Don't Make Me Beautiful (6 page)

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Just have to get these scissors,” she says, taking them out of the drawer and holding them up as she walks back over.

Their eyes lock together.
 
With every step she takes towards him, the vision becomes clearer.
 
She could take these scissors and with one lucky shot, stab him in the heart and end it all.
 
Who cares what would happen after?
 
She might lose her freedom in society, but at least she’d be free of him.

A knowing smile comes over his face as he casually steps around to the other side of the kitchen island.
 
“What do you need those for?” he asks, almost like a dare.

She stops in front of the flowers, letting the fantasy go.
 
He’s twice her size, eight times as strong, and she’s the most unlucky person on the face of the earth.
 
No way could she take him out with kitchen shears, and besides, she’s no murderer.
 
Much as she might fantasize about being the one to end her pain, she knows it will never happen that way.
 
This is her lot in life and she just has to accept it.
 
Hopefully, it will all be over soon anyway.
 
She looks over to the kitchen window, staring through the glass at the tarp that’s laid out on the ground back in the corner of the yard.
 
Soon.

“Hello?
 
Anybody in there?” he asks, laughing.

“Yeah.
 
Sorry.
 
I’m using the scissors to cut off the ends of the stalks.
 
It helps them take up water better.”

“Where’d you learn that?” he asks, staying away.

She kind of likes that he’s a little afraid of her and her scissors.
 
It perks her up just the tiniest bit.
 
She holds up the first stem and clips it sharply from high up, letting the bottom part of it fall to the countertop.
 
“I don’t know.
 
Internet maybe.”

He frowns.
 
“How are you going on the Internet?
 
We don’t have access here.
 
Have you been out?”

She smiles, but not in a happy way.
 
“It was a long time ago.
 
You know I don’t go out.”

“Maybe you should,” he says, a weird tone in his voice.

She stops what she’s doing and stares at him, trying to read his expression.
 
“Why would I want to do that?” She holds her breath as she waits for his response.

“Maybe you want to get away from me.
 
Get yourself a new boyfriend.”

Her excitement dwindles.
 
This is a test.
 
It’s not the first one he’s given and it won’t be the last.
 
She lets out a long breath as quietly as she can, finding her center and her courage, what little of it there is left.
 
“No, I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks, coming around the island.

She puts the scissors down so she won’t be tempted to bury them in his neck.
 
“Just because.”

“That’s not an answer,” he says, reaching out and caressing her cheek.

She flinches just the smallest bit, but it’s enough to make his nostrils flare.
 
She moves back to be near his hand that’s hovering in the air near her face.

“Sorry.
 
I guess … I’m just tired or something.”

He frowns, his face the perfect expression of concern.
 
“What’s the matter?
 
Didn’t you sleep well?”

She has a split-second vision of herself screaming in his face that of course she didn’t sleep well.
 
It’s impossible to sleep well with broken ribs, sitting up on a couch … but then just as quickly as it appeared, it fades into nothingness.
 
“No, not really.”

“How about tonight you sleep upstairs with me?”
 
He moves in closer and puts his arm around her waist, pulling her up against him.

She cries out with the pain.

He pushes her head down to his shoulder, patting her gently.
 
“Shhhh, shhh … it’s okay.
 
I’ve got you now.”

Her blood runs cold.
 
She knows what this sudden onslaught of affection means.
 
She feels him go hard under his jeans.

“John, I really don’t think I can do that,” she says, her voice a strangled whisper.

“What do you mean?
 
Don’t be silly.”

“I just … I’m in too much pain.”

His embrace goes tighter.
 
“Well that’s not really my fault is it?”

Yes!
 
Of course it’s your fault you monster!
 
“I just … maybe another time.”

“You’re my girlfriend.
 
I think you’ve slept on the couch long enough, don’t you?
 
Maybe we can try to have a baby again.
 
Just you and me and the baby.
 
We could have a happy family, right?
 
You always wanted a family.”

Tears come now, flowing out like a waterfall.
 
He knows exactly how to cut her without even lifting a finger.
 
“Don’t.
 
Just don’t.” She says, struggling to get away.

He suddenly lets her go and she falls back a little.
 
Wrapping her arms around her own waist, she stares at him, his face swimming before her eyes as the tears continue to flow.

“What’s the matter with you now?
 
I’m being nice, for God’s sake!”

“I don’t want you to be nice like that,” Nicole says.

“Oh, you like it when I’m angry, is that it?”

She shakes her head, unable to answer.
 
He’s confusing her and turning everything around.
 
He’s so good at it and she’s so not.

“You’re a real piece of work, Nikki, you know that?
 
I met you when you were wearing that black skirt.
 
Remember it?”

How could she forget?
 
He reminds her weekly.

“You were so cute.
 
Your face … God, your face!
 
You were the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking city, you know?
 
And now look at you.”
 
He gestures to her body.
 
“You’re a fucking mess.
 
I can’t take you anywhere.”

The anger boils over inside her, the pain and the humiliation too much to bear any longer.
 
“You did this to me!
 
You
did this to me, John!”
 
Her eyes search desperately for an exit.
 
Left, right … but nowhere is safe.
 
He can block any move she makes.

“
I
did this to you?
 
What … are you, insane?”

“No, I’m not insane!
 
You’re
the one who’s insane!”
 
She’s screaming loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but she doesn’t care.
 
