Beneath the Scars

I shook my head, my hands balling into fists from the pain in his voice. “No,” I whispered. “Tell me.”

“Hugs. I’d watch other kids on the set get hugged by their parents or their agent. Sometimes they’d have a friend on the set. I never did. Not once. Between acting, being tutored, and all the bloody lessons they insisted I have, I never had time for friends. My mother hung around the sets for appearance sake but she didn’t care about what I did as long as she got her designer bags and big house.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Your mom…didn’t hug you?”

He sat down beside me. Cupping my face in one hand, he squeezed my cheeks lightly. “‘Look at this face,’” he crooned snidely. “‘My million dollar face.’” He withdrew his hand.

“That was the only time she touched me and that was what she would say—every single time. My face, Megan. She loved my face. Not me.” His bottom lip trembled a little. “What a stupid kid I was, right? I knew they didn’t love me, yet I still wanted their affection.”

I wanted to weep. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, kiss his ravaged face, and tell him he wasn’t stupid. I wanted to hold him until that kid felt how loved he was now and could start to heal, but he stood up and started pacing again. “Don’t, Megan,” he pleaded.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t feel bad for me. The entire time I grew up I was ignored by them. There was no guidance or care. I was a commodity. That was all I was to them; a mistake they used to their advantage. They lived a great life, thanks to me, and when I walked away that was what they mourned—not the loss of their son, but the loss of the money and the lifestyle they didn’t want to give up.” He grimaced and pulled in a deep breath. “They didn’t care about me or anyone else, but I was the exact same way. My parents were shit, but I was a great student. I treated everyone like crap. I was the perfect image of a spoiled brat. I was catered to on set. Everything I wanted, I got. People did what I told them to do because of my name—because they knew if they didn’t I would probably get them fired. And on occasion I did.”

“So, you were a brat. It was all you knew. Children learn by example.”

He laughed. “You’re still defending me. You still think too highly of me.” He shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “Except it didn’t change, Megan. Even after I grew up, in fact, it got worse. After I got rid of my parents, I got a new agent and PR team. I became my own manager; I refused to let anyone dictate my life anymore. I surrounded myself with people who wanted from me what I wanted from them.”

“Which was?”

“More—of everything. My father played it safe with my career. He kept me acting in the stupid sitcom because of the consistent money—even though I hated it and had for years. Every decision my father ever made was based on the dollar figure. Every stupid movie he put me in, every endorsement was because of the bottom line. I hated it. I hated him. So, I changed direction and branched into films. I wanted bigger roles and my agent, Ryan, was with me on that decision—more money, more power. I became a Hollywood bad boy. Drinking, drugs, women—all of it. Publicity was my friend because no matter what I did, I had something they wanted…” he sneered “…my fucking face. It was always about my face with everyone. Any movie they put me in was a sure fire winner at the box office and it made having to clean up my messes worth it. As long as I had my face, I had everything. I was worth something.”

I was on my feet before I realized it. “You’re worth something now, Zachary! Your face doesn’t change that!”

Zachary stepped back, looking startled by my outburst. He held out his hands in supplication. “I’m only trying to tell you, Megan. Make you understand.”

I sat down, my legs too shaky to hold me up. “I get it. Your entire life was based on your face. Don’t even get me started on how fucking wrong that is.”

He gave me a strange look. “That’s how it was. It was all I knew.”

“Still wrong,” I seethed. “There’s so much more to you than a face.”

Suddenly, he crossed over and cupped my face again, but this time his touch was different; gentler. He dropped a soft kiss to my mouth. “Thank you,” he breathed. Before I could react, he was gone again. My lips tingled from his kiss and the depth behind those two small words.