Struggle: Beautiful Series, book one

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “I don’t know how you get all of those girls to sleep with you. If they knew you like I do, they’d run a mile.”

  He shrugs. “You know the real me and you don’t run.”

  “That’s because you need me to remind you you’re not all that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah that’s so,” I tell him, only half-seriously. Truthfully, I think any girl who can hold David’s interest for more than ten minutes would find herself a very lucky woman. He has the most beautiful heart. He’d die for the people he loves.

  He laughs and throws his scrunched up napkin on his tray then looks around the food court, watching people moving around us. I turn my thoughts inward before bringing the subject back to me again.

  “All joking aside, David, I still don’t think I’m ready to date.”

  His face goes sombre as he returns his attention to me. “I know you’re not, baby girl.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry for teasing you about Elliot. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I blink back the emotion that’s suddenly prickling the back of my eyes as visions of broken glass dance through my vision.

  “It’s fine. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who needs to let go and move on.” I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face, pulling my hand away from his before I become too comfortable and don’t want to let go. “Besides, a bit of harmless perving on a guy I can’t have seems pretty safe to me.”

  David looks at me with an assessing gaze. “You need to stop thinking like that. You’re gorgeous, and you don’t give yourself enough credit.” He clears his throat and pushes his chair back, assuming the usual jovial persona he likes to present to the world. I feel sure his mother and myself are the only ones who ever see the serious side of David. Sometimes, I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, because knowing him as I do, understanding his heart and his insecurities, only serves to remind me he’ll never be mine. He’ll always be too scared to love me. I wonder if I’ll ever be happy knowing that, or if I’ll be stuck like this forever: forever wondering, forever wishing things were different. How do people exist knowing they’ll always have to settle for second best?

  “Well,” he says. “I hate to leave the company of a beautiful woman. But, I need to get back.”

  There he goes again, calling me ‘beautiful’. I’ve often wondered if I should tell him to stop. Tell him how his flippant words hurt me. But, I don’t do that. To say those words would be admitting I still want more from him than friendship. I tried that once, and he friend-zoned me so fast I got whiplash. I fear that pushing the point again would only chase him away. And I’m not willing to risk everything we have on that conversation. I can’t imagine my life without David in it. So, I do what I always do and play his comments off as a joke.

  “That’s what you say to all the girls,” I respond in a mock sexy voice.

  He shrugs and kisses my cheek goodbye before he clears away our trays. “See you on the train?”

  “I’ll meet you outside the station.”

  He takes two steps away from the table before he seems to remember something and pauses, spinning slightly on his heels before facing me again. That’s when I notice something.

  “Are you wearing hi-tops?” I ask, surprised to see them sticking out of the bottom of a pair of dark grey dress pants.

  He gives me a half smile that shows his dimple on one side. “What can I say? They’re comfy.”

  “You look like you secretly play basketball in the filing room.”

  He winks. “Busted. But, I wanted to ask you; you wanna hit the town Friday night? We haven’t been out in the city for ages.” Actually, we haven’t been out since well before my accident. I haven’t felt like partying. But maybe it’s time I tried to get out there again and have some fun.

  “I do, but I have to go to drinks at work beforehand. The social committee chick was pressuring me, so it seems pretty important. I’ll have a drink there and then meet up with you, OK?”

  “Sure, I’ll message you where to meet me.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, standing to leave myself. We hug goodbye, giving each other another cheek kiss before we head back to our respective jobs.

  * * *

  The lift is more crowded on my way back up to the office. The snooty receptionist is in there with Beth, and maybe ten other people.

  “Katrina, is it?” the receptionist asks. “Was that your boyfriend I saw you having lunch with? He’s hot.”

  I frown and look at her, not understanding how we went from frosty glares, to questions about my personal life so quickly. I don’t even know her name.

  Taking my frown for incomprehension, she repeats herself slowly. “I said: was… that… your… boyfriend?”

  “I heard you,” I reply. “I’m just not clear on why you’re asking me.”

  She narrows her eyes and purses her lips, exchanging glances with Beth. Beth smiles charmingly. In her stiletto heels, she’s still half a head shorter than I am. Her skin is so creamy and flawless that she looks like a porcelain doll with large hazel eyes, full lips and a heart-shaped face. My pores feel enormous just looking at her. She’s dressed impeccably and has a very slim build, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine.

  “Let’s try this again,” she says with a giggle. “I’m Beth, and this is Bianca.” She holds out her hand to shake mine, and I reluctantly take it.

  “Katrina,” I say coolly, not at all comfortable in this situation.

  “I’m Elliot’s PA, and Bianca, as you probably already know, is the receptionist.”

  I nod, confirming I did already know.

  “Forgive, Bianca. She just saw you with a gorgeous guy at lunchtime, and we’re debating over whether he’s family or a friend. I said family, but Bianca was picking up boyfriend vibes. No harm intended.”

  “I’m sure,” I say warily. There’s something about these two that set my internal alarms off. I don’t like them.

  “So, which is it?” Beth pushes.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, so he’s your brother?” Bianca probes.

  “Why is this so important to you?” I ask, willing the lift to travel faster so I can escape this conversation.

