Scarred Beautiful (23 page)

“Here, here!” Peyton shouts and we all clink our glasses together, sloshing some of the greenish liquid on the table.

As I bring the drink to my mouth, Matt’s lips hover close to my ear again.

“And to so much more,” he whispers, nipping my earlobe and nearly making the drink become one with my dress.

My cheeks are ablaze with heat and I try to steady my breathing when Matt’s hand slips under my hair, his fingers strumming lazily across my flesh. There’s a tap-dance going on in my chest and an explosion building between my legs. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

“So, how did you guys meet anyway?” I ask, desperate for any kind of diversion from the fact that my body has a craving that can’t be satisfied right now.

“We met back in third grade,” Matt begins, continuing his stroll over my skin. “We bonded over Mexican jumping beans.”

Caleb interjects with a laugh, “Matt’s grandparents had brought him some Mexican jumping beans and I was completely fascinated and had to have them. He wouldn’t give them to me, but he let me sit with him for a half hour while we watched the darn things jump in the box, trying to figure out how the hell they did it.” He pauses to take a sip of water. “But the clincher was”—he looks over at Matt, his eyes sprinkled with gratitude—“he eventually told me I could take three home, and I thought, yeah, this dude is pretty cool. Plus, he was friends with all the cute girls, so it was a done deal…and the rest, as they say, is twenty-five years of history—”

“Fran?”

A low timbre drags me from our conversation and my eyes move to the source—a tall, muscular body connected to a face I recognize, but I blink anyway just to make sure I’m not seeing things.

“Ryan? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” He chuckles, before reaching out and taking my hand to place a kiss upon it.

Peyton kicks me under the table with her heel and glares at me.

“Oh, Ryan, these are my friends, Peyton, Caleb, and Matt.”

Ryan greets everyone before returning his focus to me. “So, fancy meeting you here?” he says, raising a brow and eyeing me suggestively.

Matt’s hand comes around my shoulder in what I perceive to be a territorial gesture, and the pissing contest has just begun.

“I’m here for a design conference, you?”

“You’re kidding me. You’re at the Carlton?” he questions, a hint of pleasure in his voice, and I find it strange that we haven’t run into each other. But then again, I haven’t been there the
entire
time.

“Yeah. Let me guess. You are too?” I ask, even though I already know the answer and I have to internally laugh at the irony. Ryan is all kinds of gorgeous and I remember my reaction when I first saw him on the plane, but now I’m happy just where I am. I glance over at Matt to give him a reassuring smile before returning my attention back to Ryan.

He’s about to say something when Matt interjects, “So how do you two know each other?”

“We kind of had a near-death experience.” Ryan winks at me and Matt’s hand grips tighter around my shoulder.

“We met on the plane,” I say quickly, not wanting to rehash the embarrassing story of how I panicked, thinking we were crashing into the ocean when the pilot was just landing the plane. Let’s see how many more ways Fran can humiliate herself.

A voice calls out and Ryan turns around, raising a finger in the air. “I need to run, but it was great seeing you, Fran, and nice meeting you all. I’m not sure how long you’re in LA, Fran, but I’ve got business after the conference and will be here for another few days. So maybe we can hang out one night?”

“Oh…sure. That sounds good,” I reply, just for the sake of formality…I think.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks back to me. “What’s your cell number?” he asks, and I quickly rattle it off. “Great. So now I’ll know how to reach you. See you around, beautiful.” Ryan winks again and disappears into the darkness.

“Well, he’s hot as hell,” Peyton blurts out, and I laugh, because that’s exactly what I was thinking.

“Tell us how you really feel.” Matt’s tone is biting and I shift in my seat, the change in his mood palpable.

Caleb raises a hand in the air, motioning back and forth between him and Matt. “Lest not forget the hotties that you’re sitting with,” he utters with a Shakespearean drawl, which thankfully eases the mounting tension. “I’m going to get some more shots. I’ll be back.”

“I’m going to the bathroom. Fran, do you have to go?” Peyton silently urges me to come with, and I oblige.

“Be right back,” I tell Matt, before sliding out of the booth and following Peyton.

