Unbeautiful
Page 18

Honestly, after that text he sent me the first day here, I’m not sure we’re even dating anymore. The idea that we could be breaking up doesn’t rip my heart apart. Doesn’t do anything for me other than make me feel the slightest bit content.
Maybe I should just break up with him.
Could I do that?
Am I that strong and independent yet?
I don’t feel like it.
But I don’t want to be just a pretty decoration anymore.
I want more.
I want to feel fire.
Feel something.
I want to be able to look at him and feel his hands all over me without him even touching me.
I decide to call Evan. I’m not positive I’ll work up the courage to end our relationship, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what happens.
I dial his number as I stretch out on the sofa.
“Hey,” I say after he answers.
He pauses before responding. “What are you doing?”
I sit up and wipe my cheesy fingers on a napkin. “Calling you.”
“Obviously, Emery, but why?”
“I don’t know.” I peer out the window. The sun is descending, painting the town grey. Soon, the sky will be black, another day passing where I haven’t done a damn thing. “I was just sitting around and thought I’d call you since our phone conversation got cut the last time.”
“Yeah, I thought I made it pretty clear I didn’t want you calling me again until you came home.”
“I’m not coming home. At least, not any time soon. I have things I want to do, Evan, outside of Ralingford's walls. I wish you could support that.”
“You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you, Emery? You have no clue how much trouble you’re in.”
“I’ve gotten myself into nothing”—I stand up and pace the floor, restless—“other than a chance at having a normal life. And, if by trouble, you mean with my parents, then I don’t care. I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t.” He condescendingly laughs. “And what do you mean by normal life? Is that what you think skipping out of town and bailing from your life is?”
I suck in a gradual breath. Remain calm. “I didn’t have a normal life in Ralingford. Not one of my own anyway.”
“You can’t handle having a life of your own. You weren’t made for that.” He sneers. “You were made to be one of those pretty girls who never has to work a day in her life. Everything you’ve ever gotten, including me, is because of your looks, not because you’re some brilliant, amazing, independent person.”
I envision punching him in the face repeatedly. Blood splatters in the vision, and I find it oddly therapeutic.
“You know nothing about me,” I snap. “You just think you do.”
“No, I do know you,” he retorts. “You’re only going through a phase, wanting to be more than you are. And, when you realize you’re not, you’ll come back to Ralingford.”
“I’m never coming back to Ralingford. Ever.”
“If you’re going to be a traitor to your family, then we don’t need to be talking, do we?”
“I’m not a traitor… I just needed to get out and try to be on my own. It’s important to me.” Important to get away from my family, the town of Ralingford, and the dirty secrets hidden by the stars and moon.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to make yourself feel better for bailing.” He pauses and I start to open my mouth to tell him to go to Hell, but he beats me to the punch. “Do. Not. Fucking. Call. Me. Again. Until. You’re. Ready. To. Come. Home. We’re done now.”
Click. The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, stunned and extremely pissed off. It’s not the first time he has insulted me, but it hurt more than it normally did. Usually, I took the verbal beatings, like I did from my mother and father. I shut down, shut all my emotions off. But here in my own home, I want to open my mouth and scream.
I stew in my anger for another ten minutes before I realize something else.
I think Evan just broke up with me.
I set my phone down on the coffee table and stare it. I feel odd. I feel… liberated.
I’m not sure what to do with the newfound feeling. Get up and have a drink or something? Make a toast to myself? Celebrate? I’ve never done either, and I don’t have anything to drink other than water and juice.
As I head to the fridge to pour a glass of juice, I hear a low, muffled noise coming from just outside my door. I pause. It sounds like…
Screaming?
And reminds me of…
Ellis.
I shiver as I crack the door open and listen. Then I relax.
It’s just music.
Music is fine.
Music isn’t pain.
Or perfection.
Music has flaws.
It can be drowning or uplifting.
It can be anything and everything all at once.
Music, I can handle.
I move to shut the door when laughter and cheering bursts over the music. A party is going on. Curiosity sparks inside. I’m not sure if it’s the brand-new freedom in the air or if I have finally lost my mind, but I step outside and drift downstairs toward the noise. The music gets louder with each step I take until I reach the second floor, and then the lyrics and rhythm surround me.
The party is at the apartment the quiet guy lives in. He’s standing outside in front of his door, smoking a cigarette. Beside him is a guy about the same height with cropped brown hair and brown eyes. A girl is also with them; she has red streaks of hair, piercings, and ink. I find myself jealous of her. To be that girl who stains her skin with art and poetry, who pierces her skin with jewels, creating her own beauty however she wants to—God, what would it be like to be that free?