby potatoes, Caesar salad with real bacon bits, and stuffed chicken breasts. On a whim, she decided to make her specialty, bacon wrapped scallops for an appetizer. She had a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge for herself and after checking, was happy to see that he still had a full case of beer, which saved her from making a trip to the dreaded beer store.
At five p.m., she took a quick shower to rinse off and then spent a little extra time getting ready. She curled her long hair until it cascaded down her back in loose curls, then applied a fresh face of make-up. Slipping on her pink, lace overlay dress, she looked in the mirror and was satisfied that she actually looked pretty. The dress was one of her favorites, she hadn't had many opportunities to wear it yet, so that made the night extra special.
When she heard the front door open downstairs, she sucked in a calming breath and headed down to greet Brant. He looked up at her when she came down the stairs, and for once, he smiled at her. A real smile.
"Hi," she said. "Did you have a nice day?"
"It was shit," he admitted, tugging off his coat and dropping his keys onto the entryway table. "You look nice. Are we going out and I forgot about it?" he asked. The compliment surprised Maisie, yet sent a warm glow through her all the same. It was a welcome change for him to treat her with kindness instead of lashing out at her.
"Thank you. No, I just felt like dressing up, I made chicken for dinner," she told him, giggling a little when his eyes lit up. He was in a great mood and she couldn't have been happier, this was the perfect night to give him his gift.
The meal was pleasant, they chatted about their days and he actually listened to a few funny stories from her about customers trying to order drinks for other people and the way they butchered the names of the different offerings. He shared with her a few comical tales about new people on the job site and how most couldn't tell their ass from a hardhat.
When Brant offered to help tidy up the dishes, she nearly died and actually wondered for a fleeting moment what heinous act he'd committed that he was trying to atone for before she found out about it.
"No, no, you sit down, I've got this. Actually, I have something for you. A gift," she told him shyly. Raising his eyebrows, he took a swig of his beer.
"A gift? What's the occasion? I don't have anything for you, Maisie. If it's our anniversary and you didn't remind me in order to make me look stupid..." he began but she hurried to correct him.
"It's nothing like that, I promise. This is just something I've had in the works for awhile and it's finally ready."
"Well, let's see your little surprise then. I must say, you have me intrigued, Maisie." He sat back in his seat with his beer while she hurried to the living room. Drawing the painting out from behind the couch where she'd hidden it, she took one last look at it and then prepared herself. God, she hoped he liked it.
Proceeding with caution, she re-entered the kitchen, and placed the painting on the table in front of him. It was an oil painting of him standing on their front porch. His arm casually leaned on one of the beams, and his hair was still slightly wet from his shower. She'd managed to capture tiny droplets of water on the back of his neck. The intensity of his blue eyes are what she loved about the painting, they were such a unique color. He appeared relaxed and carefree. It was one of her favorite photos of him, which is why she chose to bring it to life on canvas. Nerves ate at her as the fear of finally gathering the courage to show him her work crept in.
Brant stared down at the painting silently, no expression on his handsome face. Her fingers found their way to her mouth as she worried her non-existent nails into bits of nothing.
"What the fuck is this shit?" he burst out, his tone harsh. Maisie took two steps back in shock, fearful of the fury in his eyes. "What, you fucking deaf as well as dumb? Answer me."
"I—I—I painted it for you," she stammered out quickly, not wanting to incite his anger any further.
He looked at her with disgust. "Painting is a waste of your time like I fucking told you, Maisie. I thought you'd put all this crap behind you." He closed the space between them, forcing her head back to meet his stare.
"Playing with brushes all damn day isn't going to get you anywhere. You need to get off that lazy ass of yours and do some real work for once. Is this why you're still working at that damn coffee shop instead of finding a real job? Too busy coloring all day to put in any effort?" He picked up his beer and dumped the remaining liquid over the painting, destroying all of her hard work, her blood sweat and tears in just that one movement. Tossing the empty bottle aside, he ignored her gasp of dismay and advanced on her.
"Next time you get the idea to get someone a gift, make sure its something they'd actually want, not some over-sized page from a coloring book. Clean this shit up." he ordered and left the room. Maisie did as she was told as silent tears tracked down her cheeks. Her hopes, her dreams, her ambitions, all shattered with just a few hateful words. Why did she even bother? Nothing she ever did was or would be good enough. He was right, she was nothing but lazy and worthless, no matter how hard she tried. She carried the ruined painting over to the trash and lifting the lid, deposit
ed it inside. Snapping it closed, she said goodbye to another little piece of her soul.
