Scared of Beautiful (5 page)

Nothing, that is, until I walk into my room to find my mother sitting on my bed. I discard my bag on the chest of drawers and turn to face her. “What are you doing here?” I deadpan.

“I tried calling you,” she answers, rising to walk towards me. My mother is classically beautiful in an Audrey Hepburn kind of way. Her almost black hair falls just past her shoulder blades, and we have the same brown eyes. Although when I look at hers, I see that they are red rimmed and she’s made no attempt to remedy the bags under them. That’s unlike her. She wears her signature uniform, an expensive charcoal pants suit with bone-colored Christian Louboutins. As always, she represents the picture of a perfect society wife.

“I saw. I was going to call you tomorrow.” I lie, in part because though I know it was always my intention to call her back, I know I probably wouldn’t have actually done it.

“I need your help,” she looks up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I need to leave, and I need your help.”

The desperation in her voice saddens me. But not for the reasons it should. In the last few years of high school, my mother had planned to leave my father at least twenty times. Each time, she was as determined as she is now, and each time she stayed. I sympathized the first ten times, but I gave up eventually, although she never did. Once I told her that we should just leave, just walk out the door and not come back. She told me that a father should never be denied the opportunity to say goodbye to his child. So she marched into his office and told him we were leaving. He asked her how an uneducated woman like her would support herself and a child. Told her that she had no hope in the real world, because useless women rarely did. Told her he brought her from the bottom to where she was now, and if she fucked with him, he would make sure that’s where she wound up again. She yelled that she didn’t care anymore. And to my utter shock, she stormed out of the door, pulling me with her. We left without a stitch of clothing and went to the Bronx to stay with Aunt Megs, mum’s best friend from high school.

By the time morning came, my father had suspended my tuition at St Bernadette’s, the private high school that I attended, frozen all of her accounts and credit cards, and changed the locks to our apartment. Aunt Megs tried to tell her that she didn’t need any of that. She cried for hours before borrowing what little money Megs had to catch a cab back to our apartment with me in tow, again. My father made us stand in the hallway, knocking for half an hour before he opened the door. He reeked of scotch, and before we could walk in he grabbed my mother by the hair, pulling her in and slamming the door behind us. He screamed that she was shit, and that he knew she’d come crawling back. Asked her why he should bother letting her back there when there were a dozen women lined up to take her place? That a man like him could have the world if he wanted it. He asked her if she was prepared to be a good fucking wife and do as she was told from now on. She nodded in fearful submission, tears streaming down her face. He pulled her up the stairs by her hair and slammed the bedroom door behind them. By the following morning, my father had restored my place at St Bernadette’s. I went to school and blocked the events of the last few days from my memory.

Until she reminded me of why I ran away to Brown in the first place. Why I threw every check in the drawer and never cashed them. Why I refused to believe that any man on this earth would be nice to a woman if they didn’t want something in return.

“Why now, what’s different this time?” I ask bored, grateful that Jade is not here to witness the train wreck that is my family.

“This time I have to.” She looks up at me with sheer determination in her eyes, and for a moment I wonder if she may be serious. “I’m going to stay with Megs, she’s already agreed,” she continues. “All those other times I stayed for you, but you’re safe now, and I can finally leave for good.” She looks so overjoyed that her face appears almost manic.

Another memory flashes back. One of my mother asking my father to come to watch my ballet recital when I was seven. I stood in the hallway and listened to him tell her that she was the one who wanted a child, that it wasn’t in his plans. And to be grateful that he even allowed it. That’s all I was, a liability to him, and that he was far too busy making money to spend two hours in some fucking amateur concert. She came alone after that to every recital, every t-ball game, and never asked him again.

Megs is probably somewhere in the Bronx rolling her eyes, preparing for the house guest that is my mother to stay for a day again before racing back to our Central Park apartment. Just as I am while listening to her in Providence. I really want to believe her, but history is a motherfucker. The past almost always repeats itself.

Although I can’t bring myself to believe her entirely, I walk over to my bedside drawer and take out my second bankcard and hand it to her. Maybe if I make sure that she has money, he’ll have nothing to hold over her anymore, and she may just conclude that she doesn’t need to go back. She takes the card gratefully and wraps her arms around my neck, embracing me in a tight hug. As her daughter, I should hug her back; tell her that she’s going to be fine. But the most I can manage is placing my hands awkwardly on her back. I should tell her that I can take care of her, since my six figure trust fund from my grandparents landed in my account when I turned nineteen, and that I promise to keep her safe. But I don’t, because I can’t.
How can I honestly commit to saving the soul of someone else when I can’t even fucking save my own?

My father hated me all the more for the fact that my grandparents left him the company, but left me everything else. In their professional years, they had amassed a sizeable fortune: stocks, shares, and properties. I suspect that they had an inkling of the kind of fucking asshole that their son was, and wanted to make sure that I would never have to beg him for anything. And, adding insult to injury, they named their long time and family lawyer trustee to the funds until I was of age. My father was never even given the option of seeing that money. He put forward a number of appeals, stating that as my legal guardian, he should be nominated trustee. The will was iron clad. He failed in all of his attempts. And now, well, now with some well placed investments, my net worth almost matches his. I considered that to be a spectacular
fuck you very much
.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m leaving?” she asks me, pulling back.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say with a sad smile. “I’m just happy you are.” And I mean it, I really do.

