Don't Make Me Beautiful (18 page)

Just the idea of that never being her reality makes her exhausted with sadness. She falls asleep, her last depressing thought being that she just described the woman she used to be, before she met John.
 
If only she had met Brian first, how different her life would have turned out…

The darkness of sleep rolls in and with it comes a nightmare.
 
She’s in pain.
 
There’s a burning between her legs and cramps in her lower abdomen.
 
A stickiness down there tells her there’s blood.
 
A lot of blood.
 
She’s hiding in the garage.
 
He never comes in the garage.
 
She thought that of all the places she could go to ride this out, this would be the place he’d never look.
 
He knows she’s terrified of mice and roaches and all manner of things that make their home out here.
 
Blankets on the ground and a throw-pillow from the couch make up her bed.
 
A wall of boxes and cast-off junk shields the view of her sleeping area from the door leading into the house.

She pants in quick bursts to be as quiet as possible.
 
He’s sleeping.
 
If she can just keep it silent in here, he won’t wake up, he won’t come to investigate, and he won’t do anything bad. She can hide everything until she’s well enough to leave.
 
Now she has a reason to leave for good, and nothing is going to stop her.

She cries out with the pain, clamping a hand quickly over her own mouth to cut off the sound.
 
Grabbing the pillow from under her head, she buries her face in it and screams.

“Nicole!
 
Nicole!”
 
Someone is shaking her shoulder, making the pain worse.
 
Oh no!
 
He’s found me!

“No, no, no, no, no!” she screams, biting the pillow hard, trying to keep the screams inside so he won’t hear.
 
Maybe he’s not really here.
 
Maybe it’s just her imagination.

“Nicole, it’s me.
 
It’s Brian.
 
You’re having a bad dream.”

The dark vision of the garage begins to fade and a sense of confusion takes over.
 
The hard concrete floor isn’t a hard concrete floor; it feels more like … a mattress.

“Brian?” she asks, turning her face out of the pillow a little, making it easier to breathe. The lamp on her bedside table goes on.

“Yes, it’s me, see?
 
Are you okay?
 
I heard you screaming.
 
You sounded like you were being murdered in your sleep.”

“No,” she says, breathing out loudly as reality comes in fully to burn off the fog in her brain.
 
“Not me,” she says, flopping over onto her back.
 
“Thanks for waking me up.
 
That was awful.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her face crumples as she realizes how badly she wants to talk about it but can’t.

“Here.”
 
Brian pushes on her side with his butt.
 
“Move over so I can lay next to you.”

She doesn’t argue, because the idea of his big, bulky body being next to hers is too enticing to refuse.
 
Maybe if he’s there being her guard dog while she sleeps, it’ll scare the nightmares away.
 
Shifting awkwardly with the pain of her ribs and broken arm, she makes room for him.

He reclines on the bed, staying outside the covers while she stays inside them.
 
He props his arms up behind his head and she scoots down to give his elbows some room.

“I knew I should have gotten a double bed for this room,” Brian says, sighing.

They lay in silence for a long time before Brian speaks again.
 
“So, tell me about the dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream, really.
 
It was more a memory of something that happened.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why no?”

“Because it’s too awful.
 
I just want to try and forget it.”
 
She doesn’t tell him the whole truth.
 
What she’s most worried about is being judged.
 
She’s already done enough of that to herself, but to have someone as good as Brian judge her would be way worse.
 
But not telling him feels like deceiving him in a way.
 
It makes her feel really sad, and along with the memory of that night in the garage and the days that followed, it’s enough to make her cry again.

Brian lifts up an arm and slides it under her head.
 
“Don’t cry.
 
We can work it out.”

“There’s no working this stuff out, Brian.
 
It happened.
 
I can’t just erase it like it never existed.”

“No, but you can deal with it, and move past it to live a new life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.
 
I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Oh, like hell,” he says, sounding frustrated.
 
“Come on, you were a prisoner of war over there.”
 
His voice takes on a superhero quality to her ears.
 
“You lived in a battle zone occupied by the enemy for what … two years?”

“Three.”

“Jesus,
three
years
, Nicole!
 
Three years of psychological and emotional and physical abuse.”

“How do you know what happened?
 
I haven’t told you anything.”

“No offense, because you know I think you’re cute, but I can tell by looking at your face and hands what he did to you physically.
 
And the other stuff just goes along with that.
 
You stayed, even though he almost killed you I don’t know how many times.
 
Obviously, he psyched you out.
 
He mind-fucked you big time.
 
It happens all the time to really intelligent, strong women.”

“He broke me,” she whispers.
 
She hates saying the words, but once they’re out there, she feels a bit of the weight lift from her chest.
 
To acknowledge being broken almost seems to pave the way for healing.

“Bullshit.
 
You’re not breakable.
 
You’re easy to bruise, that’s for sure, but break?
 
No.
 
Huh-uh.
 
I don’t accept that.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?” she asks, happy to move onto teasing topics rather than reality.

“Nope.
 
No one ever.
 
Except anyone who’s ever known me.”
 
He strains to look down at her.
 
“We need to talk about getting the police involved.”

She stiffens under his arm.
 
“No.”
 
