Read Online Don't Make Me Beautiful by Elle Casey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elle Casey
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the hole. Maybe I’ll just take a look at the damage and make a call to a glass company myself. Then I can go get some cash out of the bank and be ready to pay the guy when he gives me the bill.
Brian takes a few tentative steps down the porch towards the front window. A car comes down the street and he freezes, waiting until it’s a few doors away before continuing. Once in front of the window, he looks around the neighborhood. No one is outside, and he sees no faces in any other windows. These people need an Agnes .
Turning to look at the cardboard, he notices it’s stuck to the still intact frame with duct tape. “That’s going to be a problem when the sun melts that adhesive onto the PVC,” he says out loud. He runs his finger along the edge, hoping he can find a loose spot so he can pry up the cardboard a little to see the actual damage. It’s stuck on too tight, though.
His eyes roam up. A set of white, gauzy curtains are right in front of him, obscuring his view of the house’s interior. This home has the same basic layout as his, so he knows there’s a large living room of sorts on the other side of the glass. He wonders what the woman was doing when the ball came through her window. Was she sitting in the living room reading a book? Was she in the kitchen making cookies?
He blinks his eyes a few times as they adjust to looking through the white curtain. There’s a couch in the center of the wall facing him with side chairs on its left and right, its dark, blurry contours getting clearer the longer he stares. A small coffee table rests in the middle of the conversation area. His eyes roam the walls, wondering what the pictures in the frames look like. It’s too difficult to see. He steps back and stands straighter, embarrassed when he realizes he’s being worse than Agnes, staring into people’s houses like this.
It’s then that something inside the house catches his eye. Brian stops moving for a moment as he focuses his attention on the dark shape on the floor. He steps closer to the window, going so far as to press his face up against the glass and cup his hands around his eyes, trying to see better. What is that? A rug on the floor? No. It’s not a rug. It’s too bulky. It looks like…
He bends down, a sense of urgency overtaking his good sense. He scratches desperately at the edge of the duct tape, finally getting a corner of it to peel away from the window frame. He draws it down, careful not to let it tear. Once it’s free on one side, he grabs the cardboard and pushes it sideways, like opening the cover of the book.
What the hell am I doing? This is nuts… He ignores his own concerns, needing more than anything else right now to just confirm that what he thinks he’s seeing on that floor is not what he’s seeing.
The hole in the window is finally revealed, and it’s big enough for his hand to fit through. Thank you, Liam. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d thank his son for breaking someone’s window.
Brian reaches through and grabs the curtains on the other side, using both hands to pull the bottom of them out through the hole. As soon as he has the entire bottom seam through the broken window, he lifts it up and looks into the small space that’s remaining. Now there are no curtains in the way and he can see into the living room as clear as if he were standing inside the house.
“Holy Mary mother of Jesus,” he whispers. He raises his voice. “Ma’am … Miss … are you okay?”
There’s what he assumes to be a woman lying on the floor in the middle of the room. All he can see is the back of her head and blood on her one exposed hand. “Ma’am! Are you okay?!”
No response.
“Fuck!” he yells, hurriedly shoving the curtain back through the hole and pushing the cardboard into place. He cuts the back of his hand on the
Brian takes a few tentative steps down the porch towards the front window. A car comes down the street and he freezes, waiting until it’s a few doors away before continuing. Once in front of the window, he looks around the neighborhood. No one is outside, and he sees no faces in any other windows. These people need an Agnes .
Turning to look at the cardboard, he notices it’s stuck to the still intact frame with duct tape. “That’s going to be a problem when the sun melts that adhesive onto the PVC,” he says out loud. He runs his finger along the edge, hoping he can find a loose spot so he can pry up the cardboard a little to see the actual damage. It’s stuck on too tight, though.
His eyes roam up. A set of white, gauzy curtains are right in front of him, obscuring his view of the house’s interior. This home has the same basic layout as his, so he knows there’s a large living room of sorts on the other side of the glass. He wonders what the woman was doing when the ball came through her window. Was she sitting in the living room reading a book? Was she in the kitchen making cookies?
He blinks his eyes a few times as they adjust to looking through the white curtain. There’s a couch in the center of the wall facing him with side chairs on its left and right, its dark, blurry contours getting clearer the longer he stares. A small coffee table rests in the middle of the conversation area. His eyes roam the walls, wondering what the pictures in the frames look like. It’s too difficult to see. He steps back and stands straighter, embarrassed when he realizes he’s being worse than Agnes, staring into people’s houses like this.
It’s then that something inside the house catches his eye. Brian stops moving for a moment as he focuses his attention on the dark shape on the floor. He steps closer to the window, going so far as to press his face up against the glass and cup his hands around his eyes, trying to see better. What is that? A rug on the floor? No. It’s not a rug. It’s too bulky. It looks like…
He bends down, a sense of urgency overtaking his good sense. He scratches desperately at the edge of the duct tape, finally getting a corner of it to peel away from the window frame. He draws it down, careful not to let it tear. Once it’s free on one side, he grabs the cardboard and pushes it sideways, like opening the cover of the book.
What the hell am I doing? This is nuts… He ignores his own concerns, needing more than anything else right now to just confirm that what he thinks he’s seeing on that floor is not what he’s seeing.
The hole in the window is finally revealed, and it’s big enough for his hand to fit through. Thank you, Liam. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d thank his son for breaking someone’s window.
Brian reaches through and grabs the curtains on the other side, using both hands to pull the bottom of them out through the hole. As soon as he has the entire bottom seam through the broken window, he lifts it up and looks into the small space that’s remaining. Now there are no curtains in the way and he can see into the living room as clear as if he were standing inside the house.
“Holy Mary mother of Jesus,” he whispers. He raises his voice. “Ma’am … Miss … are you okay?”
There’s what he assumes to be a woman lying on the floor in the middle of the room. All he can see is the back of her head and blood on her one exposed hand. “Ma’am! Are you okay?!”
No response.
“Fuck!” he yells, hurriedly shoving the curtain back through the hole and pushing the cardboard into place. He cuts the back of his hand on the
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