Beth Michele - Scarred Beautiful

“Fran, I know you’re in there and I want you to let me in,” Matt says in a hushed tone and I don’t answer in hopes he’ll just go away.

“I’m not leaving so I guess I’ll just plant myself here until you decide to let me in.”

There’s a loud thump and I can tell he’s mirroring my position on the other side of the door. For whatever reason, Peyton’s voice pops into my head. ‘Even I can see he’s not shallow. He’s a good guy, Fran.’ In my heart I know she’s right, but I just don’t want to see the look of horror in his eyes, followed by pity when he sees how damaged I am, when he sees all of my broken pieces.

With a resigned sigh, I push myself to a standing position, wiping the wetness from my lashes and cheeks before clicking the lock. Backing up a few steps, I wait for the inevitable to finally happen…for Matt to see who I really am.

He walks through the door, a somber expression covering his face, worry lines crinkling his eyes. “Thank you for letting me in,” he says with so much relief that it nearly breaks me knowing I ran from him. “Now that you have, I want to know if you’re okay and I want you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve been crying, and before you say anything, I’ve seen you go through so many different emotions this past week, so don’t tell me it’s nothing and try to sweep it under the rug.”

“It’s not nothing,” I reply, trying to swallow the nausea crawling up my throat at the thought of revealing my darkest secret.

“What happened out there, Fran?” He keeps his distance but his voice is soft, his hands remain at his sides.

“My dad used to call me Franny,” I mutter, and I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he interrupts me.

“God, Fran, you must miss him so much.”

I shake my head back and forth in a violent fashion and know I must look like a crazy person, which is fitting considering what I’m about to say. “I don’t miss him. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, his brows knitting together, his arms now crossing his chest.

Everyone has a defining moment and this is mine. I’ve never willingly showed a man my scars, even with Kyle, he stumbled upon them. But now, here with Matt, it’s as if I’m standing on the precipice, about to hurl myself over the edge. The fear is crippling, all of my life’s insecurities culminating to form a tight, uncomfortable ball in my throat that strangles me from the inside out.

I never thought this would be the way Matt would first see me naked, but I suppose it’s better he know now. Before I lose my nerve, and with my heart pounding fiercely inside my chest and beads of sweat dotting my upper lip, I lower my hand to the belt and slowly pull it loose until it unravels and my dress is parted down the middle. With one last look at Matt—his eyes narrowing, the lines of confusion burrowing deeper into his face—I push the fabric apart.

An audible gasp breaks the silence in the room.

His eyes widen and his jaw hangs open as the sound travels between us. It’s the sound of horror, of mortification, of disgust. I’m scared to look into his eyes, to see the disappointment I’ve become all too familiar with. Instead, I glance down and notice the vein in his neck pulsing as he examines me, taking in the rough, jagged lines on my belly, the dark circles on my thighs, weathered imprints of pain, of survival. Everything bad in my life stems from these scars, as if they’re the tree and I’m the branches, when it should be the other way around. My legs and knees grow weak and I feel faint. I’m completely vulnerable under his scrutiny, the need to cover up and hide overwhelms me, but I’m tired now and I can’t run anymore.

“Jesus Christ, Fran. Who did that to you?”

But before I have a chance to respond, he answers his own question, realization of my previous words hitting him hard.

“Your dad,” he utters in a shocked whisper.

“He used to come to my room at night,” I say, my voice a strained whimper, not wanting anyone to overhear even though there’s no one else in the room. “He had these black, heeled boots he always wore and when I heard them tapping on the wood floor, I knew it wouldn’t be long.” A recurring shiver crawls across my skin at the memory. “I was so scared, you know, and I didn’t know what to do. I was just a child and he was my father.” An anguished tear rolls down my skin and I wrap my arms around myself. “He wasn’t supposed to hurt me. He was supposed to love me.”

Matt wastes no time, closing the gap between us. He tilts his head to the side, forcing my eyes to meet his before his hand comes toward my stomach and I flinch.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Fran. I would never hurt you.” His hand reaches my belly, his jaw clenching as he traces one of the rigid scars with his fingertip, and when his gaze finds mine again, his blue eyes are clouded with tears. “Oh, baby.” He doesn’t say anything else, but I see the pity in his eyes. The look I didn’t want to find there. I don’t want him feeling sorry for me.

Another tear slides down my cheek, landing on his finger. “I didn’t want you to see the ugliness and I don’t want you to look at me and feel sorry for me. I don’t need your pity.”

He brings my face to his, brushing the hair from my eyes. “Is that what you think? That I see ugliness? Jesus, Fran, what kind of a person do you think I am?” He drops his hands with a pained sigh. “Do you know what beauty is to me, Fran? It’s not wrapped up in porcelain skin and eyes that sparkle. It’s the human spirit that shines through when cancer comes knocking…when thick eyelashes have fallen out, when once-prominent cheekbones are sunken into hollow cheeks, when a graceful neck has turned to nothing but bone. A soul that remains hopeful in the face of devastation…that’s the most beautiful thing on earth.”

A rush of air leaves his mouth before he continues. “Your dad may have marked your body in horrible, unthinkable ways, but your soul, Fran, your soul is intact, and it’s beautiful.” He stares at me, determined blue eyes to shattered green. “So, you don’t need to be pitied, Fran, and no, I don’t feel sorry for you when I look at you.” He pauses, lifting a finger to my wet cheek. “I just feel.”

