Unbeautiful

by Jessica Sorensen

  As if sensing he’s being watched, the guy’s gaze elevates to the door of my back porch. He does this every day, either staring at the door or at me. Because I’m not quite sure if he can see in from that far, I never budge from watching him.

  Eventually he looks away and gets up to leave. Today, instead of going straight up the stairs, he pauses at the bottom and glances back at a black Cadillac parked near the curb.

  I lean forward, pressing my face to the glass to get a better look, wondering why he’s looking at the car. I know why I did the other night, but a normal person shouldn’t think twice about some random parked car.

  He continues to stare until the car finally drives away. Then he disappears up the stairs.

  It might be my paranoia or anxiety, but the situation makes me feel uneasy. I check to make sure the doors are locked then pad back to my bedroom. Lying down flat on the floor, I reach under my mattress and pull out the small metal box I hid under there on day one. The box was a gift from my father. “For if anyone finds out what you really are, Emery,” he said. I opened it once then locked the box right back up when I saw the contents.

  Giving it a soft shake, I hear metal clank. The uneasiness inside me settles as I put the box away.

  For the rest of the day, I try to forget about cars and strange neighbors. I watch television and binge on Cheetos. I’m not sure why I got dressed up today, since I have nowhere to go. Cheerleading tryouts were the other day, and I went only because I was bored. Classes don’t start until tomorrow. I have no friends except for the ones back home, and none of them will speak to me since I left Ralingford, including Evan.

  Honestly, after that text he sent me the first day here, I’m not sure we’re even dating anymore. The idea that we could be breaking up doesn’t rip my heart apart. Doesn’t do anything for me other than make me feel the slightest bit content.

  Maybe I should just break up with him.

  Could I do that?

  Am I that strong and independent yet?

  I don’t feel like it.

  But I don’t want to be just a pretty decoration anymore.

  I want more.

  I want to feel fire.

  Feel something.

  I want to be able to look at him and feel his hands all over me without him even touching me.

  I decide to call Evan. I’m not positive I’ll work up the courage to end our relationship, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what happens.

  I dial his number as I stretch out on the sofa.

  “Hey,” I say after he answers.

  He pauses before responding. “What are you doing?”

  I sit up and wipe my cheesy fingers on a napkin. “Calling you.”

  “Obviously, Emery, but why?”

  “I don’t know.” I peer out the window. The sun is descending, painting the town grey. Soon, the sky will be black, another day passing where I haven’t done a damn thing. “I was just sitting around and thought I’d call you since our phone conversation got cut the last time.”

  “Yeah, I thought I made it pretty clear I didn’t want you calling me again until you came home.”

  “I’m not coming home. At least, not any time soon. I have things I want to do, Evan, outside of Ralingford's walls. I wish you could support that.”

  “You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you, Emery? You have no clue how much trouble you’re in.”

  “I’ve gotten myself into nothing”—I stand up and pace the floor, restless—“other than a chance at having a normal life. And, if by trouble, you mean with my parents, then I don’t care. I can handle it.”

  “No, you can’t.” He condescendingly laughs. “And what do you mean by normal life? Is that what you think skipping out of town and bailing from your life is?”

  I suck in a gradual breath. Remain calm. “I didn’t have a normal life in Ralingford. Not one of my own anyway.”

  “You can’t handle having a life of your own. You weren’t made for that.” He sneers. “You were made to be one of those pretty girls who never has to work a day in her life. Everything you’ve ever gotten, including me, is because of your looks, not because you’re some brilliant, amazing, independent person.”

  I envision punching him in the face repeatedly. Blood splatters in the vision, and I find it oddly therapeutic.

  “You know nothing about me,” I snap. “You just think you do.”

  “No, I do know you,” he retorts. “You’re only going through a phase, wanting to be more than you are. And, when you realize you’re not, you’ll come back to Ralingford.”

  “I’m never coming back to Ralingford. Ever.”

  “If you’re going to be a traitor to your family, then we don’t need to be talking, do we?”

  “I’m not a traitor… I just needed to get out and try to be on my own. It’s important to me.” Important to get away from my family, the town of Ralingford, and the dirty secrets hidden by the stars and moon.

  “Tell yourself whatever you need to make yourself feel better for bailing.” He pauses and I start to open my mouth to tell him to go to Hell, but he beats me to the punch. “Do. Not. Fucking. Call. Me. Again. Until. You’re. Ready. To. Come. Home. We’re done now.”

  Click. The line goes dead.

  I stare at the phone, stunned and extremely pissed off. It’s not the first time he has insulted me, but it hurt more than it normally did. Usually, I took the verbal beatings, like I did from my mother and father. I shut down, shut all my emotions off. But here in my own home, I want to open my mouth and scream.