She heard the front door slam and was momentarily grateful that he'd decided to leave. Although she was crushed that he didn't love the painting, him sticking around and berating her over it would only make her feel worse about herself, if that was possible. Sighing, she turned on the kitchen sink and let it fill up with soapy water. Carrying over the dishes, she got to work packing up what was left over from dinner into tupperware and storing it all in the fridge. There was enough left for Brant to take some for his lunch the following day, maybe that would earn her back a few points in his eyes.
Distracted, she didn't hear Brant come back in. Suddenly, her hair was yanked from behind and she flew clear off her feet, landing on the tiled floor in a heap, her head smacking painfully off the hard surface. Dazed, she blinked several times, trying to bring the room back into focus. Brant's face swam above her, his mouth was moving but she couldn't make out the words over the ringing in her ears.
When Maisie didn't respond to whatever hate he was shouting at her, his rage increased and his booted foot shot out, kicking her repeatedly over and over. She rolled and flopped, but only managed to have him land blows on her ribs, back, some even on the back of her neck. Her hearing came back and she heard several cracks and knew without a doubt that he'd broken her ribs for real this time, not just injured them like in the past.
Sucking in air, she let out a blood-curdling scream when she felt the first lick of his belt on the tender flesh of her upper arm. He was whipping her.
"Shut the fuck up! Dangling gifts in front of me, dressing up like some whore trying to woo me so that I give you praise for some fucked up picture. When. Will. You. Learn. You're fucking lucky I put up with your shit," he enunciated each word in between whips, not caring that she was screaming in agony each time the thick leather strap cut into her skin.
He pulled her up to a sitting position and Maisie cried out against the unimaginable pain in her ribs, she felt as though they'd been shattered, broken beyond repair. Throwing up a hand to protect herself was the worst choice she could have made when it collided with something steel and she felt her baby finger snap. She knew instantly it was broken, and cradled it against her chest.
Brant raised a pair of scissors, and all thought ceased. This was it. The moment he finally tossed aside all threats and ended her life. There was no fight in her, no fear, just sheer exhaustion. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent, I love you to her family and then waited for it to end.
When nothing happened, she opened her eyes and what she saw had her panicking. No, no, no, please no.
"Brant don't!" she croaked out, but it was no use. He closed his hand over the blade and the scissors made their cut. Her beautiful hair floated down to the ground, falling in a clump beside her. He was cutting her hair off. The one thing she actually liked about herself and took pride in, he was stealing that from her too. His own breathing was coming in and out in fast puffs as he worked, one hand gripping her firmly in place as she struggled to get free. The steel blades snipped over and over. Each slice stealing another precious part of her already shattered soul.
When he was through, he tossed the scissors to the ground next to the remnants of her hair. "I'm the only one that will ever want you, Maisie. It's about time you remember that and knock off all this fucking bullshit." He left her there on the ground, crying and broken, without another word.
Ridge walked into Coffee Time in a crummy mood. The rain hadn't let up the past few days and as a native Seattle resident, he should have been used to the wet weather, but he'd been hoping to run into Maisie in the park and with the weather not cooperating, that hadn't been possible. He'd been to her work a few times that same week, but hadn't been able to catch her there either. He wasn't the type of man to pinch another man's chickens, but he had a feeling that her relationship with the douche he'd met briefly in the park wasn't going to be a lasting one. When things finally fizzled out between those two, he wanted to be around to explore the growing attraction between them.
She was a complicated person, he could see that easily, but it was also obvious that there were parts of her she hid away from the world. While she put on a good front of living a happy life, he could see the pain simmering in her eyes, as well as her fear to open up far enough to let someone all the way in. He'd sensed that day in his truck that she'd wanted to share more with him about what her true goals were, but for some reason, she'd held back. All that had accomplished was piquing his interest even further.
Ramsey had been a pain in his ass ever since meeting Maisie and Blake. He kept warning him away from Maisie, saying that a girl like her would only bring trouble to their door. He further added to his campaign for asshole of the year award, when he said that he wanted him to stay away from Maisie out of fear he'd fuck up what he was trying to get going with her sister. Fucking douche.
