Unbeautiful

by Jessica Sorensen

  I turn her hand over. That’s my journal, I slowly sketch, basking in the way she shivers every time our flesh connects.

  “You write?” she mouths in shock. “Like how I write?”

  I stroke the back of her hand. Her skin is so soft. I wouldn’t know how you write since I’ve never read anything you’ve written. I wasn’t lying, Emery. I didn’t read those papers.

  “I know you didn’t,” she mouths. She pauses, decides something, and then rotates my hand over. My brother and I used to do this.

  I angle my head to the side and mouth, “Do what?”

  “Draw on each other’s hands.”

  It’s been so quiet between the two of us that the sound of her voice startles me. I glance around the table, suddenly remembering where I am and that we’re not alone.

  Holy shit, that was the most intense moment I’ve ever had, I think to myself.

  My attention falls back on Emery. I raise my hand to ask her about her brother. To see if he’s like me. Or is he deaf? Or is there another reason she knows how to sign and have amazing conversations by simply writing on the palms of hands?

  “Where’s your brother now?”

  Her beautiful almond eyes widen. “I don’t know.”

  My forehead creases. “You don’t know?”

  She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen or talked to him in six months.”

  Fear fills her eyes as we trade a look. She’s terrified of something. Or someone.

  “Dude, Ryler, it’s your turn,” Luke hollers, breaking the moment into a thousand pieces. “Ante the fuck up.”

  I throw a chip into the center of the table, scowling at him. He flashes me a grin in return.

  For the next hour or so, I focus on the game the best I can while teaching Emery the basics of gambling. She catches on pretty quickly and starts winning hands on her own. She even takes the shots, but I cut her off at number three before she can get trashed.

  “You’re really cutting her off?” Violet asks with a questioning look. “Man, you must really want to—”

  I point a finger at her and mouth, “Don’t even go there.”

  Emery arches her brows, intrigued, but I’m not about to explain to her the rest of what Violet was going to say, because it’ll make me look like the horny bastard that I am. Glancing at the clock, I notice the time is veering toward ten. In about a half an hour, I’m going to have to head out to the bar. I hate the thought of bailing out on this relaxing night and entering a world that sends my stomach churning.

  I want to spend a bit more time with Emery before I go, at least to give her back the papers.

  Lacing my fingers through hers, I rise to my feet and pull her up with me.

  “I have to take off to work in a little bit,” I sign to her. “But I want to give you those papers back.”

  Swiftly nodding, she winds around the chair and follows me as I steer her out of the kitchen area and toward my room at the end of the hallway.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Luke calls out, and Violet cackles, something she only does when she’s drunk.

  Shaking my head, I shove open the door and let Emery step through. Then I walk in behind her and close the door.

  “Sorry about that.” I nod my head at the door. “They just think they’re funny.”

  “It’s fine,” she says, seeming confused, like she might not even understand what Luke meant by his unsubtle innuendo. She walks around my small bedroom, glancing at the mattress and clothes on the floor, the few posters on the wall, and the record player and box of albums on the floor.

  She peers over her shoulder at me. “You like music?”

  I shrug as I wander over to the dresser. “It’s okay. It can sometimes get really quiet around here, so I like to crank it on and create some kind of noise.”

  She crouches down in front of the box and starts rummaging through the albums, reading over the titles. I retrieve her papers out of my dresser drawer then sit down on the carpet beside her and stretch out my legs.

  I place the torn pieces of paper on the floor then lean forward to sign to her. “The older albums my dad gave me when I first came home, but the new ones I collected from the concerts I’ve been to.”

  She glances over her shoulder, and her eyes briefly trace the scars on my throat. “When you first came home?”

  “I grew up in foster homes until I was about sixteen, and then... But, anyway, I didn’t start living with my dad again until I was eighteen.” Please don’t let her ask about where I was during the two year gap or where the scars came from. As sheltered as she is, I don’t think she could handle the truth very well.

  “How come… I mean, would it be rude if I asked why you were in a foster home if you have a dad?”

  “It’s not rude if you ask. You already kind of know my dad can be asshole, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, that’s why. He was an asshole who didn’t want a kid.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Another asshole who didn’t want a kid. Although, I haven’t see her since she gave me up.”

  She sucks in a huge breath and frees it. “Ryler, I—”

  I place my finger over her mouth, shushing her, and withdraw my hand from her lips. “You don’t need to say you’re sorry. Everything’s good now. I mean, look where I am now—sitting in my own little palace with what I’m pretty sure might be the most beautiful girl in the world.” I flash her a grin. Even though everything isn’t good now, at least in the broader picture it seems so.

  She’s unamused by my joke. Maybe even be a little upset.

