Read Online Searching for Beautiful by Nyrae Dawn - Free Book Online Page B

my loss and the track my life was on at sixteen years old. A track that would have been scary as hell, but one that I would have taken, even if I didn’t keep the baby at the end. After everything Mom and Dad went through to try to have a baby of their own, I couldn’t have had an abortion. But I didn’t have to. It’s gone nonetheless.
    “I’m only five months, but I swear I think I look eight.” She touches her stomach, too, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
    I had a baby inside me like that, but now it’s gone.
    My chest feels a little tight. “You… You don’t look eight months.” And she doesn’t. I can definitely see something’s there, but it’s not that bad.
    Emery playfully rolls her eyes. “Okay, I feel eight months.”
    I can’t stop staring at her. She can’t be any older than me. But she’s having a baby. Questions slam into my skull and I want to ask. It’s so hard to know what’s okay or not. It’s hard to make myself say anything because I don’t want to talk. Talking makes you closer to people and I’ve already lost Mom, Dad, Jason, my baby, my friends.
    “You can ask, you know? I can practically see the questions in your eyes.” She shrugs.
    Heat surges in my cheeks as anger and pain slam into me. I can’t stop thinking of all the things I lost and will never find again and she’s here and she has it and she’s okay. Normal, even though she’s pregnant and a teenager, just like I was. Why did I lose it all?
    “I…I have to go.” Pushing to my feet, I walk out of the room. I’m always running away from people.
    …
    When I get home, Dad isn’t here. I kick off my shoes, step into my slippers, and go straight out back. My pottery room sits right across from the back porch like always, and everything inside pulls and tugs me to it. I want to go there so badly—to lose myself in something until I forget about everything else—but I can’t make myself do it.
    I can’t make anything in that room ever again.
    That’s when I hear music playing and I look over the fence and into the neighbor’s yard. Christian is sitting on his back porch, a guitar propped on his leg, his head down in concentration. His brown hair falls forward, creating that wall between us that I wanted earlier, blocking his eyes from me. I don’t know if I should be thankful his house is set a little higher than ours or not, because if it wasn’t, the fence would be another barrier blocking him from me.
    My first thought is I want him blocked from me—need it. Just like everyone else, I don’t want to get close to him. Not when it risks losing some of those good memories.
    My second thought is the most ridiculous thing: I didn’t know Christian played the guitar. Maybe he hadn’t when I knew him.
    I turn to walk into the house when he says, “Hey to you, too.”
    I almost keep going. God knows I want to, but for some reason, I stop. “I don’t feel like talking.”
    “Huh…interesting,” is all he says before his fingers start gliding over the strings again.
    My feet itch to walk away but instead I open my mouth and say, “What is that supposed to mean? ‘Huh, interesting’?”
    He looks over at me, pushes his hair behind his ear, stands, and sets his guitar on one of the chairs. Then, he grabs the other one, walks over, puts it against the fence, and then stands on it, looking over at me. “Well, I guess it’s supposed to mean I find it interesting you told me you don’t feel like talking. Not too many ways to spin it, Bryntastic.”
    Another random thought pops into my head—he’s different. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he’s not the same boy I knew five years ago. Then I remember I’m not the same girl, either, and that urge to go hide out hits me again. “Why is that interesting?” Crinkling my nose, I realize I’m surprised I asked him a question.
    “Because you don’t want to talk, but you took the time to tell me instead of just walking away.