  I stew in my anger for another ten minutes before I realize something else.

  I think Evan just broke up with me.

  I set my phone down on the coffee table and stare it. I feel odd. I feel… liberated.

  I’m not sure what to do with the newfound feeling. Get up and have a drink or something? Make a toast to myself? Celebrate? I’ve never done either, and I don’t have anything to drink other than water and juice.

  As I head to the fridge to pour a glass of juice, I hear a low, muffled noise coming from just outside my door. I pause. It sounds like…

  Screaming?

  And reminds me of…

  Ellis.

  I shiver as I crack the door open and listen. Then I relax.

  It’s just music.

  Music is fine.

  Music isn’t pain.

  Or perfection.

  Music has flaws.

  It can be drowning or uplifting.

  It can be anything and everything all at once.

  Music, I can handle.

  I move to shut the door when laughter and cheering bursts over the music. A party is going on. Curiosity sparks inside. I’m not sure if it’s the brand-new freedom in the air or if I have finally lost my mind, but I step outside and drift downstairs toward the noise. The music gets louder with each step I take until I reach the second floor, and then the lyrics and rhythm surround me.

  The party is at the apartment the quiet guy lives in. He’s standing outside in front of his door, smoking a cigarette. Beside him is a guy about the same height with cropped brown hair and brown eyes. A girl is also with them; she has red streaks of hair, piercings, and ink. I find myself jealous of her. To be that girl who stains her skin with art and poetry, who pierces her skin with jewels, creating her own beauty however she wants to—God, what would it be like to be that free?

  I’ve never considered myself shy, yet as I linger on the step, staring at the three of them, I feel a bit coy and misplaced, too fake to be in their presence. I start to back away, but through the noise and smoke, they notice me.

  The guy who took my journal pages stands up straight, his gaze quickly drinking me in from my head to my toes. Heat and desire spread through my body in a way they never have before. Every time I’m near him, I feel like I’m burning up in the best way possible.

  “Can I help you?” the girl asks, tearing my attention away from the quiet guy.

 
; “Um, I’m your new neighbor. I live upstairs.” I point over my shoulder toward the stairway.

  Her head falls to the side as she studies me. “Didn’t I see you the other day at cheerleading tryouts?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I mean, I was there.” I clear my throat, attempting to alleviate my nerves. “Were you there trying out? I’m not sure I saw you.”

  She barks a laugh. “Fuck no. I’d rather be caught in my underwear than succumbing to society’s sexist views on women being placed on the sidelines, cheering the men on.”

  The brown haired guy coughs into his hand, covering a laugh. “Now, Violet, don’t pretend you don’t enjoy coming to my games and cheering me on.”

  “I come only for you,” she retorts. “And I don’t parade around in a short skirt.”

  His eyes scroll over her torn T-shirt and short shorts. “No, you just parade around here with your ass hanging out of your shorts.” To prove his point, he reaches around and pinches her ass.

  “Hey, how I dress right now is how I want to dress,” she replies hotly with her hands on her hips, “not because someone told me I had to.”

  Their gazes lock as if silently challenging each other. I’m guessing Violet wins because the brown haired guy releases a loud exhale then turns to me.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to excuse my girlfriend. She gets a bit intense.” He laughs when she swats his arm then says to me, “So you just moved in?”

  “Yeah, about a week ago.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Emery.”

  All three of them stare, as if I’m some strange creature they’ve never seen before.

  I start to pull away—apparently formal handshakes aren’t what normal people do—but then the brown haired guy slips his hand into mine. “I’m Luke,” he nods his head at the girl, “and this feisty thing right here is Violet.”

  I smile at her, even though her withering stare makes me want to shrink back. “It’s nice to meet you, Violet.”

  She doesn’t say anything back, merely evaluates me with her brow arched.

  When Luke releases my hand, the quiet guy steps forward and threads his fingers through mine. A million butterflies come to life in my stomach. My heart dances. My pulse throbs. My lungs ache. I can barely breathe, his gaze is so powerful.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’ve ever told me your name.” I sound breathless, but I can’t collect myself.

  I wait for him to tell me who he is, millions of names swarming through my head, beautiful names, the kind composed in songs that will fit his striking appearance. Because, he has to say something to me this time, right? Especially with his friends around.

  But his lips never part. Instead, he turns to Violet and his hands move through the air.

  “Tell her my name’s Ryler,” he signs to her.

  Suddenly, every encounter we’ve had makes sense. No wonder he hasn’t said anything to me. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out, especially since I grew up with Ellis. Whenever he had one of his episodes, usually after a long night, he refused to speak. The only way I could communicate with him was to sign.

