Scared of Beautiful By Jacqueline Abrahams
Acknowledgements
It started as a simple task on a small bucket list, a seemingly unachievable dream. But like all dreams, all they need are wings to fly. Wings and people who believe unequivocally that you can do it. I’d like to thank my husband and two beautiful girls who allowed me to enter my writing zone and ignore the dishes and dirty clothes. Even though this was not a “kid friendly” novel and both my daughters can’t read it for a long while, their excitement at mum’s achievement was unfailing. To my husband who refused to beta read, but did in the end, when he proof read every naughty scene in here! Thanks for that! To all my awesome beta readers, who took the time to read, critique and encourage, especially Kurstie. I hope you know your copious text messages were just the motivation I needed to keep my ass planted at my computer. To Kyla Stein, of Missed Period Editing for Indies, whose advice and services were invaluable at a time where nerves threatened to get the better of me. Absolutely love your work! An angel made me do this, and thank you to Sharon for passing on the message. Your support was awesome at those points where I needed them most. To my babysitters aka parents. They say when you give someone time you are giving them the most important thing you can. So thank you for the time you gave me to write. And finally to the universal forces that had my back. I feel truly blessed.
An angel made me do it…
Chapter 1
Maia
The soaked tarmac feels like jagged rocks pressing into the soles of my feet. The hard raindrops that pelt against my head and skin feel like an endless assault of needles. The torrential weather impairs my view of the road ahead, but somehow I know it’s long, and seemingly never ending. My thin t-shirt and gym pants do nothing to protect me from the torrents. The wind howls like a spirit, floating through the pitch black of the night. I should be scared, not only from the raging storm that I am amidst, but also because I am alone; but that’s precisely why I feel so strangely safe: because I am by myself. A voice, distant yet so clear, repeats my name. “Maia!” It begins as a far off whisper but it becomes closer and louder with each call. The voice is my mother’s; it’s one I would instantly recognize at any pitch. I turn slowly, blinking the rain away from my eyes. Her hand is outstretched to me, and at first I resist the urge to run towards her. I don’t want to go back. I want to escape into the pitch black ahead, except that I can’t leave her out in the cold, wet and alone. I reluctantly turn and walk towards the sound of her voice. My heart sinks as I realize that to go back to her, I have to return home.
* * *
The sunlight filters through my dorm room window. I squint, adjusting my eyes to the bright glare. It’s a typical Providence spring morning. I know I’m late because my roommate’s bed is empty, made to hotel standards with impossibly perfect corners. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and fling my legs over the side of the bed. That dream, that damn dream. It haunts my subconscious and screws up my days. I dream it so often that I casually refer to its aftereffects as my dream hangover. When I wake up, I feel like I’ve been slamming back tequila shots all night. The time on my alarm clock reads 9.30am, which means that I am half an hour late for Comparative Literature. Still, I decide against rushing, since there’s only thirty minutes left of the lecture anyway, and make my way to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.
My shower wakes me up sufficiently to decide against crawling back into bed and continuing the day there. Wrapping my hair in a makeshift towel turban and donning my bathrobe, my shower caddy and I make our way out of the communal bathroom. Halfway down the corridor a shout breaks me out of my daze. “Watch out!” Without thinking, I press my body against the hallway wall and my arms automatically fly up to protect my face, still clutching my caddy. My heart is racing and an all too familiar knot of anxiety has formed in my stomach. When I eventually muster the courage to open my eyes, I’m greeted by a stocky dude carrying a football. “Are you okay?” he asks with obviously feigned concern.
“Fine!” I snap. “But consider playing with your shit outdoors!” I turn on my heel and walk towards my dorm room. I soldier forward indifferently, but my hands shake uncontrollably, ever so slightly, and I swallow repeatedly to quell the nausea that my anxiety has spawned.