Just the idea makes her want to panic.
 
She’d get up and run into the bathroom if she thought her legs would support her right now.

“Why not?
 
Just tell me that.
 
If your answer makes sense, I’ll let it go.”

“If it makes sense to you,” she clarifies.

“Of course.
 
I’m the only sane person in the room, so that goes without saying.”

She pinches his side and makes him flinch away for a second.
 
“Don’t call me insane.”
 
She worries in the back of her mind that calling her that would be too close to speaking the truth.
 
The idea that John could have also taken her sanity from her is too much.
 
Way too much.
 
He already took so many things.

“Then don’t say crazy shit like you’re not going to sic the police on his ass.”

“I’m not.”
 
She feels strongly about this, like she has no choice and she’s doing the healthy thing by moving on and letting it all go.
 
The police can’t do anything, anyway.
 
John already showed her that on more than one occasion.

Brian sits up and turns to face her.
 
“Tell me why.
 
Please.”

“Because.”
 
She tries to hold his gaze but she can’t, so she stares at the ceiling.
 
“If I tell them anything, they’ll go talk to him, he’ll find out I’m here and I’m talking to everyone about him, and he’ll come get me and kill me.
 
And he’ll probably kill you too.”
 
Tears spring to her eyes.
 
“I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you or your son.”

“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh…”
 
Brian turns on his side and hugs her, his body touching hers through the covers from chest to ankle while her broken arm rests on her outer hip.
 
“Don’t cry.
 
And don’t even think that, because it’s not going to happen.”

Her good arm snakes out from under the covers almost of its own volition and slides under and around his neck.
 
She puts her heavily-casted arm over his hip and awkwardly squeezes him to her, like she’s drowning and he’s the only thing that can save her.

The pain in her ribs fades out as she focuses on this man beside her, this good person doing nothing but trying to help.
 
Imagining John coming over here and smashing his fist into Brian’s face is making her frantic with worry and hurt.
 
She cannot let anything happen to this beautiful man. She remembers his words to Liam as he stood on the front doorstep of John’s house with his son.
 
“Remember what I said about integrity
.”
 
John has no integrity whatsoever.
 
He’d come in here and destroy this family and never blame it on himself or his insanity.
 
He’d blame it on her.

“I know him, Brian, better than anyone.
 
He’ll hurt you!
 
He’ll hurt Liam!” She’s frantic, unable to keep the horror inside.
 
She can actually picture him doing it, the look of satisfaction on his face as he delivers the fatal blows.

Brian’s big hand comes up and strokes the side of her head as his face lifts away from the pillow.
 
He tilts himself back but stops when he’s only inches away.
 
“No, he won’t.
 
I’m telling you, Nicole, I won’t allow it.
 
It’s just not going to go down like that.”

“How do you know?” she whispers, staring into his pool-blue eyes.
 
She wants to drown in them right now and never come out again.

“Because, I know who I am and I know who he is.
 
He’s no match for me.”

She could not agree more, but he’s not talking about the same thing she is. He’s talking about physical strength and she’s thinking about strength of character.
 
“He’s stronger,” she whispers.

“No, he’s not. I am.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not, want to know how I know this?”

She nods, her head barely moving.
 
She’d give anything to hear something come out of his mouth that she could believe in.

“Because, he’s fighting for control over a
possession
.
 
A
thing
.
 
I’m fighting for a human being who I value and want to have in my life because I respect her and enjoy the person who she is inside.
 
That makes my motivation stronger and my power more sure.”

Her lips tremble at his declaration.
 
He has no idea how right he is about John’s perception of her.
 
She is a possession, a thing to be owned and controlled and never relinquished.
 
Until death do us part.
 
“Are you a superhero or something?”

“Or something,” he says.

For a really long time they just stare at each other’s faces.
 
Nicole’s heart does a flip when his eyes roam from her eyes to her mouth and she finds herself doing the same. He has such beautiful lips, full and dark red. It makes her sad to think that it’ll be another girl who gets to touch them someday but never her.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says.

Her throat almost closes with the panic and disbelief that overwhelms her.
 
“What?” she eventually croaks out.

He gives her the most charming half-grin she’s ever seen.
 
“Did you really not hear me or you just like hearing me say it twice?”

She tries to answer, but the words won’t come out.
 
She moves her lips and air comes, but no sound.

“Speechless.
 
I’ve rendered you speechless haven’t I?”

She nods.

“Okay, so here’s the score,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m going to lean in towards you.
 
My plan is to give you a kiss.
 
If you don’t want me to, all you have to do it turn your head a little and I’ll stop.
 
It’s up to you.”

She’s frozen, her heart going a mile a minute.
 
He cannot possibly want to kiss me.
 
Why would he want to kiss me?
 
I’m disgusting!
 
I’m horribly ugly!
 
I’m damaged beyond saving!

His mouth moves closer and closer.
 
The heat from his breath puffs over her lips.
 
The moment before he’s close enough to touch, she closes her eyes and a tear slips out of each lid.
 
But she doesn’t move her head.
 
Not one millimeter.

Lips touch hers.
 
Warm.
 
Soft.
 
There’s almost no pressure coming from him, so it’s as if just a whisper of a kiss is there.