Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1) (4 page)

Chapter 5

Ben

What did I expect from seeing her today? I don’t know. Not that. Dr. Branagh couldn’t have come at a worse time. We were laughing, joking. We were the “us” that makes me crazy for her.

I should probably sit down and write, but it’s not in me right now. I need to get rid of the antsyness and head for the gym instead of home.

After six laps around the track, it’s not enough. I need to hit something, hard and repeatedly. I head over to the bags, and I don’t even bother with gloves this morning. Gloves won’t give me the satisfaction or release I’m looking for. I punch and kick until my mind goes blissfully numb, until my T-shirt is soaked with sweat, until someone grips the bag.

“Whoa. Did the bag sleep with your sister?” Errol, always good for a laugh, doesn’t let me down today.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Then he stole your woman?”

Okay, that’s hitting too close to home. He knows I don’t have a woman. And he knows I want one. The exact one. “Where’s Bri? Shouldn’t you be servicing her or something?”

“Giving her a rest. She needs to recoup from all the debaucherous things I did to her last night. Besides, she went to meet your—”

“If you say my woman I will punch you in the dick so hard you’ll be pissing through your asshole.”

“I was going to say your good friend, Elly. Someone’s touchy.”

“We were at the Brew. Branagh showed up.”

“Did she say something?”

“Not explicitly. But Elly’s smart. It didn’t take much for her to piece it together.”

“Why don’t you just ask her out? Like on a date. Collin and I were talking, and we think—”

“You’ve been discussing me and Elly?”

“It’s for your own good. Clearly kicking the crap out of an innocent punching bag isn’t helping.”

“It’s complicated.”

“All the best things are. Now come on. I want lunch. I’ll even let you buy.”

After a shower and clothing change, I shoot Col a text to let him know where we’re headed. I’m about to hit send when I tack on at the end:

Please don’t tell Elly.

I don’t know why, just that seeing her will completely undo all the good Errol and kickboxing have done for me.

When we walk in, Collin pins me with one of those, ‘I’m sorry, you are so fucked’ looks of his, and I follow as his gaze shifts. She’s sitting at a table with Sabrina, so relaxed and laughing at something Bri said. I think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m not prepared. Not to face her so soon.

Collin walks up. “Sorry. Errol texted Bri to let her know where he was going. She invited Elly.”

“I think I just lost my appetite.”

“Oh, man.” Errol comes to a stop at my side. “I’m sorry. I was just checking in. I didn’t know she’d show up here.”

“It’s cool. But I think I’m just going to go head home.”

“The fuck you say?” Both Errol and Collin grab an arm, dragging me further into the café. “You’re buying me lunch. Now get moving.”

She looks up then, she looks up and smiles, giving a little wave just to me. Then she turns her head slightly, as if realizing she’d just snubbed Errol and waves to him too. But then she smiles back at me again. God, that smile. Of course Errol would see her stealthy move, nudging me in the ribs. I ignore him and head for the prettiest girl in the room.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world,” I tell them. Both she and Bri laugh, and I can breathe again.

Chapter 6

Elle

“It’s a brand new day.” This is the mantra getting me up and dressed, the first morning of the winter semester. It’s the mantra put on repeat during the drive from my apartment to the school. Inside the social science building and after repeating my ritual, I walk into my first class of the semester, staring down at my feet and generally trying to make my size-twelve self shrink from view as much as humanly possible.

I’m not in a writing or lit class for the first time since entering GHU. I’ve never taken a class outside of Science East until now. But here’s where all my time will be spent, in the social science building, from now until May. Nobody knows me here, not one friendly face to wave me over to an empty seat taking some of the pressure off. Some people prefer the hide in the back of the classroom technique. That doesn’t work for me, because I still have to maneuver my way between the desks to get there. And forget about showing up late one day. Been there too many times in high school, all the whispers and outright taunts at my expense. No thank you. This girl slips into the first and closest seat to the door. Even if it means being called on in class more than the students farther back, I’ll give the answers so long as I can be sitting down when I do it.

So all my time and responsible planning have gotten me here—the fire pits of hell. A little more of my soul burns away as I take my place at the desk situated between four drab walls, where size-sixes sit to the front of me and size-sixes sit to the back. Although, looking around, there do seem to be a few beefcake jock boys in class, mostly taking up the back row, no doubt here because of all the size-sixes. Beautiful girls—1 Self-esteem—0. Well played, winter semester.

All those size-sixes, as it turns out, are all Hilary, Kelsey, Britney, Ashley, Courtney, and Lindsey. If I randomly call out “Hilary,” at least three girls would look my way. No lie. And all of them work tiny yoga-panted butts and permanent bitch face, looking down their perfect noses at me as they smile those, ‘I’ll be polite to your face but talk about you like a straight up mug behind your back’ smiles. I’ve never been so ashamed to be a ‘y’ ever in my life. These are the girls Cricket pictured when she named me. Just like her. But I’m not like her, and I’m not like them, so my name should be just as different. Going forward, from this point on, Elly is dead. Elle, that’s what my dad used to call me.