Clearly after my disturbed sleep last night, this day is not going to improve at all. I reach my door and strongly consider climbing back into my pajamas and reading Jane Austen until the sun comes up tomorrow. Turning the handle, I realize that I had forgotten to lock the door before my shower. Just as well, because I also forgot to take my key. “Oh shit!” I yelp as I’m greeted by the sight of an unknown male seated on my roommate, Jade’s previously crease-free bed. The male’s face is a mixture of shock and amusement, although the glare I give him should shake him out of his reverie and should send the strongest of men running for the nearest hills.
“You’re not Jade.” That’s all he says. No sorry for scaring the shit out of you or you may be curious as to why I’m in your room.
“Well obviously not,” I retort. I’m well beyond the ability to fake pleasantries today. I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. “What the hell are you doing in here, and why?” I snap.
The guy stands, and I notice the crease he leaves on Jade’s bed. Little Miss OCD is going to be slightly pissed about that, but to my surprise, before answering me he turns to spread out the offending wrinkles with his hands. He obviously knows Jade well. In the four months that Jade and I have known each other, I’ve never seen a guy on her side of the room. I’ve never actually seen a guy with her at all. This may well be her new man. As he is perfecting the bedding, my eyes can’t help but do a once over of his body. He’s tall, maybe about six foot two, with skin the color of perfectly cooked caramel, and his dark hair is cut in a neat crew cut with impeccable lines. As he angles his body to skim the bed’s edge back to its earlier neatness, I notice that his arms flex tightly under his white t-shirt. His frame is lean and athletic, and I can just make out a tattoo on his left bicep, and another of a musical note on his neck. His ass looks equally impressive in his distressed blue jeans. I’m careful to avert my eyes back to his face and resume my steely gaze before he turns back to face me.
“Well?” I ask impatiently.
“Name’s Jackson,” he answers, raising his hand politely. I leer down at his outstretched upper appendage as if he has leprosy. He pulls it back, a quizzical look on his face. “I’m an old friend of Jade’s so I decided to drop by and surprise her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the welcoming committee is so friendly,” he retorts sarcastically, but as I meet his eyes, I notice a glint of amusement there.
“Jade’s in class, she’ll be back later. Usually people who drop by call first, to figure that out,” I answer with as much feigned boredom as I can manage. He is very distracting, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I am very intrigued. He has the most amazing full lips and what I thought were dark brown eyes. But now, as I see them catch the sunlight from the window, I notice that they are a kaleidoscope of light and dark brown, with an ever so slight hint of green.
“Did you miss the part where I said surprise? Don’t you think a phone call may have defeated the purpose slightly?” he answers cockily.
“So I’m sure you can come back when she’s here. And you can leave now. Some of us need to get dressed and get to classes. I hear the hallway is a nice place to loiter,” I reply sarcastically, annoyed by his arrogance.
His face lights up with mischief. “Oh there’s no need for you to put clothing on, on account of me. I don’t have a problem with what you’re wearing. Just saying.” He smiles and allows his eyes to scan up and down body. This guy is incorrigible! Even with my robe, I suddenly feel extremely naked and exposed. Then I notice the cheeky dimple that has formed on his left cheek, and I realize he’s being a smart ass.
As he walks past me to the door, it pushes open and Jade walks in, carrying about twenty musical composition books. Still concentrating on her precariously balanced load, without looking up, she starts. “Maia, why the hell aren’t you…” She raises her eyes and notices Jackson. The books fly out of her arms to a scattered mess on the floor, creating a rainstorm of sheet music in the process. She squeals in excitement and barrels towards him, jumping up to wrap her legs around his waist and locking him into a fierce hug. For reasons completely unbeknownst to me, a small pang of jealousy gnaws at me. After a long embrace, her assault on his person is finally complete and he places her gently back onto the ground. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks him, bewildered.
“Well, someone told me to stop wasting my talent and do something with it, so here I am.” He answers with a broad grin.
“Are you shitting me? You finally listened to me, and enrolled?” Jade’s face is contorted with disbelief.
“Yup,” he nods, “although it appears that not everyone is glad I’m here.” He cocks his head towards me with that same mischievous glimmer in his eye.