Maisie was nowhere to be seen once again, it was that other barista, Greer, smiling in greeting when he got up to the counter. He tried to hide his disappointment, but obviously failed when she sent him a look of pity.
"She's been out sick all week. Sorry, buddy," she told him.
He tried to play it cool. "What? Who?"
She smirked and it was loud enough for him to know she didn't buy his bullshitting for a minute. "Maisie. You don't need to pretend with me, I've seen the way you look at her."
Apparently this girl was a straight shooter. He smiled sheepishly and gave up his pretense. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.
"I'm actually not sure. She's worked here four years and never been off a day sick, now she's out almost a whole week. I tried calling, but she doesn't pick up. Jerry said he hasn't talked to her either, she just emails or texts him."
Worry wrinkled Ridge's brow and his instincts screamed at him that something was indeed very, very wrong. Not knowing what to do about it, he took his coffee and left, asking Greer to keep him posted if she heard anything.
On the walk back to his office, his mind spun with possibilities. Maybe she needed a weekend away and didn't want to tell her boss the truth. That didn't ring true with him, she didn't seem like the type to lie for her own personal gain. It was more likely that she was simply too sick to come in and didn't want to risk getting anyone ill with whatever was ailing her. He hoped like hell that was the case.
Maisie barely left her bed for three days after the brutal scene with Brant. On the first day, she tried to drag herself up to cook dinner for him, but threw up and passed out in the kitchen hallway. The heaving from being sick made the excruciating pain from her broken ribs that much worse. She knew she likely had a concussion and needed to be seen by a doctor, but she couldn't bear to look in the mirror, let alone let someone else see her in her current state. Cleaning up her mess took all the strength that she possessed and after that, she crawled back to bed and stayed there.
On the second day, she managed to get up and with a little luck, got her mid-section wrapped in tight bandages. It helped to relieve some of the agony she was feeling. There was nothing she could do for her broken baby finger besides wrap it too in tape and wait for it to heal. Brant had been avoiding her, even going so far as sleeping in the spare bedroom. She wanted to think it was guilt that was keeping him away, but it was more likely that he didn't want to listen to her groans of pain each time she moved.
Day three rolled around and with it came her sister, Blake. Maisie had been dodging her text messages and had she not been so hopped up on pain meds, she would have realized that all that would do is bring her sister to her door in a fury at being ignored. She was just trying to get herself up out of bed to pee, a feat that took her at least twenty minutes, when Blake barged into her bedroom. The two stared at each other in shock, neither knowing what to say.
The weight of shame Maisie felt at being seen in her condition threatened to drag her down into the abyss. The sense of abandonment overwhelmed her as she fought to clamp onto her
mask and pull it down; disguising her feelings from Blake. She resorted to her same defense mechanisms, camouflage the pain; cloak the fact that beneath it all she was truly unworthy.
Blake was openly crying as she struggled to get her phone out of her pocket and started dialing. Seeing this, Maisie panicked.
"Blake. Blake, don't. No, please don't. I'm fine. I promise, I'm fine, come here please," she begged, fat tears rolling down her own cheeks. Her sister paused in her actions and crossing to her, lifted a shaky hand to Maisie's tattered locks.
"Your hair..." she whispered, the anguish in her voice breaking Maisie's heart. This was why she kept the truth from her family. That look in Blake's eyes was almost worse than the physical pain she felt.
"I know. I know. " She fell into Blake's waiting arms, ignoring the pain it caused her. She needed the contact in that moment, the comfort. The reassurance that someone loved her and that she wasn't worthless. Seeking the solace she needed, the tears flowed harder, until her loud sobs filled the room. The second she let go of the secret, it was as though everything came pouring out of her. The anguish, the anger, the fear, the crushing disappointment in herself that she allowed it to get to that point. Once she opened her mouth, it all came spilling out and she told Blake everything that had happened between her and Brant for the entire five years they had been together.
"I just...I just can't believe you hid all of this from us, Maisie. Why? Why would you let him go unpunished for this?" Blake wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"He's not always wrong, Blake. I do make mistakes and mess up, I forget things he's told me, and things I'm supposed to do and it just makes him angry."
"That's such a load of shit," Blake burst out, furious. "That's him talking not you. What, so if I forget my laundry in the dryer at the laundromat, the owner has the right to break my arm simply because I should know the rules?"
Unworthy Page 7