A Flaw So Beautiful Read online

  I might get to be friends with her.

  “Can I ask what happened earlier?”

  “Panic attack. And no, it wasn’t because of you.” He lowered his voice. “I fucked up.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Fuck, I wish I knew what was going on.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I feel bad enough. Anyway, she’s sleeping now.”

  I grabbed his empty bottle and along with mine and trashed them. “I’m glad she’s resting.”

  “Only because she took a pill.” I turned around and eyed him, only to have him chuckle like it wasn’t a big deal. “She needs them sometimes. It’s just for sleeping. Don’t worry about it. Now, she asked me to give you a message.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “And?”

  “Pinky.” He saluted me. “Thanks for the beer, man.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  I know she isn’t teasing me so it must be a safe topic for her.

  “Yep. Now listen. In all seriousness if you do anything, say anything to upset my sister, I’ll have to pay you a visit. I know you’re bigger than me, but it won’t stop me from trying. You must understand she needs time and even if you don’t get it, you can’t let that shit bother you. If she tells you to move on and leave her alone, then that’s what you’ll do. Don’t push her. Most importantly, respect her boundaries. Please, that’s all I ask. A lot of things trigger her panic attacks.”

  “I understand. But you need to know I’m not that kind of person. I would never do anything to hurt her. If she asked me to stop talking to her, I won’t lie, I would be upset but I would stop. I won’t push her. I respect her just like I respect you for taking the time to chat with me because you didn’t have to. We barely know each other.”

  “She asked me to, now I’m done,” he said with a smile. “Just remember what I said.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “I’m beat. I should go.”

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I said while walking him to the door. “I appreciate it.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t tell you more. Try not to worry about her. I’ll take care of her.”

  I shut the door and decided to go to work early. I couldn’t hang out here anymore. She was sleeping; I knew she was safe, so I’ll have to wait until next Monday and see what happens. This is going to be the longest week of my life.

  I showered, ate something for dinner, and headed to the club.

  It only took about fifteen minutes from the apartment to get to downtown Minneapolis where the club was located. It was one block off the main strip that ran through downtown. It was a little smaller than the other clubs but it was still very popular.

  The employees all wore black slacks with a cream-colored shirt. The women’s shirts were more of a blouse material and short sleeved. The men’s shirts looked like polo shirts and I fucking hated them. On the back of them, they read STAFF. They were simple but classy and matched the interior that was done in black with the same cream color of our shirts.

  Nick always wore a suit.

  He did not believe in labels. No one held the title of Manager, Supervisor, or Shift Leaders. Everyone was equal. Even though I’ve only been here a few months, it worked. I’m glad he offered me the job when he did.

  I have a business degree just like Nick. My first job out of college was an office environment and I stared at a computer all day. I hated that job for so many reasons, but the worst was the drama and my coworkers. I had to force myself every day to go. But now, thanks to Nick, I was happy with my job. It's easy work, not stressful, and I get along with everyone.

  I parked in our approved area and headed inside. The sky was clear and it was still warm outside considering it was nine at night, and I welcome the air conditioning when I stepped inside the club.

  Nick was already there with Jonathan who was bartending on the main floor. He looked at his watch. “You’re early,” he said as I sat on one of the bar stools.

  “Had to get out of the house.”

  He looked at Jonathan and asked, “Is it still Monday?”

  Jonathan looked at him like he was missing something. “For a few more hours.”

  Nick returned his attention back to me. “I’m proud of you, man.”

  Fuck, he was a pain in my ass. “You want me to leave?”

  “Fuck no! Get your ass to work.” He looked at Jonathan. “You too.”

  Jon and I both laughed at him and went our separate ways.

  An hour later, twenty women dressed in floor-length gowns and tiaras graced me with their presence in the VIP area. It looked like they were ready for a night at the Oscars rather than a night at our bar. Marcus looked overwhelmed at the sight of them, but I knew he could pull it off.

  Good God, help me through this night.

  The bride to be was easy to spot. She was the only one wearing white, with a pink shoulder sash that read, BRIDE TO BE. Three of the women wore pink dresses which I assumed were part of the wedding party and the rest were in different colors.

  Why the hell they were partying on a Monday night made no sense to me but whatever; to each their own. I did my job, made some great tips. No one puked or got out of hand and when the night was over, I helped them all back in the limo when it was time for them to leave.

  “Thanks, Lincoln!” I heard Nick yell from the VIP area after I came back inside from helping the last person get into a cab.

  I leaned back and saw he was leaning against the rail on his forearms. “You owe me!” I yelled back. Not sure why we were yelling. We could hear each other if we talked since it was dead ass quiet in here.

  “The fuck I do!”

  “Jackass,” I mumbled to myself and went back to cleaning the bottles off the table.

  “I heard that!”

  I didn’t reply. I wanted to get this shit done so I could go home and crawl into bed. My phone buzzed in my pocket so I pulled it out. Not sure who would be contacting me this early in the morning.

  It was my mom. “What’s wrong?” I answered.

  “Well, hello to you too, Linc.”