  “Just curious. He’s a good-looking guy. I want to know if he’s fair game,” she says, challenging me with her eyes.

  I narrow my eyes a little. “He’s not my brother or my boyfriend, and I don’t discuss his ‘game'. It's none of my business.”

  Beth and Bianca once again exchange glances as the elevator opens, and I’m granted the freedom to walk straight back to my desk instead of continuing a conversation with those two.

  I’m not stupid. I knew Bianca was interested in David the moment she started asking. Every fucking girl I’ve ever met seems to be interested in David. And I don’t want to know about it. I’m not his pimp, and I don’t do matchmaking. He’s always been perfectly capable of finding girls on his own. He doesn’t need me.

  I let out an exasperated sigh as I plonk down onto my chair and wiggle my mouse to wake up the computer screen. I’m happy to move on from the elevator interrogation, to checking my emails and sorting through my 'in' tray again. But it’s hard. Girls like that always seem to make their way into my life. It’s like they can’t stand that a man like David would want to waste his time on a girl like me. It’s why I don’t have any girlfriends—they always make me feel like we’re competing for David’s affection. Boyfriends on my side aren’t any easier. They get competitive and jealous and someone always ends up bleeding on the floor.

  In the eleven years we’ve been friends, David and I have never found that delicate balance between our friendship and external relationships. We try, but so far all we’ve managed to do is hurt people—ourselves included. That’s why it’s better if we keep things simple. He and I can have our friendship, and everything else is… separate. For a long-term relationship girl like me, it’s a difficult situation to be in. But until I
find a guy who isn’t threatened by my friendship with David, it’s the way it has to be. David and I are for life. We bled for each other. No one is coming between that.

  Three

  “Wake up, baby girl.” David bounces his shoulder, gently jostling me to my senses.

  “Already?” I complain, sitting up straight and working the kinks out of my neck.

  “Yep. Next station. Did you sleep much last night?” He frowns with concern as we gather our bags and rise from our shared seat. Train travel from Sydney’s west is an epic journey in itself; over an hour each way not including delays. When you start work at 8:30am in the city, it makes for an early morning. Napping on the train is a survival skill. David however, prefers to read. Just as well since he’s also my alarm.

  “I never sleep much anymore.” I always have nightmares of Christopher. “But I left the house extra early to go swimming. I think I’m gonna regret that decision by lunch time though.”

  “You think?” he says, sarcasm lacing his words.

  “Yeah. I was planning on going for a run too.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “I need to get my fitness back up so I qualify for the national team this year. I lost a lot of training time from my injuries and recovery time.”

  We line up near the carriage exit as the train pulls into Martin Place station.

  “I’m worried you’re pushing too hard,” David says as we alight and head for the ticket barriers.

  “It’s been a year. I’m all healed. I just want life to go back to normal. I want to compete again.”

  “You know I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

  “But?” I glance at him as we move with the crowds up the stairs to street level.

  “But nothing. I just want you to be careful. Don’t push too hard.”

  “The Olympics doesn’t happen for me unless I push hard. It’s kind of the point.” Before that horrible day when my ex broke me, I was on track to make the national triathlon team which would lead to me qualifying for Olympic selection. With all the time I needed to take off training to heal, I’m way behind my peers. I have to train hard or the damage from Christopher will become more than the scars on my skin. He’ll have broken my dreams too.

  * * *

  “Hey there, new girl,” Carl says as I pass him in the hall on my way to the library. He pulls a stack of files out of his trolley and tucks them under his arm. “Didn’t see you here yesterday.”

  “That’s because I was at uni. I work here Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Uni Tuesday, Thursday.”

  “And you’re doing law, right? How do you get time to study?”

  “I keep my social life to a minimum, and I don't sleep much.” I flash him a smile.

  “That sounds, like, really boring.”

  “Gotta make sacrifices for those ambitions, Carl.”

  “Well, I’m glad I have zero ambition. Pushin’ this trolley is the life.”

  I hold up my hands. “Hey, no judgement here. You do you.”

  He gives me a smile and a wink. “I’m studying marketing at TAFE. I’ll see you in the break room?”

  “Instant coffee and semi-stale biscuits? Hell yeah, I’m there.” I hold my hand up and he just looks at it.

  “Do you seriously want me to high-five you right now? I’m twenty-three.”

  “And you stopped being cool, when?”

  He lifts his free arm and claps his hand against mine. “I’m always cool.”

  Laughing to myself, I make my way to the library, saying a quick hello to Kayley as I walk past her desk. She’s on a call, so I signal I’ll catch her later. The library is a mess, with books out of place and a pile of microfiche scattered on the desk beside the machine. Are these people lawyers or children? Jesus. It takes most of the morning to set it right.

  “We’re heading to Sydney Tower for lunch today if you wanna join,” Jo says in the break room. We’re sitting at the same table we did on Monday and it looks like I’m one of them now.

  “I can’t, sorry. I was planning on using the time to get a run in.”

  “For fun?” Albina asks, her hazel eyes wide and confused. She’s one of those naturally tiny but busty girls.

  “Kinda. I compete in triathlons and I’m aiming for Olympic selections.”