There’s a long line of irritated women waiting for the bathroom and Peyton and I attach ourselves to the end of it. I don’t really have to pee but felt the need to get away from Matt for a little while.

She pivots around and gets in my face. “Okay, so that guy Ryan was seriously hot. In fact, if I wasn’t here with Caleb I would’ve wanted a
personal
introduction.” She raises a chestnut brow and reclines against the wall. “You should’ve seen Matt’s face. I swear steam was going to shoot out of his head.
Someone
has a jealous streak.”

“Jealous? I think not,” I counter, lifting my sweaty hair up to catch the breeze blowing in from a side door. “It’s not like we’re a couple. We’re just hanging out and having fun.” At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Yeaaaaaah,” she quips, adjusting her bra strap, “how’s that working out for you?”

“Shut up,” I bark, pushing her forward with my hand flat on her back. “Move it.”

After twenty-five minutes of waiting and Peyton nearly peeing on herself, we forge our way back through loud clusters of slurred conversation and grinding hips to find our table. Matt and Caleb appear to be scanning the crowd.

“We were just getting ready to send out a search party,” Matt jokes, seemingly back to his old self, and it makes me smile. When does he not make me smile? Maybe it’s his face that makes me smile. Or maybe it’s just
him
.

I eye the number of shot glasses on the table. “Are there more people joining us?”

“No,” Caleb answers with a grin, “they’re for us. Surely you can handle it, Franny.”

His words knock me back and take me to a place I never want to go again.

“Shhh, Franny, you can do it. You’re a brave little girl…you can handle it and I’ll help you.”

My muscles tense up and my back stiffens. “Don’t call me that,” I say sharply.

“Come on, Franny. Show us what you got.”

“Lift up your nightgown and show me your belly, Franny, and remember, Scooby Doo is waiting for you when we’re done and he loves you just like Daddy does.”

My chest constricts and the walls are closing in, the pungent odor of cigarettes and sweat attacks my nose, the door to my room shutting, the click of the lock vibrating loudly in my ears as I scoot back on my bed to get away from him.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, my fingernails digging for skin in my palm, and I barely register the pain I’m inflicting upon myself. I’ve grown too accustomed to it.

“Fran?”

Matt’s talking but he suddenly sounds very far away. Or maybe it’s me who’s far away. The instinct to run is too strong now and I have to get out of here. Springing up from the booth, I barrel through the crowd and even though they’re calling after me, I don’t stop. I just keep running. I only wish I knew where I was going.

After all these years, I hate that my father still has this kind of power over me. I remember the words from my therapist. ‘
He only holds the power as long as you bestow it upon him
.’ Easier said than done. I manage to hold it together pretty well on most days, but then out of nowhere, the triggers come, and I’m that weak, frightened seven-year old girl who only wants to please her daddy and be loved—no matter what the cost. I just never realized it would cost this much.

I’m bumping into a maze of drunken bodies when a hand grabs my arm.

“Fran, wait,” Matt says, but I can’t look at him.

“Matt, just leave me alone. I want to be left alone!” I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip is too strong.

“Fran, please don’t shut me out,” he pleads, “talk to me dammit!”

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his stare. “Why does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know, Fran, but it does.” His voice lowers and he steps closer. “It matters a lot.”

My eyes crawl up to his, begging him to listen. “Please…I need you to leave me alone.”

He drops his hand in defeat and lets me go…and I keep going.

There’s a door toward the back of the bar and I anxiously will my feet to move as quickly as possible to get to it. I knock once and when there’s no response, turn the knob to thankfully find a room that’s empty. There are cardboard boxes labeled with black marker against the wall and it appears to be some kind of storage area, but nonetheless I’m grateful for the solitude. I quickly close the door behind me, sliding back against it and landing on the floor…and that’s when the flood gates open. Tears fall mercilessly down my cheeks and I let them have their way with me, the feelings too overwhelming, the mountain too tall to climb. I blow out a quivery breath and try to steady myself before closing my eyes and banging my head against the door over and over, attempting to anesthetize the searing pain and the years of horrific memories.