She just
doesn’t care
anymore.
 
John talking about a baby is too much.
 
He’s gone too far.
 
He knows better.

He moves forward swiftly, his finger out and pointing an inch from her face.
 
“Don’t you fucking raise your voice to me, bitch.”
 
He slaps her once when she doesn’t immediately cower away, sending her head sharply to the left.
 
Spittle flies from his mouth as he continues.
 
“Now listen up, because I’m only going to say this once.
 
You brought all this on yourself.
 
You’re not going to lay this shit on me, no way.
 
I’ve had ten different girlfriends in my life, and I never laid a hand on any of ‘em.
 
That’s all on you.”

He gets closer, his hot breath heating up her face.
 
“You’re just a sick bitch.
 
You like it or something.
 
I’ve figured you out.
 
You purposely say and do shit to piss me off.
 
Look at this…”
 
He gestures to the flowers.
 
“I come home with my good news and those pretty flowers, and all you do is mouth off at me and give me shit.
 
Way to go, Nikki!
 
Way to ruin another good day.”
 
He pushes her away and she falls back, her head hitting the wall behind her and stopping her descent.
 
“And on top of all that you’re a fucking klutz.
 
Is it my fault you can’t stay on your damn feet for longer than two seconds?
 
Fuck no.”
 
He pauses and then looks at her with utter hatred in his eyes.
 
“You’re pathetic.”

He walks to the entrance of the kitchen and stops, looking back at her.
 
“You’re sleeping upstairs tonight.
 
Might as well get up there now.”
 
He smirks angrily, lifting his chin a little.
 
“Bring a fucking bag to put over your head, would ya?
 
I don’t want you making me go all limp-dick again with that face of yours.”

He leaves her to crumple onto the floor, drowning in tears of agony and defeat.

Chapter Ten

IT’S ALMOST DINNER.
 
BRIAN KNOCKS on Liam’s door and opens it up when he gets no answer.
 
His son is sound asleep on his bed, paths made by tears streaking through the fine layer of dirt visible on his cheeks.
 
Brian sits on the edge of the bed, taking in the surroundings as he gently rubs his son’s arm.

Toy Story
posters share wall space with stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars and framed photographs of Liam and his mom and dad.
 
Toy shelves hold baskets overflowing with action figures, stuffed animals, and plastic cars and trucks of every type.
 
Brian considers that he and his wife may have overcompensated in the toy department to help assuage the guilt of the divorce, and decides right then that this might be a good opportunity to discuss thinning Liam’s collection out a little.
 
He’ll tackle that issue after this one.

He shakes his son with more effort.
 
“Liam, it’s time to get up.
 
I have dinner ready.”

The little boy moans.

“Come on. I know you want to sleep, but if I don’t get you up now, you’ll be up at two a.m. getting
me
up and I can’t have you doing that.”
 
He shakes Liam some more.
 
“Come on, little man.
 
I have your favorite … mac-n-cheese with cut-up hotdogs inside.”
 
His ex-wife would kill him if she knew the amount of sodium and fillers he was about to let enter his son’s system, but it was all for a good cause, so he let the guilt go.
 
He had to get the kid talking.

Liam sits up slowly, his eyes still mostly closed.
 
“‘Roni cheese with hot doggies?”

Brian leans over and kisses his forehead.
 
“Yeah.
 
Roni cheese with doggies.
 
You coming?”

Liam nods, bending his legs to get them around Brian and swinging them over the side of the bed.
 
“I have to pee pee first.”

“You go pee pee, wash your face and hands, and I’ll meet you at the table.
 
Don’t make me wait though, or I might eat all those noodles without you.”

“Don’t you dare,” says Liam, jumping to his feet and running to the bathroom.

Brian makes his way to the kitchen, trying to decide how to tackle the conversation he knows they need to have.
 
He can’t decide if he should play dumb and hope Liam confesses or bring it up first and demand answers.
 
He wants to think the first course of action could work, but he’s seen his son pretend not to be the one at fault enough times that he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope that his boy will step up to the plate and do the right thing.
 
Being six sometimes makes a kid’s integrity a little on the weak side, but if he never lets Liam try to exercise it without prompting, Brian worries that it’ll never turn into the strong force his son will need as a man.

He sits at the table opposite the small Spider Man plate and watches as his son walks into the small dining area and takes a seat. They both put their napkins in their laps in silence.

“What do you want to drink?
 
Water or juice?”

“Water,” Liam says, staring at his plate.

“Sure?”
 
Brian holds the water pitcher over his son’s glass.

Liam nods, so Brian fills the plastic cup halfway.

“Tell me when to stop,” Brian says, scooping out a spoonful of their dinner and dropping it onto Liam’s plate.
 
“One plop?”
 
Brian pauses before getting out another spoonful.
 
Letting it drop to the plate, he says, “Two plops?
 
Shall we go for three?”

Liam smiles shyly for a moment and then the smile disappears.
 
“Two plops is good.”
 
He picks up his fork and stabs a slice of hot dog, putting it into his mouth with unhurried motions.
 
He chews while staring at the noodles.

“I’m going to have four plops.
 
This stuff is gonna be awesomesauce,” Brian says, pretending to be very interested in serving the food.
 
He’s feeling really good about his son’s reticence.
 
The guilt of whatever he’s done is eating him alive.
 
This is a good sign
.