Scarred Beautiful

by Michele, Beth

  I turn a corner, find a Starbucks and an empty space. I jerk the car into park and reach in my pocket, pulling out the charm and gripping it tightly in my hand, hoping that if I squeeze hard enough, I can feel Mom. I really need her right now. And that’s when it occurs to me. I know what I have to do.

  I’m standing on the doorstep of this familiar house, wondering if, no, hoping she’s home. I ring the doorbell while twirling my keys non-stop, unable to look away from the happy clown staring back at me. The one that makes me think of Fran and smile, my heart doing a steady gallop in my chest.

  After a few minutes, I’ve given up on the fact that anyone is home and start walking to my car when the front door opens. Mrs. Brody wears her usual warm smile but she’s covered in dust from head to toe, a broom in her hand, a sheen of white powder stuck to her barley-colored hair.

  “Hi, sweetie. I’m so glad I caught you before you took off. I was cleaning out the basement, as you can see from the lovely display of dust balls. I’d hug you, but well”—she waves her hand over her body in a sweeping motion—“wouldn’t want to get you all dusty. Come on in.”

  She sets the broom down and brushes herself off on the mat in back of the door. “I’m so happy to see you, and two days in a row,” she says, a twinkle in her brown eyes. “I’ve got pie.”

  “I don’t think pie’s gonna do it for me today, Ma,” I reply, and her lips pull down into a deep frown before she takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen.

  “Sit,” she commands gently, pointing to a chair, and she opens the fridge and snags the pie. She slices me a piece and fills a glass with ice water before coming to sit back down. “Just in case.” She pats my hand and smiles. “So tell me what’s going on? Because if you’re not interested in my pie, that’s problematic.”

  Once again, I dig into my pocket to retrieve the charm and place it on the table in front of her. “Remember when my mom gave me this?”

  She picks it up and flips it with her fingers, admiring it. “Of course I do, honey.”

  “Well….” I swallow and gather the courage to continue. “This morning I discovered that Fran has the same one.”

  Her eyes widen, her forehead wrinkling in surprise. “What do you mean? The same one?”

  “She has a necklace with half a heart on it. Apparently her mother gave it to her for her ninth birthday. I don’t know much about it because I left right after I saw it.”

  She taps a finger against her mouth, her eyes sailing upward for a minute. “Hmph, well, that’s quite a coincidence, dare I say more than a coincidence.” She meets my gaze again. “But, what’s really bothering you?”

  “I’m overwhelmed. I have…feelings for her and I can’t figure them out. She’s gonna go back to New York. Caleb thinks I’m in love with her-—”

  “Are you?” she interrupts, her chair scraping against the floor as she pulls it closer to the table.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before so I don’t know what it feels like. But…I’ve only known her for a week so that’s just not possible.”

  “Who told you that?” She drags a book from across the table and pretends to randomly flip through the pages. “Is there some rule book somewhere that says that? No, there isn’t, because there are no rules when it comes to the heart, Matt. If there were, sweetie, no one would ever fall in love.”

  “But,” I add, “how do I know what this feeling is if I’ve never felt it before?” As I hear myself say the words, I realize I sound like a teenage boy and not a grown man. Maybe I’m still that boy. The one who watched his mother slip away. Maybe I’m incapable of love. Maybe that part of me died when she did.

  She leans in and rests her hand over mine, the warmth of it calming and I let out a deep sigh. “Sit in the quiet, sweetie, and listen to your heart. Just the simple fact that you can’t recognize it and you’ve never felt it before should be telling you that it’s something special.”

  I lift up the fork and flick the piecrust around, picking at it. “I just can’t make sense out of any of this.”

  “Love doesn’t make sense, Matt. It’s messy and crazy, lovely and wonderful, and sometimes, it’s maddening.” She winks and swipes some whipped cream from the pie. “There’s something else, though. Something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  And that’s why I love her. She knows me, just as if she’d given birth to me, and that simple fact brings an appreciative smile to my face, makes me feel loved.

  I pick up the charm, running my finger over the smooth surface of the heart. “I’m scared. The people I’ve loved most in my life, I’ve lost. I’m afraid I’m going to lose her, too.”

  “Oh honey.” She cups my face in her palms. “You have to allow yourself to find her first.”

  The makeup I’m attempting to put on isn’t doing the trick. It’s not covering the dark circles under my eyes and it certainly isn’t doing what I need it to do the most—conceal my broken heart.

  I do the best I can to make myself presentable. Luckily the bar is dark and Ryan probably won’t even notice, not that I care anyway. I’ve decided to fly back to New York tomorrow so I can forget LA and everyone associated with it.

  My limbs feel lethargic, weighted down by fatigue and sadness as I walk out to the bedroom. I’m trying to stay angry so I can get through tonight, but it’s impossible. As it is, I have to resist the urge to crawl back into bed and disappear until tomorrow. But I won’t hide. I’m done hiding and I’m going to prove it tonight. I’m going to show Ryan the real Fran.

  The black dress will work. It’s revealing where I need it to be, but not too revealing where I’ll look like I’m trying too hard. After sliding it on, I pile my hair up into a messy ponytail, leaving a couple of strands dangling around my face. I slip on my black Loubotins and take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror before I stagger to the elevators.