  I wonder if it’s because of the scars on his neck.

  Ryler looks apologetically at me as he waits for Violet to translate what he signed. I hesitate, almost playing along—playing the part I’m supposed to play—because I don’t want to be reminded of my past and why I know sign language. But I also want to communicate with him.

  Summoning a breath, I lift my hand and sign to him, “It’s nice to meet you, Ryler.”

  His head jerks back, his brown eyes wide and filled with surprise. Then his brows furrow, and he stares at me again, only this time, it’s different. This time, he seems even more intrigued.

  With his eyes locked on mine, his hands elevate. “You know sign language?”

  I nod and begin creating a lie for when he asks how I learned to sign and why.

  “You don’t need to sign to me. I can hear you. I just can’t speak,” he signs.

  I let a breath of relief ease from my lips.

  He didn’t ask.

  So I don’t have to explain everything.

  I smile. “Okay.”

  He smiles back at me. “I like the sound of your voice. It reminds me of one of my favorite songs.”

  A soft, nervous laugh escapes my lips. Is he flirting with me? The idea makes the butterflies in my stomach dance.

  “Smooth, Romeo, real smooth.” Luke pats Ryler on the shoulder as Violet chokes on a laugh. “We’re heading inside to get ready for the poker game.” His gaze slides to me. “You’re more than welcome to join us if you want.” He glances at Violet.

  She shrugs. “I don’t care who you invite, just as long as she doesn’t turn out like Haven.”

  Ryler’s eyes widen, and then he and Luke exchange a look. I really want to find out what Haven did because, by their worried expressions, I’m guessing it had to be something bad, but I can’t work up the courage to pry.

  Before Violet and Luke head inside, Violet nudges Ryler in the back then whispers something in his ear. His posture slightly stiffens as she vanishes into the apartment with Luke, leaving the two of us alone. Quietness swirls around us and stretches into awkward silence.

  Ryler starts patting his pockets, searching for something, and then pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He seems to relax once he takes a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a quiet sigh.

  “So about yesterday and the other day,” the cigarette dangles from his lips, the smoke from the cigarette drifting into the air, “I’m sorry I didn’t try to communicate with you when you were asking me about those papers. It’s just that there’s usually no point in trying since hardly anyone knows how to sign. My silence probably weirded you out.”

  “No, I wasn’t weirded out.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my legs. “I just… I never meant to throw those papers out the window. Okay, well, technically I did, but I didn’t think anyone was out there.” I chew on my nails. “They were my journal pages, and I never meant for anyone to see them.”

  “I still have them.” He inhales from the cigarette, leaving it in his lips while he signs. “I never read them.”

  “Can I have them back?” I ask, hopeful.

  He nods without hesitation. “Of course. Just let me finish this cigarette, and we’ll go inside to get them.”

  The weight on my chest crumbles and another dose of freedom rushes through me. “Thank you. You just made my night.”

  “And you just made mine.” As he ashes the cigarette, he checks me out again, this time way less discreetly. “You said you just moved in, right?”

  “I’m actually just starting college.” I fidget under his gaze. I’m wearing shorts and a shirt, no shoes or jacket, and I feel extremely exposed.

  “You go to the university?” he asks, perking up.

  I nod. “My parents wanted me to wait until fall semester, but I needed to get out of my hometown, so I’m taking a couple of summer classes.” I shrug, despite the fact that I just told him more about me than I’ve ever told anyone, at least with honesty. If my mother knew what I was doing right now, she’d probably drug me and drag me back home to lock me up then throw away the key.

  “So, you’re a freshman?”

  “I am. What about you? I mean, do you go to school?”

  He tensely scratches the back of his neck before signing, “My first class ever starts tomorrow. But I’m almost twenty-one. I just started the whole college life late.”

  “That’s okay. I wish I could have.”

  “Skipped out on college?”

  “For a little while, maybe.” I’m still not off the stairway, but standing on the final step before the floor flattens out to a small porch in front of his door. I’m hesitant if I should step down or not, if I want to cross that line and enter his world, get closer to him. Eventually, I arrive at the conclusion that I do, and it’s easier than I expected to lift my foot and move down to the same level with him. Even with my above average height, I still
have to angle my chin up to look at him. “I thought about just taking off and traveling to see the world or something. The first time I came here was actually the first time I’ve stepped foot out of my hometown.”

  He gapes at me. “Really?”

  “My parents are really strict and kind of made me live a really sheltered life.” I’m digging a deeper hole for myself. I should be afraid, but for some reason, I’m not. For some reason, I feel calm.