My racing pulse causes the smile I try to give back to all those Hilaries to falter.
What was I thinking?
My head pounds painfully behind my eyes, and it is only the first day.
Pulling away from my comfort zone? Trying something new
? Jesus! I miss Kendrick.

Two hours into hell and Dr. Benet asks us to break into groups, just the people in our own row. My groupmates all talk over one another, fighting to be heard in a conversation I have no idea of what’s being discussed, because I’ve been so intent to watch the Sysco delivery truck driver in his hideous khaki slacks unload dolly after dolly of boxes into the food court.

Somewhere along the way someone decided to suck me into the fiery death of conversation, but not paying attention, I hadn’t realized it until all the chatter had subsided and their ninth circle icy glares bore into my neck. Since I haven’t been paying attention, I try to answer with what I think most teachers expect when they put us into groups on the first day. “I’m a writing major,” I say. “My minor is sociology.” They couldn’t have stared any harder if I’d said I’m a flying monkey with x-ray eyes who likes to wear leisure suits.

Apparently that was the wrong answer. They turn away, ignoring my presence. I feel confident they’re done with me and turn my attention back to the window. The Sysco guy must have finished unloading because the truck is gone. Screw this. I pull out my phone and surf the interwebs until the people around me start packing up their backpacks. I pack up and full-on sprint out of there.

Dr. Benet’s class proves the existence of hell. Without a hint of doubt, proves it. Apparently when Satan fell from heaven, he brought size-six coeds along with him. Damn winter semester, which stands poised to become the suckiest semester in the history of semesters. No matter what, I have no chance of escaping a Kelsey or Hilary. They are my nightmare for the next fifteen weeks.

I need real people. I need my people. Ditching class number two and making the ten minute drive to The Brew—
Ha! I’m a poet and didn’t know it—
is
probably not my smartest educational decision
.
But we’re talking my sanity here, and I’m not exactly someone who should take sanity lightly. Writing classes happen in the evenings, so that’s where all my writer peeps will be, tucked away in the far corner of the room, in our booth. Not one of them has class earlier than 1:30 p.m. That used to be me.

I hold back, watching them in the booth sipping on coffees and talking animatedly with a flurry of hands and voices rising over one another to be heard. Errol sits at the far end of the booth, only half of his back resting against the green cushion, his arm propped up along the back ledge. Sabrina rests in the crook created by the way he sits. She keeps her head resting just above his heart. Sickeningly cute as always. No one has ever wanted me like that. There was a time when I believed I didn’t deserve it, and maybe I still do—that is, still believe I don’t deserve it. Sometimes I think I want it. Do I want it? Wanting has never been good for me. It muddles my head.

Thoughts like these would consume me if I let them. They are old Elly’s thoughts, which have become harder to suppress over the past few months. My head might be placating old Elly, but my body has come through for new Elle, my hand finding the inside of my blue jean pocket before I ever have the chance to think about it. My thumbnail runs over the ridges of the medicine cap, feeling the nail catch on the ridges and chip from the rough contact.

The phone buzzes in my coat pocket. Kelly’s in class. Everyone else is here, so I know who’s calling. I hate that woman. Why can’t she just leave me alone? The phone buzzes again, and I know she’ll keep calling. It’s like she wants it to happen again. Nibbling away at my strength little by little, phone call by phone call, so when it does happen, she can say, “I told you so.” I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want to go back there, ever. Ever.
Ever
. Still, I reach inside my pocket and slip my phone out, staring at the screen just a beat longer before hitting accept.

“Took you long enough,” she says. No ‘hello.’ No ‘how are you doing?’ No ‘how’s the first day’ encouragement. Just ‘took you long enough.’

“Maybe I was in class.”

“Those writing classes don’t start this early. Don’t lie to me.”

“What do you need, Cricket?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. Your sister is receiving an award at school. You need to send her a congratulatory gift.”

“I received an award for my writing last semester and she never sent
me
anything.”

“Nonsense. She’s getting a real award. Writing is what people like you do when you are too dumb to do anything else.” The trouble is, she believes it. She really thinks I’m too dumb to do anything else. That there isn’t a lick of skill involved. That I don’t work my butt off honing my craft. The phone begins trembling in my hand, a sure sign I’m about to lose myself. My ritual. One long breath in. One even longer breath out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

“Elly? Elly, are you still there? What are you doing? Heavy breathing in the phone like a pervert? What’s wrong with you?”

“No…mother. Just collecting my thoughts. I’ll send her out a gift.”

