Unbeautiful (Unbeautiful 1)

“When my father did that to me,” he said, “I made it three days. How are you ever going to survive torture, Emery?”

No, I definitely won’t go to my parents for help. I’d rather stab out my eye.

I decide to ask Ryler. He was so nice last night, and I don’t think he’ll mind.

Since I skipped the jog this morning, I opt out of taking a shower. I pull my hair into a ponytail, dab some lip gloss on, and tug on a grey T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Today, I’m going minimal, another part of breaking my routine.

I slip on my sandals and cautiously open the front door, peering out into the stairway to make sure the coast is clear before I step outside. Then I jog down the stairs, stop in front of Ryler’s door, and raise my hand to knock. But I realize that the sun is barely kissing the top of the hills. It’s really early. Ryler had to have gone to bed late since he left for work at eleven.

I start to back away, figuring I can wait a few hours to ask him, when the door swings open and Ryler walks out, doing up the belt on his jeans.

My gaze immediately drops to where his hands are, and I bite my lip as my skin warms.

“Emery?”

I look him in the eyes. “Hi.” I smile brightly.

“Hey.” Dark circles are under his eyes, his shoulders are hunched, and his hair is disheveled, as if he just rolled out of bed. He’s still beautiful, amazingly stunning, striking me speechless. “What are you doing here?”

“Um...” Oh, yeah, I did come down here for a reason other than to stare at him. I point upstairs. “Okay, so last night, my window was broken, and since I’ve never rented a place before, I’m not sure what to do. Should I report it, or should I just fix it myself?”

“What’d you do? Go home and have a big party for the first time?” he signs with a forced, playful grin.

I miss a beat. Last night, his smiles seemed so real and genuine, but now, they seem all wrong.

I lower my hand to my side and shake my head. “I wish that were true. Someone actually threw a brick through it.”

His lips part in shock. “Are you being serious?”

“Unfortunately. It happened not too long after you left.”

Signs of his exhaustion dissipate and are replaced with anger. “Why the hell would someone do that to you? Fucking assholes. I bet it was our neighbor on the bottom floor. He sometimes gets destructive when he drinks.” He storms for the stairs, his intensity startling me. “You know what? I’m going to go talk to him. If he did this, he’s going to pay.”

I snag the bottom of Ryler’s shirt and my knuckles graze his side, causing shivers to course through me. “I don’t think it was him.”

Ryler briefly glances at my hand on his shirt, and I quickly free it from my death grip. I’m not positive what the boundaries are of this thing we have going on or even if it can be considered a thing. As with everything else, I’m uncertain what happens after you make out with your hot, mysterious neighbor. One thing I am certain of, though. The protective side he’s showing now is totally turning me on, which also may be another first for me.

“How would you know?” Strands of his black hair dangle in his eyes as he looks me over. “Do you know who did it, Emery?”

“No, but I don’t think it could have been a random act of drunkenness, considering there was a note attached to the brick.” I bite down on my tongue. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that. Then again, I probably shouldn’t have told him a lot of things I have.

I’m so confused.

About right and wrong.

Who to trust.

Although, it feels like I can trust him.

“A note?” he signs with inquisitiveness. “What’d it say?”

I rub my hands down the sides of my legs as goose bumps dot my flesh. Not from the cold, but from my nerves. “If I told you, you’d have to promise you wouldn’t tell anyone and that you won’t ask questions.”

He scratches the side of his face, and I notice his arm is red and scratched, as if a rough surface was dragged over his flesh. When he sees the direction of my gaze, he hastily jerks the sleeve of his grey thermal shirt down to cover the marks up.

“I’ll try not to ask questions,” he replies. “But, with how nervous you’re acting right now, I’m guessing whatever that note said is going to make me want to ask a lot of questions.”

He’s letting me decide.

He’s letting me make the choice.

If I want to let him into that part of my life.

“Well, you can ask,” I say, turning for the stairs, “but I more than likely won’t be able to answer all of them.”

He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. I still haven’t cleaned up the glass on the floor, and his eyes immediately fall to the shards stuck in the carpet then drift upward to the taped-up window.

“They threw it through your door?” He shakes his head as he moves to the sliding glass door and inspects the hole through the plastic. “When you said window, I thought you meant window.”

“Window. Door. They’re kind of the same.”

“So, where’s the note?” Ryler’s brow arches when I twist the lock of the door, locking up, something I do completely out of habit. “Are you afraid of someone, Emery? Is that why you’re locking the door, because you’re afraid of the person who did this?”

“Kind of.” Which is the partial truth.

I collect the note from the coffee table and give it to him. “This was on the brick,” I explain as he reads the short letter. “At first, I didn’t see it and thought someone had just thrown the brick to scare me.”

He worriedly glances up from the paper. “Emery, this isn’t just a note. It’s a threat.”

I sigh as I sink onto the sofa. “I know it is.”

He sits down beside me, leaving too much space between our bodies in my opinion. “Did you call the police?”

I shake my head and slump back on the sofa. “I can’t call them.”

He looks from the paper to me and a pucker forms at his brow. “How come?”

I shrug. “Because I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I flop my head back and stare at the ceiling. “Because I just can’t.”

He stares at me, wanting more, but I can’t give anything else to him. Last night, when we hung out and played cards then listened to music and kissed in his room, I got my first taste of normalcy. Telling anyone about what I think the note really means and who it’s from would forever ruin my chance of having a more normal life. My parents would find out. I’d be sent home where I’d marry Evan and turn into my mother, forced to be my husband’s pillar, keeping his secrets for him.

&nb

sp; “Emery...” he signs before his hands fall to his lap.

Frowning, I turn my head to face him. “You promised you’d try not to ask questions.”

“I know I did.” His gaze flicks back and forth from the note to me. Then, with a heavy sigh, he tosses the paper onto the coffee table and sits back in the chair, rubbing his tired eyes. “Can I at least ask if you have any idea who did it?”