  When the car doors open, I don’t even notice Peyton in the elevator. Somehow my brain is sending a message to my feet to walk but that’s just about all I can manage at this point.

  “Hey, I was just coming to find you,” she says when I step inside, attempting to avoid her gaze and the impending questions I’m not in the mood to answer. “How come you didn’t go away today? Did Matt have to go in and work on that project again?”

  “No,” I say, focusing on the wall, refusing to meet her eyes. “I saw him this morning but then he left and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “What happened?” she asks, moving closer to me and working hard to get my attention.

  I look up finally, my tone void of any emotion. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Peyton.”

  She backs off, surprisingly, and I must be dishing out some pretty strong vibes for her to do so. “So where are you going dressed like that?”

  “I’m going down to the bar to meet Ryan,” I state flatly.

  “Ryan?” She tilts her head to the side with a questioning look.

  “Yes, remember the guy I introduced you to at that club we went to?” I say, brushing off an invisible piece of lint from my dress.

  She casts me a disapproving look just as the doors to the elevator open but I walk out quickly, sensing her heavy footsteps behind me. Her hand reaches out to seize my wrist and I stop, breathing out a rush of air. “Don’t do something you’re going to regret, Fran.”

  “The only thing I regret walked away from me this morning.”

  “You don’t mean that,” she says, her eyes brimming with sympathy, her grip loosening on my wrist.

  “Oh yes, I do, and now I’m going back to my old ways, because that’s what works for me.”

  “Fran,” she scolds, like I’m about to dip my hand in the cookie jar again.

  “It’s okay, Peyton. I’m tough and I’ll be okay.”

  After all, what’s one more lie in a sea of painful truths?

  I smooth my dress down and attempt a deep, calming breath before I enter the bar. Ryan is already there, sitting on a
stool with his arm casually draped over the counter, a drink sloshing around in his hand, his other hand sifting through his dark brown hair. He’s still gorgeous but he does nothing for me, as much as I wish the opposite were true.

  Once again, I almost have to laugh at the irony. When I first saw him on the plane, I would have fucked him senseless in that tiny stall they call a bathroom. But right here, right now, he’s the last person I want and this is the last place I want to be. As that final thought hits me and I realize this is a mistake, I pivot to leave, when I hear my name.

  “Fran!”

  My nerves are frayed at the edges, my eyes tired and unfocused, but I steel myself with another deep breath and make my way toward him. “Hey, Ryan.”

  “Wow,” he says, appraising me like I’m on display, “you look fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” I reply with little enthusiasm, as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His lips look soft but when they touch my skin they feel rough like sandpaper…because they’re the wrong lips.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asks, and I say yes because I need something so take the ache in my chest away…and I need something strong.

  “I’ll have a vodka and cranberry, heavy on the vodka.”

  He eyes me curiously before flagging the bartender so he can order my drink. While he’s distracted, I sneak a glance at my cell phone just in case I have any missed calls and when there aren’t any, the reality I’ve been struggling to face all day comes crashing down on me.

  “Here you go.” Ryan hands me my drink and I immediately gulp half of it down, a welcome burn hitting the back of my throat.

  “Whoa. Take it easy there, darlin’,” he says, but I ignore him and drain the rest of the glass.

  “Can you get me one more, please?” I ask, smiling and batting my eyelashes. It’s always worked for me in the past and I need it to work now more than ever.

  “Sure, Fran. But I think you need to slow down. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be face down in no time.”

  Exactly.

  Ryan finds us a table by the terrace, and of course, he has to pick the same table Matt and I were sitting at that first night in the bar, which calls for another rather large sip of my drink.

  “So what did you think of the conference?” he asks, and I hear the words come out of his mouth yet they sound fuzzy. There’s warmth brewing in my belly as the alcohol kicks in and everything starts to look a little brighter. It’s a temporary fix but I’ll take it.

  “It was…interesting at times, but I was a bit bored if I’m honest.” I smile, a happy alcohol-induced smile, and he grins back at me. He really does have a nice smile and I bet those lips could help me forget all about dimples, clowns, and tight-asses, both in the literal and figurative sense.

  The music gets louder and Ryan rounds the table. “Let’s dance, beautiful.”

  If I hear that word one more fucking time, I might scream.

  “Oh…sure,” I reply, and as I stand up, the heel of my sandal catches on a loop in the carpet and I land in Ryan’s arms. “Sorry.” I’m trying to be serious but instead I start laughing.

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” he says, brushing a piece of hair away from my face. “Let’s go.”

  He puts his arms around my waist and I barely manage to reach around his neck because of our height difference. I end up with my head on his chest, breathing in the scent of heavy cologne that’s overpowering my senses. My eyes drift closed and I pretend that he’s who I desperately want him to be—my favorite combination of tight-ass and kind-hearted soul…and that he loves me.

  I had one stop to make before I headed back to the hotel. There’s something I needed to do to show Fran how serious I am about her and how much she means to me.