“Shhhh…princess,” Daddy said as he held the paring knife in one hand and tucked a strand of thick, frizzy black hair behind my ear. “Remember, this is our special thing we do together.” He smiled but his eyes weren’t happy like Mommy’s. “I’ve got your favorite band-aids all picked out.”

Tears slid down my cheeks but Daddy didn’t care. As he lifted up my favorite nightgown, the one with the cupcakes on it, I felt my tiny body start to shake. I stared up at the stars on my ceiling and wished I could fly to the moon right then and sit amongst them. Where’s Mommy? I thought to myself. Then I felt it. That first bit of pain that always came when Daddy was in my room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited. The pain came back…again, and again, and again.

“Mommy….” I sobbed quietly. “I want Mommy.”

“Shhh…Franny. Mommy’s not here and Mommy will never love you like I do.” He patted my head and when I looked down at my belly, I saw red. Always red. I hate the color red…and I hate Daddy.

More tears come and after a while, I don’t even feel them anymore, a numbness settling in as if my limbs are asleep, the burning sensation dulled in my chest. A familiar voice pulls me from my grief.

“Fran, I know you’re in there and I want you to let me in,” Matt says in a hushed tone and I don’t answer in hopes he’ll just go away.

“I’m not leaving so I guess I’ll just plant myself here until you decide to let me in.”

There’s a loud thump and I can tell he’s mirroring my position on the other side of the door. For whatever reason, Peyton’s voice pops into my head.
‘Even I can see he’s not shallow. He’s a good guy, Fran.’
In my heart I know she’s right, but I just don’t want to see the look of horror in his eyes, followed by pity when he sees how damaged I am, when he sees all of my broken pieces.

With a resigned sigh, I push myself to a standing position, wiping the wetness from my lashes and cheeks before clicking the lock. Backing up a few steps, I wait for the inevitable to finally happen…for Matt to see who I really am.

He walks through the door, a somber expression covering his face, worry lines crinkling his eyes. “Thank you for letting me in,” he says with so much relief that it nearly breaks me knowing I ran from him. “Now that you have, I want to know if you’re okay and I want you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve been crying, and before you say anything, I’ve seen you go through so many different emotions this past week, so don’t tell me it’s nothing and try to sweep it under the rug.”

“It’s not nothing,” I reply, trying to swallow the nausea crawling up my throat at the thought of revealing my darkest secret.

“What happened out there, Fran?” He keeps his distance but his voice is soft, his hands remain at his sides.

“My dad used to call me Franny,” I mutter, and I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he interrupts me.

“God, Fran, you must miss him so much.”

I shake my head back and forth in a violent fashion and know I must look like a crazy person, which is fitting considering what I’m about to say. “I don’t miss him. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, his brows knitting together, his arms now crossing his chest.

Everyone has a defining moment and this is mine. I’ve never willingly showed a man my scars, even with Kyle, he stumbled upon them. But now, here with Matt, it’s as if I’m standing on the precipice, about to hurl myself over the edge. The fear is crippling, all of my life’s insecurities culminating to form a tight, uncomfortable ball in my throat that strangles me from the inside out.

I never thought this would be the way Matt would first see me naked, but I suppose it’s better he know now. Before I lose my nerve, and with my heart pounding fiercely inside my chest and beads of sweat dotting my upper lip, I lower my hand to the belt and slowly pull it loose until it unravels and my dress is parted down the middle. With one last look at Matt—his eyes narrowing, the lines of confusion burrowing deeper into his face—I push the fabric apart.

An audible gasp breaks the silence in the room.

His eyes widen and his jaw hangs open as the sound travels between us. It’s the sound of horror, of mortification, of disgust. I’m scared to look into his eyes, to see the disappointment I’ve become all too familiar with. Instead, I glance down and notice the vein in his neck pulsing as he examines me, taking in the rough, jagged lines on my belly, the dark circles on my thighs, weathered imprints of pain, of survival. Everything bad in my life stems from these scars, as if they’re the tree and I’m the branches, when it should be the other way around. My legs and knees grow weak and I feel faint. I’m completely vulnerable under his scrutiny, the need to cover up and hide overwhelms me, but I’m tired now and I can’t run anymore.