Page 59 of Searching for Beautiful
This is my chance to get out the fact that I’ve seen Jason and for me to make a vow that I won’t see him again. “The guy who was the father of my baby… I’m not supposed to see him, either. But I have. Only once and it was an accident, but I also talked to him. And he called me once, too. If my dad found out, he’d freak. ” He’d more than freak. He’d want to go to the police or something.
Her eyes stretch to the size of quarters and then turn accusatory. “So you’re doing the same thing I did?”
“No. ” I shake my head. “Jason never hurt me like that and I would never leave with him. I don’t even want to see him again. If my dad found out, he’d lose it. ”
“He never hurt you?” The way her eyes dart to the ground makes it seem like she’s almost wishing he had. Not that I believe Emery wants me hurt, but maybe she doesn’t want to be alone.
“Not physically, but he did in every other way. ” The urge to give her something else hits me. To show her she’s not the only one who can make a mistake. “And I let him get away with it. Let him manipulate me—and I guess I still am. ”
She doesn’t ask me anything after that. I jump a little when she reaches over and grabs my hand. We sit like that for what seems like hours, but I know it can’t be. It just feels good to have her support. To know she’s there. When it’s time to leave, Emery looks over at me. “About Max…I promise I’m not going to see him again. You really won’t say anything, will you?”
“Let’s make a pact,” I say. “We both promise not to see our exes again, and if they try to see us, we’ll tell someone else. We need to prove to them they can’t take advantage of us anymore. ” The words fill me up like nothing has in a long time. I’m going to do this, and I will do it with my friend Emery.
She nods. “Let’s do it. ”
“Promise?”
“Trust me. ”
And I do. I wanted people to automatically believe in me when it came to Jason, so I’m going to do the same for Emery.
…
“I’m thinking we should make a trip into your pottery room today,” Christian tells me as he drives us home from school the next day.
“I don’t feel like it. ” The words come out of my mouth before I think about them.
“Liar. ”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were me. ” I cross my arms.
Author: Nyrae Dawn
Christian laughs. Laughs. “I’m not. I’ve just learned that when you hold shit back, things always end up more screwed than they were before. You want it, Brynn. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have seen you sneaking out to your room so much. What’s the deal?” He turns into his driveway.
“Why do you care?” I snap and then feel like a jerk. “I’m sorry. It’s just…hard. ”
“Welcome to the real world. We all have problems. ”
His candor always shocks me. My feelings about it are a mixture of love and hate—there’s a part of me who likes that he pushes me. That he doesn’t tiptoe around or ignore me. But the other—well, the other hates it because like everything else, it’s hard. Like oil and water trying to blend together, I never know how to feel when Christian says things like that.
“I was doing it. Making something. In my pottery room. When she died. ” My sentences are clipped, but they still come out. That’s what matters: that I opened my mouth and pushed the words out. That I want Christian to know.
“Shit. I’m sorry. But I think…” He pauses and reaches over to grab my hand. “You still need to get it back. It’s still yours. Don’t you want it? That thing that no one can take away from you?”
I do. I just don’t know if I can reach out and grab it. And as I look at him, in those blue, blue eyes that seem to go on forever, I wonder what someone took from him.
“What did you lose?” I ask.
Christian shakes his head. “It’s not really a big deal. We’ll talk about it later. Right now I just want to play my guitar and see you make something. ”
I sigh and look down to realize we’re still holding hands. To see his darker skin contrast against my pale white. It makes me sound ridiculous, but I’ve only held hands with three boys in my life: Ian, Jason, and now Christian. I know it’s different with Christian and me, because with him, I feel his support. The way he squeezes and the texture of his skin feels different. The warmth in his body. It’s not about hooking up or walking down the hall with a girl in your arms. It’s about comfort. And it feels good to have someone comfort you. To not always have to do it for yourself.
“Come on, chica. You want this. I know you do. Let me play for you. Let me watch you create something. ”
Those words pump me up. They give me a voice when I want to keep quiet. “I’ll try,” I tell him.
His smile skates over me. I feel it warm me even though my eyes are still on our hands.