  “You’re going to the Olympics?” Carl asks, his eyebrows lifted.

  “No. I’m not even sure if I’m good enough to be honest. But my goal is to at least be considered this time round,” I explain.

  “Then what’s the point?” Kayley asks. “If you don’t think you can make it, why go through the process?”

  I smile and cup my hands around my mug. “Because it means I’m one of the best in the country. They only take two men and two women Australia wide. I haven’t even had the chance to compete at the adult level yet, so if I can qualify for selection that’s pretty special.”

  “So, bragging rights?” Carl confirms, and I laugh.

  “Yeah. Bragging rights.”

  “Cool,” he says.

  “You must be very dedicated,” Albina says, looking me up and down. “There isn’t an ounce of fat on you.” Her scrutiny makes me nervous.

  “Yeah,” I say, pushing away from the table when her eyes clock the raised scars on my forearms. I pull my sleeves down and mumble something about needing to study before the break is over.

  “But we still have ten minutes,” Kayley objects, catching me by the elbow. “Sit and talk to us.”

  “I… I can't. I’m behind on my reading,” I tell them, backing away before dropping my head and making a beeline for the door. I’ve never been good under the examination of others. Never felt as though I fit in the way most other girls do. I'm not a particularly curvaceous woman, built primarily of muscle and sinew which is compounded by all the training I do. Even without it, I’ve always been on the skinny side. A boyish figure, my mother calls it. But these days, with the addition of hundreds of tiny scars on my forearms, a few extra-long ones from reparative surgeries and the big gash on the side of my face, I’m even more self-conscious. I don’t handle being studied well. My scars encourage questions. Questions I don’t feel like answering.

  As I approach the library, I’ve re-buttoned my blouse at the wrists so I can’t accidentally push my sleeves up again and somewhat composed myself. I shouldn’t have freaked out the way I did, but I’ve only just met these people. They need not learn my sad and sorry tale of domestic violence before they’ve had the chance to get to know me as a person. I’m not interested in looking like a victim when I’m anything but.

  All the internal offices have windowed walls so you can see inside at all times, and the library is no different. I can see that someone’s in there before I’ve even made it to the door. I can also see that that someone is Elliot. The man I struggle to form solid sentences around. Great.

  My stupid stomach gets all jittery despite me wishing I didn’t react. But I can’t help it; he’s a beautiful figure to behold—especially from behind.

  He’s got a great arse. And those pants of his are tailored to hug those well-trained glutes perfectly. It’s enough to make a girl sigh out loud. Which I nearly do.

  “Hi there,” I say when I enter the room, letting him know he isn’t alone while also trying to be friendly. “You look busy.” I indicate the thick law volume he has open on top of one of the low shelves.

  “I am,” he says, giving me a cursory glance before returning to his reading.

  Wow. Talk about the cold shoulder. I’d have thought after our interaction in the elevator on Monday he would have at least said ‘hello’ Typical. Seems my original summation of the guy was right: He’s too good looking and he knows it. Makes him the exact kind of guy I should avoid at all costs.

  Brushing off the stagnant feel of our non-eventful conversation, I take my seat and pull my iPad out of my bag, bringing up the reader app with my uni texts inside it. I’m trying to concentrate, but I still see him there, leaning over his book while ignor
ing me. I mean, couldn’t the guy even manage a smile? A nod? Why give me a cold stare?

  Maybe I imagined the elevator thing on Monday? Maybe we didn’t have a conversation at all? No. That definitely happened. And David saw him as well. Why is this bothering me so much? I frown a little while I’m looking at him, and unluckily for me, he looks up and catches me. Shit. I flit my eyes back to my reading, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I keep acting like a weird stalker around this guy.

  Needing to look busy, I tap at my screen and highlight random sections of text. I figure if I look interested enough in what I’m doing, he might think I was frowning about my work and not at him.

  Every sound in the room seems amplified. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, and I seem to breathe so loudly it fills the room. Where’s a rock to hide under when you need one?

  I keep my head down, turning pages and pretending to read, highlighting here and there while still focusing on him. In my periphery, I can see him closing the book and sliding it back on the shelf. Good. He’s leaving. Except he isn’t leaving. He’s walking towards me. Why is he walking towards me? I try hard to look too busy to notice—highlight, highlight; thoughtful expression, page turn, highlight.

  “Katrina?” he asks briskly, trying to get my attention from where he’s been waiting next to my desk for the last five seconds.

  I look up with feigned surprise. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was engrossed in”—I wave my hand at the open text on my iPad—"What can I do for you? Um, Evan?”

  His brow twitches as he pulls his head back when I deliver his name incorrectly, a dirty trick an old foe from high school taught me. She used to call people the wrong name when she wanted them to feel unimportant.

  “Uh… It’s um… Elliot.”

  “Who?”

  “Elliot. Not Evan. My name’s Elliot.” He frowns and clears his throat. “I, um, wanted to ask if you had any microfiche for me.” He points to the pile I collected during my clean up this morning. “Figured since I was here, I’d grab them to save you walking them over to um… my office.” He lifts his hand, rubbing at the back of his stylishly messy hair as he gives me a sheepish grin.