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” I quickly apologize. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” A frown etches into her face. Then she turns around and pulls out one of my Taking Back Sunday albums and skims the song list on the back. “Do you ever wonder if there’s more to people than just their looks?” She keeps her head tipped down and her concentration on the album.

  I can’t answer her until she looks at me, so I reach forward and tuck my finger under her chin, turning her head toward me. “Of course there’s more to people than just look. Why would you ask that?”

  She shrugs. “For most of my life, everyone’s talked about how beautiful I am, as if that’s all I am. I want to be more than just my looks.”

  “You are, Emery. I can tell.”

  “You barely know me. How can you possibly know that?”

  “I know that you like to write passionately, which is why you tossed out those papers. You like to run. You’re starting school. You get flustered when you get flirted with. You’ve been sheltered for most of your life, but you clearly don’t want to be. That right there means your more than just looks.”

  She eyes me over with skepticism. “How do you know I don’t want to be sheltered anymore?”

  Grinning at her, I gesture around the room. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She returns her attention to the album in her hand, restraining a smile. “Well, here’s another sheltered factoid about me—I’ve never listened to music.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she peers up at me. “I was never allowed to while I was growing up.” She bites down on her lip hard, like she’s just done something terrible.

  “You’ve never listened to music? Ever?” I’m astounded. She’s not just sheltered. She’s completely missed out on life.

  “I did once.” She swallows hard as she returns the album to the box. “When my brother broke the rules.” Her voice cracks at the end.

  “You said you haven’t seen him in six months?” I leave the question in the air.

  “Yeah, I never should have told you that,” she whispers. “It just sort of slipped out.” When I stare at her in confusion, she sighs. “Look, my family doesn’t really like me talking about them, especially my brother.”

  I want to ask her more, but her eyes are starting to well up. I worry that something might have happened to him. The l
ast thing I want to do is make her talk about something painful.

  “Well, then you’re in for some serious first times tonight.” I playfully grin as I select one of my more frequently used albums. I remove the record and place it on the player, aligning the needle. Then I rest back on my elbows, watching her as “Dope Calypso” by Violent Soho comes on.

  She sits down on the carpet and gazes off into empty space as the music swirls around us and feeds us lyrics. Her head angles to the side, and her eyelids lower as she leans back on her arms. “I wish I knew the words,” she utters with her eyes shut. “I want to sing along… shout with the singer.” Her eyelids lift back open, and her gaze slides to me. “That probably sounded so selfish of me, didn’t it? When you can’t…” Her chest lifts and falls as she breathes rapidly.

  Arching my brow, I glide my hands forward. “Can’t what?”

  I shift my weight to the side, grab her arm, and pull her toward me. She rolls on her hip so we’re lying on the floor, facing each other. I take her hand and place her palm over my mouth. Then I move my lips with the words, caressing her skin with each syllable, creating noiseless lyrics.

  Her lips slightly part as she observes me in fascination, her eyelids eventually drifting shut again. She looks so relaxed, at peace in the moment, absolutely content and beautiful.

  Unable to help myself, I stop moving my lips and press a kiss to her palm, grazing her flesh with my tongue ring. Her eyelids flutter open, her eyes glossy and wide. Her chest heaves as she struggles for oxygen. She looks so unbelievably sexy I want nothing more than to roll on top of her and slide my tongue into her mouth.

  What stops me from doing so is the simple fact that, in about fifteen minutes, I’m going to have to leave so I can go to the bar and do some highly illegal shit. I don’t want to bring her into that mess, don’t want to bring anyone into it.

  I’ve hooked up since I’ve been in Laramie, but not with anyone I’ve had an actual conversation with. Usually, we only fuck, but Emery and I have already talked about personal stuff. Besides, she seems like she has her own problems to worry about.

  Even though it nearly kills me, I lean back and put some space between our bodies. “See, there’s nothing I can’t do, including sing.” I teasingly wink at her, ignoring how badly my cock aches every time she takes a breath.

  “Yeah…” she trails off, zeroing in on my lips.

  Before I can react, she leans forward and slams her mouth against mine, kissing me with so much force my lip ring sears into her lip. The kiss is anything but smooth, and as soon as it starts, it ends as she jerks back.

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, slapping her hand across her mouth. “I have no idea why I just did that. I think I’m just confused. My boyfriend usually is the one who instigates the kisses. I’ve never really wanted to kiss him like I want to kiss you, so I just thought I’d do it. But maybe I...” She stops talking, her cheeks pink with mortification.

  I reach over and draw her hands away from her face then mouth, “Boyfriend?”

  She sighs, growing even more flustered. “Well, I mean he was my boyfriend back home, but not anymore. We just broke up.”

  I release her hands and leans back. “You said that he always kissed you and that you never wanted to kiss him?” It’s an open-ended question, one I hope she’ll finish, but I won’t push her to do so.