That’s all it takes for me to crumble, my insides melting at his raw honesty, my tears resuming their natural course down my cheeks. With a trembling hand, I reach out and smooth a piece of hair away from his forehead, needing to see his eyes. I’ve always heard the saying ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul,’ and I’ve just seen a soul so pure, so brilliant in its magnificence. It’s blinding and beautiful and I’m undeniably drawn to it.

“Matt,” I murmur, before gently pressing my lips to his, wanting to be one with this kind, beautiful spirit.

His hands come to my face, caressing me so tenderly I nearly fall apart again, while still wanting to show him with this kiss how much this moment means to me. It’s something that I will tuck away in a corner of my heart. Something I’ll take with me when I go. And as that last thought hits me, I part his lips with mine and wind my arms around his neck, giving myself to him in a way I’ve never given myself to anyone, our mingled breaths joining our souls for one precious instant. One I will never forget.

When we finally untangle our tongues, Matt continues to kiss the corners of my mouth while I try to rein in my ability to breathe. “You realize that you’re standing here kissing me like that wearing just a sexy bra and panties,” he whispers, his grin a tickle against my lips.

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?” I purr, drawing his body closer to mine.

“Nothing. I don’t like the ambience here. The cardboard boxes are kind of ruining it for me.”

I belt out a laugh and playfully tug on his shaggy hair.

“Come here and let’s get you dressed. Caleb and Peyton are worried about you and Caleb feels awful,” he says, tying my belt back up and looping it into a knot.

“I feel terrible that I snapped at him. I need to apologize,” I reply, feeling regretful of my outburst and the way I stomped off.

“No worries. Caleb is a very understanding guy and you have nothing to apologize for.” He finishes with my belt and reaches into his pocket for some tissue, sweetly wiping away the remainder of my tears before dropping a kiss on my nose. “There, good as new.” He laces our fingers together. “Come on.”

When we finally charge through the packed bar and make it back to the table, Peyton springs up from her seat and hugs me. “Jesus, Fran, I was so worried about you,” she says, her concern echoing in my ear.

It’s amazing how our friendship has risen to a whole other level since we’ve been here but I guess that’s what happens when you decide to let someone in. My eyes stray to Matt before Caleb’s up next, giving me a huge squeeze.

“I’m so sorry, sweet cakes,” he apologizes, and I smile at the endearment. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I push away and look him in the eyes. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry, Caleb. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just that…I’ve got issues.”

He puts his arm around my shoulder, resting his head against mine. “We’ve all got issues, Fran. We’re all fucked up. That’s what makes the world go round.”

I’ve never wanted to kill anyone with my bare hands until now. And the fucked up part? The person I want to kill is already dead. Still, I’ve never felt rage like this before, a seething hatred, the kind that makes your blood boil. I couldn’t breathe at the sight of those marks that Fran’s asshole father left on her, the thought that a father could do that to his own daughter—a vulnerable, innocent child who only craved love, and instead got brutality—what a poor excuse for a human being. Bile churns my stomach, my veins straining against my skin.

Then the other side kicks in, the one who looked into Fran’s eyes and saw the undeniable agony, the eyes of a child who’d been hurt by the person she trusted most…and it nearly killed me. I want to strip away the layers of her pain, peel them back to reveal the beauty that lies beneath…because there’s so damn much of it.

She thinks I feel sorry for her. She’s so far off and has no freaking idea. I feel so much when I look at her and none of it has anything to do with pity. Truth be known, it scares me to death.

That guy Ryan’s face suddenly flashes in my head and I go from seeing red to seeing green. He’s good looking, I’ll give him that, and he’s obviously into Fran, but then again who wouldn’t be?

I don’t even realize my teeth are clenched tight and when I glance down, I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel. Well, my left hand is. My right hand is enfolded in Fran’s as she stares out the window, the lights of the city passing by in a colorful blur. She seems lost in her thoughts, so every now and then I gently squeeze her hand to bring her back to me, a reminder that I’m here for her.

The emotional drain of the night has taken a toll not just on Fran, but on me as well, taking me back to Mom and Clara, replaying it in my mind as if I were stuck in the past, watching them die all over again.

Fran turns her head to look at me, a part of her face disguised in the shadows. “You okay?” she asks, and she must feel the tension rolling off of me, see the ticking of my jaw.

“Yeah, I’m just worried about you, honestly. It’s been a rough night.”

“Well, you made it better for me. I don’t think you realize just how much.” She whispers the last part, hearing Peyton and Caleb snoring lightly in the back seat. She glances back at them and smiles, continuing quietly, “I think they’re really cute together, even though I know it’s only temporary.”

Her words cut me deep and lure me back to reality, the one where she’s going back to New York soon, and I suddenly wonder what the hell I’m doing, what I’m allowing myself to feel knowing it won’t last. She has a life to get back to just as I do but it feels like we’re living a double life right now, one I’m not anxious to leave.

“Yeah, they are,” I admit, “and I think Caleb thinks so, too, although he probably won’t fess up to it.”

“All good things must come to an end, I suppose,” she states flatly, and her profiled expression changes as she stares blankly out the window. I squeeze her hand once again.

The rest of the ride is quiet. Caleb and Peyton are still snoring and Fran is dozing as well. When we arrive back at the hotel, I’m hit with the same wave of exhaustion that everyone else seems to be feeling. As much as I don’t want this night to end, I need some sleep.