  “Mom, it's after two in the morning, of course, I’m going to think something’s wrong.”

  “Oh daisies Linc, relax a little will ya? I’m fine. I’m so excited I couldn’t sleep. I had to call you.”

  I dropped the trash bag and sat down. “Excited about what?” She recently just retired from being a school teacher.

  “I’m going on a cruise, Linc!” she yelled into the phone. Mom was born and raised in Iowa and never left. We were from a small town, just a few miles from the border of Minnesota. Dad worked in a lumber yard and between their two salaries, we got by. We never had money to travel or do much of anything else, but we were happy.

  “It’s about time you got out of town,” I teased.

  “I stared at the confirmation button for a while before I finally hit it.”

  “I’m happy for you, Mom. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, but guess what the best part is?”

  “You’re flying for the first time in your life?”

  “Yes, I’m excited about that but this is a cruise for single people!”

  Dad passed away over ten years ago. She’d known Dad since he was five and she was four. She knew then that she’d marry him. It didn’t happen right away, they had a lot of obstacles to get through, but eventually, they were married. My father dying broke the family apart, sent me down a dark tunnel, and we had a rough few years. But my sister pulled me out of the darkness and put our family back together.

  “I think you’re going to have a blast, Mom.”

  “I miss you, but I’m glad you moved. Change is good.”

  I laughed at her. She finally realizes it. Better now than never.

  “You’re right Mom, change is good.”

  “Everything okay, dear?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m still at work so I’m a little tired.”

  “I’m sorry
I disturbed you, sweetie. Get back to work and tell Nick I said hello. I’ll catch up with you after I get back.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes, Linc. Get back to work. Love you.”

  “Okay. Be safe, I love you too.”

  I hung up, grabbed the bag, and went back to cleaning the table. Five minutes later my phone went off again.

  My sister.

  Mom must have called her.

  “Hey, Nat.”

  “Hey, Linc,” she said half asleep. “Did Mom just call you?”

  “Yep,” I said wiping down the table with one hand, phone in the other.

  “Good to know it wasn’t just me.” She yawned. “She seems happy.”

  “She does.”

  “What are you doing? You seem distracted.”

  “I’m still at work, Nat.”

  “Isn’t it Monday?” she asked confused.

  God this was a long fucking day. “Technically it’s Tuesday.”

  “Smart ass. Why are you working so late on a Monday?” she mumbled into the phone.

  “There was a huge party tonight. The club was packed.” I grabbed the trash off the floor and headed back to the bar. “Get some sleep Nat, and call me tomorrow. I feel like we haven’t talked in months.”

  “Ah, my big brother misses me!”

  “And you don’t miss me?”

  “Always big brother, always. Talk soon. Night.”

  She hung up, and I busted my ass to finish cleaning and went home. Ashton was the last thing on my mind before I passed out, and I dreamt of her all night.

  Chapter 4 - Ashton

  I woke up on Tuesday alone like I always do. My alarm was set for nine a.m. every day. If I wake up before nine, I lay in bed until it goes off. I can’t let my feet hit the floor until nine a.m.

  I’m crazy.

  Last night after I ate dinner with my brother, he encouraged me to take a sleeping pill. He did this because I wasn’t comfortable with him still being in my apartment after four p.m. so I was having a hard time dealing with him being there. He knew he could only visit during my ‘free time’ and always left by four p.m., except for yesterday; yesterday he refused to leave. He said if I refused the pill he would toss me over his shoulder and take me to the emergency room. I took the pill, because of the memory of the time he did make good on that promise started to flood my mind. I remembered that I didn't talk to him for two months because of it.

  After I had taken the pill, we watched movies and I finally gave in and let myself fall asleep.

  I don’t always get my way. I’m not always in control. My schedule gets messed up and things happen because you can’t plan for everything. I know this. I have known this my whole life. But it’s also one of the most difficult things for me to remember and deal with.

  I can’t just go with the flow.

  I can’t be spontaneous.

  I must follow my schedule.

  Sometimes I can handle it, other times I can’t. I wish I could, but I don’t know how to grasp onto the concept. I try, I try so hard, but other times I just give up and give into the madness inside myself and slip away from reality.

  I rolled out of bed at nine and stripped my sheets off the bed. I do this every morning. After I make my bed with clean sheets, I head to the bathroom and continue my daily routine.

  It’s always the same. Every day I shower, brush my teeth, toss my hair up in some kind of ponytail-slash-bun do, and then eat breakfast. After breakfast, I brush my teeth again. I used to time each activity, but over the years Suzanne helped me ease into what I call blocked time. I give myself a set number of hours to complete multiple tasks. If everything is done within that blocked time, I’m good.

  My morning routine is from nine to eleven except for Mondays and Thursdays. Monday is different because I must be at Suzanne’s office by eight. The first time I met her was on a Monday so now I have to see Suzanne on Mondays. My Mondays have their own schedule because of this, and they have to be the same every time. Things were different in the beginning because I saw her three times a week. Eventually, I moved to two days, and now I’m down to one. The change was slow and took place over the course of the year, so I handled it well. Thursdays are different since I have to make my second trip to the grocery store or I would run out of food over the weekend. I have to go between ten-thirty and noon, and I can only carry home four bags, never more or less.

