Scarred Beauty (3 page)

Would she ever feel a man’s hands caressing her
body? Touching and tasting her, spending the time to get to know what her body
liked, the way they did in her books? She jumped back from the laptop and
closed the windows she had open. Her heart pounding, she waited for Brad to
appear in the doorway.

“Hi. Sorry I took so long,” he said as he pulled
his coat off. “It’s bloody cold out there. You didn’t have to wait up.”

She glanced at the clock and saw it was after
nine.

“I wanted to make sure you got back in one
piece.”

He gave her a twirl. “I’m here, and I survived.”

Noelle went into the kitchen and made them both
a cup of tea. “With how long you’ve been gone, does that mean it was a huge
success?”

“Yes. We don’t know much about each other, but
we are going to see if we can form a relationship together.”

“I’m so happy for you,” she said. She stirred
the cup and handed him one. Her hands were shaking slightly from the images
she’d seen.

“You’re looking a little flushed. Are you
feeling okay?” he asked and reached out to touch her head. She pulled away, not
wanting him to touch her.

“I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’ll go to
bed if that’s all right with you,” she said. Going to her room would be the
only way for her to calm down her erratic thoughts.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, leaned up to kiss his cheek, took
her cup and book and disappeared into her room.

What would Brad think if he knew what she’d been
searching for?

Closing her eyes and shaking her head at the
stupidity of her thoughts, she lay across her bed and opened up the page of her
book.

After a few minutes of reading about a virgin
being fucked, she lost interest. Staring at the ceiling above her bed, she
allowed the pain to come to her. The pain of knowing no man would ever love
her. She wished that just once, one man would look at her and want her to be
with him. The tears she kept locked up fell from her eyes in a trail down her
face. For so long she’d sat and cried about her predicament. Paying a man to
pretend to care was the lowest form of self-pity, but wouldn’t paying someone
to care for an hour be better than living a life without any form of love?

Brad was her best friend, and she wouldn’t dream
of asking anything from him that he could not give. He was gay, and he was in
love with someone else.

She heard him move around outside the door, but
her tears were as silent as before. When he called her name, she didn’t answer.
Speaking at the same time as crying would be a disaster. The lump in the back
of her throat made it hard to breathe. He moved away from her door, and she
could give in freely to her emotions.

****

Brad watched as she left the kitchen. She looked
flushed and embarrassed, two combinations he’d never associated with Noelle. He
grabbed his cup and went to the laptop still set up on the table. He frowned as
he noted the internet connection was still hooked up. Turning the screen saver
off, he checked the history to see if Noelle had been using his laptop. What he
saw had him frozen to the spot.

He went to her door without thinking about what
he’d found.

Knocking on her door, he called her name. When
she didn’t answer, he took a breath and went back to check out the sites she’d
been looking at.

The escort agency had him in a panic. Did she
really need to seek out male companionship? The question was a stupid one. He
knew their friendship would never go beyond the bounds they’d set. He loved her
as a friend, but he didn’t find women attractive in that way. The man he’d seen
while they’d been shopping together with Noelle, who had been checking her out only
to recoil had been a shock to Brad. No other person had responded like him when
they’d seen her face.

His heart ached for her. Closing down the
laptop, he made his way into his own room. Lying on his bed he sat and thought
about her situation. How would he feel knowing there wouldn’t be many people
who would love him with scars?

Putting himself in Noelle’s shoes had opened his
eyes up to the daily life she led. She worked inside a studio they had
decorated together. Clients came to the apartment to buy her paintings, and he
sorted through the transactions. At twenty years old, Noelle was one of the
most talented artists he’d ever met. Her drawings bought to life so much
emotion, that simply staring at a drawing made him believe he was looking into
her soul. She refused so much in her short life. There were people out there
who would love to get to know her, but she cut them off. She wouldn’t go out
and live her life. Brad didn’t know how to get her to see past her scars and
embrace the life she could lead.

Rolling over he glanced at the only picture he
had of her. They stood together, their first Christmas inside the apartment.
She’d not long turned eighteen, while he’d been approaching his twenty-first
birthday. Her hair was pulled back, the scars a light red across her cheek.
Later, after the picture was taken, he’d learnt how she’d gotten the scars,
which was why she refused to drive.

Even as she smiled in the picture there remained
in her face something reserved as if she was frightened to let go.

The woman who’d helped him to get his life back
was screaming for someone to love her. Only she wanted to find it herself.

Closing his eyes, he allowed sleep to claim him.
In time he’d find a solution to their problem.

Chapter Three

Noelle woke early the following morning. The
inspiration for a new piece of work hit her. She put on her painting clothes,
put the coffee machine on, and went to her studio. The only time she went in
her studio was when she wanted to paint. Going into the room when she felt
nothing achieved nothing with her day.

She placed a new canvas on the easel and
prepared her brushes and paints before she began to paint. Then she let her
inspiration take her on her roller coaster ride. The reds and oranges mixed
together in a fiery scene of passion and rage, her innermost sensations as she
thought of the pain and hurt of her current situation. She knew while painting
the picture, she wouldn’t sell it. These paintings were for her to keep or to
destroy.

