Unbeautiful
Page 14

There, I met her.
Aura.
Aura.
Aura.
She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
Sixteen-years-old with hair as fiery as the sun,
skin like lilies.
eyes like the stars.
Aura.
Aura.
Aura.
Her name branded my soul.
And when she looked at me, I felt wanted.
Maybe even a little bit loved.
When we spoke, we spun poetry
under the moon and stars.
When we touched, we created beauty.
A beauty that could only be felt.
Together, we were perfect.
Together, we made all the imperfections in our lives disappear.
Or so I thought.
But then came Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
God, how I hated Ben.
He was our foster father.
The person who would ruin our poetry.
Ruin our beauty.
Ruin our imperfect perfection.
Ben was tall.
And he was strong.
And he was angry.
At the world.
At himself.
At everyone, really.
I tried to stay invisible.
It was the fifth home I’d been in.
I knew the routine.
Out of sight and out of mind.
But it only worked in public,
out of watchful eyes.
Behind closed doors was a different story.
It was where Ben thrived,
letting his anger control him,
burying everyone alive.
His iron fists bruised skin.
Broke bones.
Stripped souls.
Bit
by
bit,
until there was nothing left.
Rock bottom is where we all arrived.
Struggling to live.
Struggling to survive.
I tried to protect Aura.
Most days, I took the brunt of the fight.
I became Ben’s punching bag.
But that was okay.
Just as long as Aura was left untouched
and unscathed.
It worked for a while.
But then came that day.
That God awful day.
The day when I faced death right in the fists.
To protect Aura from death,
I faced my own death head-on.
But I failed.
God, did I fail
as Ben’s iron fist knocked me out.
When I woke up again, my life was forever changed.
Was forever darkened by the Land of Shadows.
Ben had taken almost everything from Aura.
But even at the brink of death, he wanted more.
So he stepped forward to take it.
To finish Aura off.
I stepped forward to stop it.
I ran straight into the iron fists.
Into the darkness.
Into the nothingness.
And gave away my inner light.
I lost everything after that:
my freedom,
what Aura and I had,
my voice.
I was scarred.
Forever.
My hand is trembling by the time I withdraw the pen from the paper. Emotions surface, toxic, potent, threatening to make me lose control and break down. But that would go against the promise I made to myself years ago to keep myself together, to never lose it again, like I did with Ben. Right now, I can’t afford to lose it, not when I’m in the middle of some heavy, dangerous shit that could quite easily lead to me being found dead in a ditch.
Suddenly, my “personal” phone starts vibrating from inside my pocket. I know it’s Agent Stale before I even dig it out because this is his normal check-in time.
I glance around, making sure there’s no one around, before opening the incoming message.
Stale: We just wanted to make sure everything went okay with the writing center and to confirm you’re starting in the next week.
Me: I told u yesterday when u sprung it on me that I was, just as long as u trust your inside person.
As usual, Stale gave me little notice before my next move, which was to start a job at the writing center because, apparently, a kid of one of Elderman’s men works there who is also a nark. Somehow, they think the two of us working together will speed up the process of finding Donny Elderman’s warehouse and taking him down.
Stale: Of course u can trust him.
Me: Like I could trust Larry.
Larry was another informant who almost ratted me out. Luckily, Stale figured out what Larry was planning on doing and arrested him before he could out me to Elderman.
Stale: Larry was a mishap. I promise you can trust Brooks.
Me: I hope so.
Stale: Everything’s going to be fine. I swear. I can feel we’re getting closer to the location.
He says that all the time, and it’s not the truth. I’m nowhere closer to figuring out the location of Donny Elderman’s warehouse than I was six months ago when this whole shindig started. The only thing I’ve learned is the drug trafficking world is extremely intense. Elderman’s men are cruel. And there’s a warehouse somewhere in Wyoming, but I’m not sure if it’s the main one we’re looking for, the one Donny Elderman lives in.
Me: I gotta go do some stuff. I’ll text you next week after I get done at the writing center to let you know how things go.
I stuff the phone in my pocket and climb out from behind the bushes to head inside but stop outside the door to have another cigarette before I go in. Puffing away, I watch as the sun glistens across the shallow hills. Usually, it’s quiet around the building, but I hear footsteps today. They’re faint enough most people wouldn’t hear them, but after losing my voice, my other senses seemed heightened.
The moment I catch sight of the person rounding the stairs, my hands fall to my sides, and my cigarette hangs between my lips.