“Fine. Oh, and Dinah and I will be flying out to Cancun next Friday. Jane Hennessy is getting married. It’s one of those destination weddings. You aren’t invited. She asked if you might want to come, but I told her not to bother inviting you. You are too fat to fit in a bathing suit, so what would be the point of wasting a perfectly nice beach vacation if we all have to see you jiggling in the water? I told her, I don’t have a daughter, I have a manatee. A sea cow. She laughed.”

That woman has impeccable timing. It’s like she could sense it from 3,000 miles away. Elly’s feeling low. I should call and make her feel lower. When I look up from slipping my phone back in my pocket, some cute coed has her size-two butt plastered against Benton’s lap. His dates usually aren’t so brazen to sit with him while he sits with us. Benton keeps us off limits, so to speak. At first glance, my friends seem okay with her being there. But then I see it—their steely eyes and tight smiles give them away. Even Benton looks less casual than normal.

Self-esteem has kicked my ass today, and I have the feeling it’s just warming up. No way could I sit across from coed Kelsey, watching her kiss him and pet him and whisper little private jokes in his ear purposely to keep us out of their little lust bubble. Closing my eyes to regroup, I call on my ritual for the umpteenth time this morning because my superpower is out of control. On the third long breath out, I open them again, but Benton and his trophy have disappeared.

Maybe instead of coffee I need to just go home and sleep the rest of the day. I turn and head outside before any of them see me looking on the verge of tears.

“Usually people buy coffee when entering a coffee house.” I feel his warmth against my arm and smell his unique scent of freshly laundered clothing and citrus fruit. That smell never grows old.

“Changed my mind, I guess.”

“You feeling okay? I’ve never known Elly Dinninger to change her mind about coffee.”

“Some days it’s just not worth the struggle. And it’s Elle
now
.” A sob cracks the last word in half.

“Hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing new. S-same shit, different hour.”

“Did Cricket call again?”

And I break. How humiliating. I break right there in front of Benton. He puts a warm to-go cup in my hand, helping me down to the curb.

“C
offee
?” I really try to collect myself, and it starts to work until he answers.

“Mocha.”

“B-but you don’t drink mocha.”

“No. But you do. Looked like you could use it.” He had seen me? With that gorgeous brunette sitting in his lap, he had seen me skulking by the front door?

“Where’s Kelsey?”

“Who?”

“Coed Kelsey. They’re all named Kelsey, Britney, or Hilary.”

He pops out a laugh. “You’re close. Her name is Emily, and I don’t know. When she started whispering stupid shit in my ear, I told her she had to go. It’s one thing to show up at our table uninvited, but when you try to exclude my friends, no way.”

“Won’t that make things uncomfortable tonight?”

“I’m not seeing her tonight. We went out a couple of weeks ago.”

“Why don’t you ever date a girl more than once?”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I see. We’ve been friends a long time, remember?”

“I’ve dated women more than once. But if I do too many they start to think we’re in a relationship. I’m not a guy who wants to settle.”

“Commitment-phobe.”

“No. I mean settle for Ms. Right Now. I want Ms. Right. So I date. It’s what college is about. But I’m not one of those campus manwhores like in the books I see you reading. I don’t even sleep with all of them.”

He’d hit it, my exact thoughts. I visibly pall even though I really don’t mean to. The Benton I know has a very well established reputation, a well-deserved reputation from what I’ve always understood. But he hasn’t left a string of broken hearts behind. Women genuinely like him. When my whole face heats crimson from the stupid reaction I don’t mean to give, I turn away from him, hoping to save a bit of dignity. Even if what he says is the truth, it doesn’t fit with what the GHU population has accepted as fact. Maybe it’s easier for me to think of him as a man who doesn’t want to settle down. That way it’s not just me he doesn’t want. Of course, being my friend he won’t let me look away, and he pulls my face toward him. If I have to face his rejection, he has to face my question.

“Dr. Branagh?” He winces. God, I knew it. “Rare talent
is
a euphemism.”

“It was a bad night for both of us, and we ended up in the same bar. It was only the one time.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. I had no right to ask.” The words sound terse, much more so than I mean them to.

“Are you upset about my love life?”

“No. I’m upset that when you have a bad day you get to screw someone like Dr. Branagh. I just get my bad day.”

“Come on, what happened?”

“This semester has dropped me right in the middle of the seventh circle.” I start crying again. More humiliation, just what I need. “Swear to you, the seventh circle.” I set the coffee on the pavement next to me and drop my head to my knees.

“And Cricket?”

“I-if I c-could just die.” Benton hands me a napkin and I blow my nose. “I-in a way that wouldn’t embarrass her to t-talk about with some n-neighbor who remembered she had another daughter, then she’d be b-better off.”

“She said that?”

“N-not in those words, but her meanings were clear.”

His hand moves to my back, rubbing small circles, the touch calming some parts of me while invigorating others. I feel the gentle pressure through my jacket and close my eyes, leaning back into his comfort. Not everyone is lucky enough to call Benton Hayes a friend. Yet that’s exactly what he is doing here, being a friend.