“Oh, have you guys met? Maia, Jackson. Jackson, meet my roommate Maia,” Jade introduces happily. Jade and I are not exactly close yet, but she’s a cool chick, and the only person I’ve bothered to get to know since coming here. Probably because it would be difficult to ignore someone who resides a few feet away from me. Her introduction seems a bit redundant, because I already know his name, and who else he assumed I would be, standing in my gown in the room besides her roommate, is beyond me.
They continue to chatter on about home and mutual friends, and I decide to duck into the walk in closet slash storage area in our room to don proper clothing. I find myself choosing a pair of painted-on looking skinny jeans, and a soft green cashmere sweater. After running a brush through my tangled hair I glance over at myself in the full-length mirror. Carefully applying my makeup, I add extra concealer to cover the bags under my eyes that my restless sleeping has made a permanent feature of my face. Taking one last look, I wish I could get away without wearing it, even if the amount that I do wear is miniscule at best. Nothing more than a thin layer of foundation, a hint of bronzer on my cheeks and a generous application of lip gloss. My long golden brown hair hangs like a curtain down my back. It never waves, kinks or curls, just hangs. My stock standard brown almond shaped eyes stare back at me.
I often wish that I had that ethereal goddess beauty that Jade has. She looks like a reincarnation of an Egyptian princess, with her long and wavy jet black hair, and piercing green eyes, framed by a face of flawless honey colored skin. She also has lips that look like she visits a beautician for collagen injections daily. And Jade does not wear makeup; Jade wakes up looking runway ready. Not surprised at all that Jackson allowed her to jump right into his arms.
As I walk out of the small space, Jade is reaching for her bag, sans Jackson. Can’t say I didn’t just feel a twinge of disappointment. “We’re going to grab breakfast. Coming?” she asks casually.
I think of missing my Nineteenth Century American Literature class, my favorite one, and decide that I am beyond being able to concentrate today. “Sure,” I smile and grab my bag from the foot of my unmade bed. Jade looks over at my bed and I can tell she’s annoyed that I haven’t made it yet, and clearly don’t plan on doing so.
Jackson’s head pops into the doorway, and my hormones rage, just a touch. “Ready?’’ he asks. We nod in unison and follow him out to a vintage jet black Mustang.
Jade practically catapults into the clouds when she sees the car. “Oh my God, he gave it you?” she squeals.
“Loaned it. I get it completely when I graduate,” he answers. Turning to me he offers a further explanation, which I am grateful for, because I am fast feeling like the third wheel on this excursion. “My dad’s car, he bought it the year I was born, been fixing it ever since. It’s kind of his pride and joy.”
After squeezing past the front seat into the two door car with the barely there back seat, and being further impeded by the presence of a rather large subwoofer, I bring my knees to my chest and decide that comfort is not possible in this car. It’s clearly not designed for a third wheel. We drive off campus to the Clever Bean, which happens to be my favorite place in the world. The Clever Bean is one of Providence’s oldest bookstores converted to a glorious café. It is set over a huge two levels, the second of which is a galley level with a floor to ceiling bookshelf that I’m sure houses every single one of my favorite books. That galley is strewn with a mixture of beanbags and old chaise lounges and sofas, the perfect place to chill out with a good book. The lower level is an eclectic mix of retro ‘60’s, ‘70’s, and ‘80’s furniture, pod shaped chairs, lime green worn couches, and paisley armchairs with regal backs. A large, expansive counter and coffee bar spans the length of the back wall, and the side walls are covered in paintings and shelves packed with manuscripts and CDs, where indie artists of all sorts can advertise and sell their wares. Brown also has a campus bar, but that’s generally where the less sophisticated members of the student body go to hang out. The neon lights, pool tables, and massive cocktail bar with its scantily clad co-eds tending to it are my idea of hell.
“Nice.” Jackson nods his approval as we make our way to an L shaped lounge towards the back corner. My phone flashes for about the twentieth time since we left the campus. I decide that it’s probably a good idea to check who’s so desperate to speak to me. MOM flashes onto the screen, the backlight turning on and off in tandem with the phone’s vibration. I contemplate picking it up but decide against it. He’s clearly been giving her a hard time again. He’s probably drunk or threatening her again. I push the thought from my mind. I can’t deal with this now. Fresh start. Fresh start. I repeat the mantra over and over again until it sinks in sufficiently enough to push the concern away.