I call her a cab to take her to Megs’ house and return to my room, kicking off my flats and collapsing onto my bed. The memory of my blissful evening with Jackson seems so distant now. Like a vivid and extremely hot dream that ended before I awoke to harsh reality. I don’t ever remember my father laying a hand on me; he saved his anger for my mother. Then again, it would be miraculous if he ever noticed that I was actually alive. The only time I was privy to slight displays of affection or kind words was the handful of times when it was necessary to maintain our social standing. At my cotillion, my graduation where I was named valedictorian of my class, and at that party afterwards where he present me with the keys to a BMW X5 with about a hundred of his colleagues, my friends and their country club parents watching. But such is the life of the rich upper class of Manhattan. I wasn’t different to my friends. Half their parents were having affairs, some mothers would even endure an occasional beating to save the peace in the house, and they all presented a public persona and hid their real lives behind very expensive closed doors.

I close my eyes and pray to God that I sleep soon, and pray even harder that some divine force will stave off the dreams that I know will haunt me. No matter which way you look at it, I’m fucked up, and Jackson deserves better. I bet if he knew me and what getting involved with me really meant, he’d bolt in the opposite direction, immediately. I’m tired of being hurt. Simple solution, I’ll just have to stay the hell away from him until he finds a girl that deserves him. I’ll talk to him in the morning and tell him not to waste his time.

Jackson

I can still taste Maia on my lips as I drive back to my dorm. The memory of her pressed against me at the Bean is ingrained in my mind. She acts like such a hard ass, but really, tonight she proved just how vulnerable she can be. I saw a side of her that was so honest, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. I arrive back at my own dorm and take a long cold shower, and sleep better than I have in years, since Maia is the last image in my mind before I close my eyes.

“Rise and shine!” A voice blasts into my dream, which included Maia, and was just about to get interesting. My roommate groans and pulls a pillow over his head. I squint my eyes to see Jade perched on the edge of my bed, stilettos in hand, wearing a dress that, well, leaves not a lot to the imagination.

“Did you just get back?” I ask her, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. The sun is streaming through my window, even though it’s only seven, according to my bedside clock.

“Yup!” She looks positively giddy about something or someone as she throws her shoes on the floor and stretches onto my bed, propping her head on her elbows.

“And I suppose you’re here to give me a ‘blow by blow’ rundown of the whole thing?” I ask with feigned exasperation.

“Just like old times,” she smiles. I listen to Jade talk for what seems like hours about her date, and in true Jade style, she doesn’t hold back, telling me about dessert and then dessert.

“Damn Jade, you were aware that this was your first date. You didn’t have to give it all up,” I tease.

“
Pfft
, look who’s talking? Says the guy who has had his hands down half the pants in Atlanta,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Okay!” I laugh, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. “But that was then; I’m not into that mindless banging shit anymore. Things have changed since you left home; I have, anyway.”

“Really?” she asks dubiously, “because the last time I saw you stick with one girl was Shana.” Jade looks down as she says Shana’s name. I know she still thinks about her, misses her. They had been best friends since they were four, right up until Shana packed her shit and left, without so much as a goodbye to Jade. She plays it off, but I know the hurt is still raw.

I should tell her that I know where Shana is. She deserves to know, but as I open my mouth, she cuts me off.

“I nearly forgot to ask. How was your night? Did you hang out with Maia?”

At the mention of Maia’s name, the memory of last night comes flooding back. My lips curl up in a grin that I can’t seem to suppress, hard as I’m trying. “We went to the Bean, actually,” I say as blasé as I can manage.

“That’s great,” Jade replies. “You two will make awesome friends, she’s a good chick. A tad bit introverted at times, but otherwise she’s good people.”

Friends?
The last thing that I want between Maia and I is friendship. The idea of not getting to know her better, and in time, finishing off what we started last night is a terrible prospect.

Jade creeps up and lies in the crook of my arm. My roommate Ben’s lifts his head from his pillow. “You two want some privacy?” he asks sleepily.

Jade and I simultaneously burst into laughter. “Nah man, it’s really not even like that,” I say. My shoulders are shaking so hard with laughter that I can barely get the words out. Jade can barely catch a breath. There is really no way that I think of Jade like that. And I am one thousand percent sure as fuck that she has no desire to screw me at all.

As our riotous laughter begins to subside, I hear a knock on the door. “Fuck!” Ben grumbles and flings his legs out of his bed. “Clearly sleep is not an option anymore!” he complains, glaring at Jade and I. We both feign innocence as he walks over to the door. He yanks it open and I hear Maia’s voice.

“Hey, is Jackson here?” I bolt out of my bed and walk over to the door.

Ben shoots one more glare in my direction, “I may be tired and pissed off, but I’m slightly jealous of you this morning,” he offers before he walks past Maia into the hallway.

“Hey,” I greet her, with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. She looks nervous as shit and I find myself wishing that the sexy confident woman that made an appearance last night would stop hiding from me.

“Can we talk?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, moving aside so she can walk into the room. As I’m about to ask Jade if I can catch up with her later, Maia sees her lying across my bed and immediately back pedals towards the open door.

“Hey, Jade,” she says, and I can hear that she is trying desperately to sound upbeat and casual.
Epic fail on her part
. She stares at me coldly and says, “I’ll talk to you another time.”

And with that, she turns and walks out the door.

I’m still staring at the space that Maia occupied before she walked out. Jade scoots to the edge of my bed and stares up at me. “What happened?” she asks quietly.