  Lincoln had now interrupted my Mondays.

  He’s changed my routine.

  It’s such a small part, very insignificant, but it’s not my normal.

  I’ve allowed it to continue though and I’m still trying to figure out why.

  Why?

  Why?

  Why?

  After last night’s episode, I’m asking for an emergency visit today with Suzanne. She’s a very busy woman, but I’m hoping for some time with her. I desperately hope she can fit me in during my ‘free time.’

  I have to talk to her.

  You can do anything you want during your free time, I remind myself.

  I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth again. I have one mirror in my apartment, the bathroom one. Before I moved in, my brother covered it for me, so it’s impossible for me to look at myself. He didn’t remove it because he thinks one day I’ll be able to look in the mirror again.

  That just makes me laugh to myself.

  I can’t look at myself, and I don’t think I ever will again. I close my eyes when I get dressed. I close my eyes when I shower. All because I don’t want to see my scars. I won’t even touch them. Just because I have to live with the scars for the rest of my life doesn’t mean I have to look at them or feel them.

  The one and only time I looked at myself was when I was still in the Mexican hospital, six years ago. I went into the bathroom and took my gown off because I was curious to see the marks the Devil had left on my body.

  I stood in the bathroom completely naked, looking at them all. It was awful and made me sick to my stomach. The person I saw in the mirror terrified me. It wasn’t me. The person looking back at me was hideous. She reminded me of Frankenstein. I hated her, and I never wanted to see her again.

  I had one of the worst panic attacks of my life that day, and I ended up passed out on the cold tile floor next to my own vomit. I won’t put myself through that again.

  I don’t ever want to see that person in the mirror.

  I passed the time and called Suzanne’s office exactly at noon. “Good afternoon, Miss Bennett’s office, how may I help you?” Charity said and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s smiling. She’s always smiling; always happy. Just like Lincoln.

  By now I’m pacing my living room. “Charity, it's Ashton. I need an emergency visit today. I could leave now,” I explain hoping I could get in right away and not have to explain myself further. She’s heard things, I’m sure, about all of Suzanne’s patients but she never asked questions.

  Charity was used to me. She’s worked for Suzanne for four years now, but we are not friends.

  “She’s booked all day, Ashton.”

  I grabbed the couch to steady myself. My breath hitched, and I felt cold sweat trickle down my forehead. “Shit.” This was not part of my plan.

  “Are you okay?” she asked softly even though she should know the answer already.

  Stay calm. Don’t yell at her. Suzanne will be pissed.

  I dropped my voice. “No, I’m not okay.”

  “Hold on, Ashton,” she said concerned. “I’ll talk to Suzanne.”

  I dropped to the couch and pulled my feet up and hugged my knees. I grated my fingernail back and forth against my knee, rougher and rougher as the seconds ticked by. I stopped, berated myself for foolishly thinking Suzanne could fit me in. I picked at the fabric of my jeans, the same jeans I wore every day.

  I have twenty pairs of the same blue jeans.

  I have five pairs of the same fl
ip-flops and tennis shoes. The flip-flops are black and super comfy. The tennis shoes are black and white, and little on the expensive side because I walk everywhere. I have two pairs of the same winter boots, also black and white.

  I have ten white t-shirts which I only wear on Mondays and the rest of the week, the shirts are black. I wear white on Mondays for Suzanne. I technically changed my wardrobe for her, so she gets to see the white shirts now instead of the black ones. I have ten sets of the same exact pajamas. They consist of a black tank top and shorts. The same goes for my socks, underwear, and bras.

  I don’t know why I do it. It doesn’t make sense to me, but it feels right. It makes me comfortable knowing what I’ll wear and on what day. Suzanne has been trying for years to help me with this issue, but I can’t change it. It’s one less thing to think about each morning. It settles something inside of me that I can’t fight.

  “Okay, Ashton.” I hear Charity say when she comes back on the line. “This is Suzanne’s message, not mine.” She has to remind me that so I don’t yell at her. I can be a bitch sometimes. “She can see you from one to one-thirty, but in exchange for this visit, you must attend the group therapy today that starts at one-thirty, after your personal session is done. She said to remember that this is during your free time and you would be home before four. She wants you to try again.”

  “Group therapy!” I hissed.

  Does Suzanne not remember what happened the first time? I only lasted about ten minutes. When it was my turn to talk, I freaked out. I could not bring myself to sit there. It was not a controlled environment. It was too much, too fast, and I jumped out of my seat and ran all the way home.

  Batshit crazy.

  “She also told me to tell you that Frank will be there.”

  Frank. He’s just as fucked up as I am. I knew he was as soon as I saw him in the hallway outside of the therapy room that day. I guess it takes one to know one. I’m not sure who’s more fucked up. I hide behind my sunglasses; he hides behind his gloves and face mask. He can’t touch people and won’t let people touch him. He hates sharing the same air. He’s not a friend even though we had talked to each other that day; the only thing we have in common is Suzanne.