Not long after the car accident which left her
with the scars, she’d begun to paint. Her therapist at the time had said it
would be a way to see inside to her thoughts and feelings, to see the true
depth of her character. The moment she began to paint, the therapy visits were
out the window. She refused to sit and talk to someone who didn’t get her.
 

This was the one room that Brad didn’t enter. He
would knock on the door and wait for her to allow him into the room. She heard
him moving around outside. Checking her watch, she saw it was past seven. He
would be getting ready for work. The energy she had felt at the beginning
zapped out of her. Staring at the canvas filled with colour, she nodded her
head at her progress before leaving the room.

Brad sat at the kitchen counter eating out of a
bowl.

“You don’t want pancakes today?” she asked. Part
of their agreement had been she would do all of the cooking.

“Not today. I’ve got stuff to do. What do you
have planned?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much. I
think I’ll spend most of my day painting.”

He nodded his head. Smiling at him, she sipped
the coffee she poured for herself.

“Will you be home on time tonight?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping to see Ben before I
came home.”

Ben was the guy he’d hurt during the years he
was using narcotics.

“Is he talking to you yet?” she asked.

“We’ve gotten past the slamming door in face stage.
I was a wanker to him, but the problem is I can’t remember everything I did
when I was in one of those states. I’m scared in case I did something I don’t
want to know about.”

The conversation had taken a dark turn, and she
saw the pain he was in.

“He’ll come round. You’ve just got to show him
the guy you were has nothing to do with who you are now.”

He nodded his head, the bowl with his cereal in
it forgotten. This is why they got on so well. Their pains were quite similar
because of their damaged pasts. “I’m going to head for work. I’ll call you
later.”

Noelle saw him out of the apartment, careful to
make sure no one saw her.

The moment she closed the door, loneliness
consumed her. She went and stood on the threshold into her studio, and the
paints and canvases called to her. Only as quickly as the inspiration hit, the
desperation to run away from her painting gripped her. The hold this world had
on her was killing her little by little. Before the accident she used to love
going outdoors. She would run or walk. Gazing around at the scenery was once a
passion to her. But no more. There were only so many incidents of children
pointing or adults gasping that she could cope with.

Moving back to the kitchen she pulled out the
ingredients to make her lemon loaf cake, the one cake which felt like a treat
but was wonderful to make.

She grabbed her mixer, set up the paddle blade
and spooned in the butter and sugar. Measuring out her flour, baking powder,
and bicarbonate of soda she put them in a bowl. When the butter and sugar were
mixed she added two eggs in, gradually followed by spoonfuls of floor.

It was the same cake she’d made many times
before, and she still felt the calming effect it had on her. The phone rang in
the background. She ignored the siren call of the outside and continued to
work.

While the cake baked, she cleaned her mess. For
twenty minutes, she hadn’t had the time to think about her lonely existence.
The morning no longer looked promising.

****

Across the city, Isaac sat in his office looking
over reports, which were giving him a headache. His friend Clark was telling
him how much hot ass he’d missed the night before. He didn’t care. He loved the
time he had spent with Brad.

Tapping his pen on the work surface, he glanced
at the time. Lunchtime was approaching, and he hoped
Clark
would leave. He wanted to take his lunch break. Work was no longer satisfying
him. When his secretary phoned through to say a man claiming to be his brother
was waiting to see him, Isaac dismissed
Clark
and waited for the other man to enter.

He didn’t know why he felt so attached to the
other man. Maybe it was only that he liked the thought of having a brother,
even if it was a younger one, out there. Being an only child had made life
quite difficult growing up. Having his mother’s undivided attention had felt
smothering at times. Thinking about his mother reminded him not to tell her
about his recent friendship. Over the years, his mother had managed to get over
what his father did, but he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive the man.

“I didn’t think you were in contact with your
brother,”
Clark
said.

“I wasn’t until yesterday.”

“What would your mum say?”

“She’s not finding out. Leave,
Clark
.”

Clark
got up and left his office. Seconds later, Brad walked in.

“Wow. This is where you work?” he asked.

“I own the place.”

“Yeah. I know. Dad’s place is nothing like
this.”

Isaac knew. He’d spent a great deal of time
making sure his dad didn’t amount to anything more than what he was.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” he said as he
signed off a few more contracts.

Brad sat down in the seat opposite the desk.

“I’ve got a favour to ask,” Brad said.

Isaac sat back in his office chair, intrigued by
the rapidly changing events unfolding before him. “What could I possibly help
you with?”

“You’re my brother—”

“Half-brother.”

“But you’re still my brother. My friend is
looking for some companionship. Male company, to feel close to someone. Her
circumstances have left her feeling as if she can’t be with anyone without
consequences.”

“Are you talking about Noelle?” Isaac asked. The
woman intrigued him from the description Brad had given him. The women in his
social circles rarely bought anything but annoyance to him. Most were
gold-diggers hoping to catch a rich husband.

“Yes.”

“Why doesn’t she have any male companionship?”
Isaac asked.

“There was an accident ten or so years ago, and
most men can’t seem to get past that. Or she won’t let them anyway. She has
some scars which keep her at a distance. She rarely leaves our apartment. I
deal with the selling of her paintings.”

“She’s an artist?”

“Yes. One of the best considering she’s only
twenty.”

Isaac had never heard of an artist named Noelle.