“You don’t have to ignore me, you know.” The voice shakes me from my attempts at self-counselling. Jackson is sitting across from me, his legs flung casually onto the coffee table in front of him as he settles into the sofa’s corner. “But just so you know, I’m awesome. Your loss.” He shrugs his shoulders indifferently.
I glare at him. He is an infuriating smart ass, and he knows exactly how to antagonize me too. Not that I would ever admit that. Jade is ordering coffee and lunch and he glances in her direction. I find my eyes wandering to the bulge created by his almost too tight jeans and his casual pose. I snap myself out of it, just one moment too late, and look up to see Jackson eyeing me with a smug smile on his face. I do the only thing I can at this point. I glare back at him. “If there’s anything that catches your eye or that you’re curious about, just say it. I’m happy to respond accordingly.” His smug smile inches up a notch. He is f-ucking intolerable!
“Some things don’t change, do they Jackson?” Jade arrives back in time to catch the tail end of the comment. She looks at him with mock disapproval, a small smile playing at her lips. “Don’t pay attention to him, Maia. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” He smiles at her happily. They look like they have that kind of unfailing friendship, which transcends time and distance and everything in between. If they were ever to become a couple, they would truly be enviable. Hell, even their names are melodic together. Jackson and Jade. Their children could be Justin and Janet. The ever so slight pang of jealousy assaults my chest again. We chat for the next two hours about everything from music to cars to school. There are parts where Jade and Jackson tell stories about their childhood and friends, and I find myself enjoying the happy banter. They make every effort to try not to exclude me wherever possible.
After ingesting four brioche, five slices of chocolate pizza, and way too many assorted macaroons, washed down by enough caffeine to make us insomniacs for the next decade at least, the three of us leave the Clever Bean. I once again make an excuse to occupy the back seat in Jackson’s Mustang for the trip back to Brown. Jackson opens the car door when we arrive at the dorm, and offers a hand to help me untangle my limbs from the tight space. He smiles down at me, and I notice that he has one of those smiles where every part of his face smiles along with his mouth. His eyes turn up at the corners, his cheekbones round out, his single dimple makes an appearance on his left cheek, and his lips part open ever so slightly, adding just the right amount of cockiness to the mix. He may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a hot one.
Jade and I walk into our dorm room just as the afternoon sky is disappearing to give way to night. The view of the iridescent sky from our window leaves me breathless every time. “So hurry up and ask.” Jade’s voice shatters through my daydream.
“Ask what?” I say, bending down to help collect the books she threw across our room at the sight of Jackson earlier. She eyes me off with a ‘whatever, like you don’t know’ stare. I choke back a laugh with my reply. “Seriously what? I have no idea what you’re asking me.”
“Jackson” she deadpans. “Every female I know asks about him at least once. So why haven’t you?” She seems bored with the idea that women seem to want throw themselves at him, and doesn’t wait for my response. “Look, you’re my friend so I’ll tell you the way it is without the sugar coated shit I feed the rest of the bobble heads. He hasn’t been interested in women for a while. He’s not the kind of long-term guy a girl like you needs. You’d be wasting your time. Players like Jackson are not for nice girls, even if he is awesome, too.” How does she know what I need?
I have to admit, my curiosity piques to discover that underneath that sculpted exterior, he may be a complex creature. “I’m not interested in him at all.” I reply with as much sincerity as I can muster. Truth is, I am not interested in anyone. I’ve had one boyfriend in my life, and relationships are an experience I would not care to relive. She opens her mouth, assumingly to call bullshit, but on a second thought, her jaw snaps back shut. I crash onto my bed and grab my well-weathered copy of Great Expectations and disappear into the familiar story. Though I really can’t explain why, I have the feeling that tomorrow is going to be a better day, after all.