  “Yeah.” Her cheeks puff as she blows out a breath. “I’m starting to sound really crazy, aren’t I? With all the stuff I’ve told you.”

  “Not crazy. Just sheltered and…”—I rack my mind for the right word—“inexperienced.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” she mutters, unconvinced, which makes absolutely no sense. She’s already mentioned at least three times tonight that her life has been sheltered.

  “I’ll tell you what. If you really think you want to kiss me, then go ahead. I won’t stop you from your first time ever wanting to kiss a guy,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  She stares at my mouth. “Really?”

  My body tenses. I have a feeling I’m about to walk into a complication, and I don’t need any more of those in my life right now. I should probably stop it, but fuck it. I want it.

  “Sure. Kiss away.”

  Her eyes light up, and my heart does this stupid dance in my chest. I should get up, walk away. Go down to the bar where I’m supposed to be. But I think about the words she wrote on the few pieces of paper I read. How they described me. How she can sign. How comfortable I’ve felt all damn night.

  And I can’t bring myself to move as she leans in.

  Chapter 7

  My Mind is Boggled

  Emery

  In all my eighteen years, I’ve never really had a clear mind. There was always confusion, sometimes voices or a general haziness. Tonight¸ my head’s foggier than a lake on a dreary day, though.

  I can’t think straight at all.

  And I kind of don’t want to.

  This is why I left Ralingford, isn’t it? To taste freedom, to experience life.

  Right now, that freedom and experience is on Ryler’s lips. As mortified as I was the first time I kissed him, I crave to do it again. I crave the feeling of his lips and the nip of his lip ring biting into my lip.

  I eagerly lean forward to do just that as his gaze drops to my mouth, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. In the back of my foggy mind, I hear a buzz of whispers, but they are silenced when I brush my lips to his.

  Holy hell. He feels as amazing as the first time, maybe even more if it’s possible to up amazingness in one minute. He instantly raises his hand and cups my cheek as his lips part, waiting for me to slip my tongue inside his mouth.

  He’s letting me control this because of what I said.

  A faint smile touches my lips at the thought. Evan used to force his tongue inside my mouth every single time we kissed. He’d tell me what to do and how to do it, never letting me take the lead.

  I tentatively slide my tongue inside Ryler’s mouth. The tip grazes metal, and I gasp at the feel of the piercing. My hands move forward and grasp onto his shirt, seeking something to hold onto. I feel like I’m tumbling far into a dangerous abyss, feeding him my secrets through my kiss. But if that were true, if he really knew who I was, he wouldn’t be here with me.

  Fearful and guilty, I start to pull away, but his hand glides from my cheek to the back of my head. He presses me closer, tangling his tongue with mine. Warmth spreads across my flesh, suffocates my lungs, and my heart rate quickens. I feel like I’m hyperventilating. I should worry about blacking out, about panicking, but then he shifts toward me, rolls me onto my back, and covers my body with his. Every single thought in my head dissipates as he pins my head between his arms and my body below his. I can’t form a single coherent thought. I’ve been completely and stupidly struck senseless by a simple kiss.

  And then I do something entirely out of character.

  I let out an untamed moan.

  I’ve never moaned.

  Ever.

  Ryler seems to like the noise, though. He moans too and then bites at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. I gasp and roll my hips against his, feeling so warm and out of breath, so helpless and out of control, so reckless. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him deeply. He gasps against my mouth and rocks his hips against mine, leaning back to watch me as if testing my reaction. I lift my head, needing to taste his lips again. He instantly slips his tongue into my mouth as his hand roams over the curve of my breast.

  Our bodies begin to fall into a rhythm, grinding against each other to the beat of the song. The more the friction builds, the hotter I get until I’m on the verge of exploding. I link my arms around his neck and pull him closer as the heat becomes so blinding I get lost in my surroundings. All I can feel is his body. All I can smell is the scent of his cologne and cigarettes. All I can taste is him. All I can hear is the soundlessness. I’m not sure what’s happening nor do I care because
, moments later, I drift from reality as something combusts inside me. I cry out for the first time ever. It’s only when I’m returning to reality that I realize what happened. I just had my first orgasm.

  As the heat of the moment starts to settle down, the reality of what I’ve done crashes over me. I had my first hook up with a guy my parents would never in a million years approve of. If my mother knew I hooked up with the guy downstairs, she’d do more than beat me. I should have just run away.

  I’m trying not to panic as Ryler pushes back to look me in the eyes. As he strokes my cheek with his finger, I find myself wondering what I should say to him. Thank you? I should go? With Evan, this would be the point where he’d get up and tell me he had to go to work. He was always working, all the time, with his father and mine. I still have no clue what he actually did for them.