  I’m driving like a freaking lunatic and I’ll be lucky if I make it back to the hotel in one piece. It’s been twelve hours since I’ve seen my sunshine, and yes, I’ve been counting every damn one of them.

  There’s so much I need to say to her. First, I need to apologize for walking out, but I’m hopeful that once she hears what I have to say, once she knows how I feel, she’ll forgive me and realize I’m not an asshole of epic proportions. I’m scared to death of what comes next, after the words leave my mouth, but I’m willing to take the risk…because she’s worth it.

  I’ve never been a big believer in fate or things that are meant to be. That kind of shit gets stripped from you when you watch the people you cherish most in the world die so young and the only question you can ask is, “Why?” But I’ll admit now that everything I knew to be true, all my theories about life have been tested, jammed in my face so I have no choice but to look. Even as I think about it, I have to shake my head at the craziness of it all. Brad finding Gabby, Fran being Gabby’s best friend, Fran having the necklace.

  But whatever the reason, whatever brought us together, I’m thankful and I’m not going to waste another minute wondering why or how because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is what I do next.

  By the time I finally do reach the hotel, my nerves are shot and I break out into a full-blown sweat. The back of my neck is drenched and I use my palm to wipe the moisture away as I stumble onto the elevator and press the button for Fran’s floor. My mind is running through various scenarios of how this could all play out—and there I go again, analyzing every detail, trying to determine the end result. But this isn’t a building site I’m evaluating, nor is it a blueprint that I can finely tune…this is the real deal. This involves people and feelings and things that are completely out of my control—and that terrifies me.

  The car jolts to a stop when it reaches the twenty-third floor and the accompanying ding sounds loudly in my ears. I exhale a breath, trying to steady myself as I walk out toward the door to Fran’s hotel room. After flexing my fingers a couple of times and letting out one more breath, I rap on the door. When there’s no answer on the first try, I knock again and wait. After five minutes I figure she’s not in there unless she’s sleeping, and I doubt she’s sleeping at nine o’clock. I race through all the possibilities of where she might be, and given she doesn’t have a vehicle, assume she’s either in the restaurant or the bar.

  The bar is packed but I spot Caleb and Peyton at a table in the front corner and figure Peyton will know where to find Fran. I’m on my way over when I’m stopped dead in my tracks. I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not seeing things. Fran is dancing with what looks like that guy from the club, her head snuggled into his shirt, his arms wrapped around her waist. My teeth grind together and anger burns my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Without thinking, I march over to them, trying to control the rage warring inside of me.

  “Fran?”

  She turns her head and when I notice the flush on her cheeks and the giddy smile on her lips, I practically lose my shit.

  “What the fuck, Fran?”

  “Hey, what’s the problem?” the guy says, and I can’t even remember his fucking name.

  I shoot him a warning glare. “Stay out of this, man.” I turn back to Fran. “I want to talk to you.” I grab her arm in an attempt to pull her away but he clamps his hand around her waist, and when I see Fran’s smile disappear, I’ve had enough.

  “Take your fucking hands off of her,” I bite out, not letting go of her arm.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he spits, and while I haven’t punched anyone since I was in sixth grade, he’s making me want to take a swing at him and relive my childhood.

  “If you don’t take your fucking hands off of her, you’re going to find out,” I bark, and that’s when I hear Caleb’s voice behind me.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” He lays a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to get me to back off, but I’m not going anywhere without Fran. I try a different tactic.

  “Fran, I just want to talk to you. Can you give me a few minutes?”

  She puts her hand on Ryan’s arm and a flash of red clouds my vision. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

 
“Sure, Fran,” he complies, lucky for him because I had the sudden urge to pretend I was in middle school again.

  With a quick glance back to Caleb and a thank you for backing me up, I pull Fran behind me but she bats my hand away, serving to irritate me further.

  “I can walk,” she says stubbornly, and when we reach the hall, I turn around to find she’s no longer following me. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, a scowl lining her pretty mouth.

  “What do you want, Matt?” Her speech is slurred while her posture is rigid, but I can see right through her. I notice the slight widening of her eyes, the pursing of her lips. She’s hurt and I don’t blame her. I walked out on her without as much as a word after we made love…because that’s what we did.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she sneers, refusing to move which only infuriates me more.

  “Fran. You’ve got two choices. You can either come with me to my room, or I’m going to pick you up and carry you out of here. You choose.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” She glares at me, and I cock a brow, my lips twitching at her words.

  “Oh, Fran,” I say, shaking my head, “haven’t you learned anything by now?” I stalk over to her and lift her up under her knees, throwing her over my shoulder.

  “Put me the hell down!” she shouts, pounding hard on my back, making me grip her more firmly. “Put me down, Matt!”

  After a few minutes, she finally stops protesting and I half wonder if she’s fallen asleep so I gently tug on her hair.

  “Ow,” she snaps in response and it makes me chuckle.

  “Don’t go to sleep on me. We have some things to talk about.” I say, determination filling every vein in my body.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she replies with a feisty, high-pitched voice.

  “Good, then you can listen, smartass.”

  I don’t let her down until I’ve got her tucked away in my room, but she stays close to the door as if it’s some sort of safety net.