Beneath Your Beautiful

I flinch and resist the urge to run away and hide.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Maybe I don’t want to fucking talk! Did you think of that?”

I’m at a loss for words. The man standing in front of me is a stranger. The Grayson I know would never speak to me this way. My need for self-preservation wins and before he can see me break, I turn and walk to my room. I close the door and strip out of my clothes. After a few minutes, I hear his heavy footsteps coming down the hall way but I don’t look up when the door opens.

I’m standing in my underwear when I feel him standing next to me.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you like that.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my tears from trickling over. Why am I so emotional? Almost everything makes me want to cry lately and it’s frustrating. I feel like I have no control over my own emotions.

“I get that you’re angry, but you have to tell my why.”

He scoffs. “Like you told my why you freaked out in the parking this afternoon? You haven’t exactly been open with me either.”

My head shoots up and I frown at him. It’s my turn to get angry. “Are you kidding me? You know everything about me Grayson, about my past! Forgive me for wanting to enjoy a night out before telling you my ex-boyfriend is in town!”

“That’s why you freaked out when you saw that red Mustang? Because it belongs to your ex?”

I look away and nod.

“Why’s he here Huntley?”

Keeping my stare fixed on my bed, I shake my head.

“Tell me why,” he presses.

“I don’t know!” I yell back in frustration. I can’t keep my tears in anymore and I feel them slip down my flushed cheeks.

“You’re lying,” he accuses. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because you’re hurting me!” I grab my gown and push past Grayson, rushing into the bathroom. I slam the door in his face and slide down the door. I cover my mouth to stifle the sob I feel clawing its way up my throat.

His accusation not only rips at my old wounds but also leaves new ones in its wake.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but when I stand up, my legs are stiff and my face is still wet. I clean my smudged make-up and wipe away my streaked mascara.

Deep breath I tell myself.

When I open the bathroom door, my bedroom is dark and empty. I contemplate changing into my pajamas and getting into bed but a muffled sound coming from the living room captures my attention. Pulling my robe tighter, I wonder down the hallway and find Grayson’s silhouette slouched over on the couch. Walking closer, I see his head hanging, resting between his palms.

He sniffs and I realize the muffled sound came from him. He’s crying.

There’s an inner war going on in my head and I consider leaving him alone. But seeing him this way pulls at my insides. My love for him trumps the anger I feel towards him at the moment and my body intuitively moves towards him. I sit down next to him and tuck my feet under my butt.

And I wait…

I will him to talk to me, to open up and tell me what has him in such turmoil. Relationships aren’t just about the good times or about the intimate moments. It’s about supporting each other through the challenges and hard times and coming out the other end together. I trusted him with the ghosts of my past and I wish he would place the same trust in me. Unconditionally and without hesitation.

He looks at me and I unwillingly hold my breath. The moonlight shining through the window illuminates his face, exposing how haunted and desolate he looks, his eyes drained of the light I always find so comforting within them. Time ticks past, minute by minute, and just when I think he’s not going to say anything he opens his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. Tears stream down his face and I struggle to keep my own feelings in check. It’s my turn to listen, the way he listened when I showed him the parts of my life that weren’t perfect. I scoot closer until our thighs are touching and I wipe his cheeks with my thumbs. His skin is smooth with a bit of stubble.

“Talk to me, please,” I plead, “Trust me with your heart, the way I trust you with mine. Let me help you carry the hurt and pain that makes your heart so broken.”

He wraps his hands around my wrists and kisses each palm before turning to face me completely. He lets my hands go and pulls his fingers through his hair, releasing a shuddering breath.

“That girl, Haley, is my ex-girlfriend. But she was also my sisters’ best friend.” His eyes close as he tries to compose himself before continuing. “Haley and I started dating when we were sophomores in High School. When we got to College, things changed. She became distant and we started seeing less of each other. She even pulled away from my sister.”

My heart constricts when I see the anguish on his face at the mention of his sister and as much as I want to take his hurt away, this is something he has to do on his own.

I remain quiet, attentive, and with another shake breath, he continues. “Eight months into our freshman year, we were at a house party hosted by a mutual friend. Haley and I had been fighting so I wasn’t expecting to see her there. But when I walked into my friends’ bedroom, I interrupted them. Haley was on her knees giving some guy I didn’t even know, a blowjob. I turned around and left but the image still became ingrained in my mind. I broke up with her the same night,” he pauses, rubbing a hand over his tired face. His inner conflict stirs and flashes across his face. “A week later, Emilie was in an accident and Haley just left,” a strangled sob escapes from his mouth.

“You don’t have to tell me any more.” My voice is nothing but a whisper, as small as he probably feels.

He shakes his head. “No, I need to tell you all of it. I haven’t spoken about it in so long…”

I cup his face, connecting my eyes with his. “It’s ok Grayson, take your time. I’m right here.”

His chest heaves with a deep inhalation and he hesitates for a brief second before he decides to tell me the rest. “Emilie was away with friends. She went to a town an hour away and on her last night there they went to a bar. I spoke to her that night and she was so excited because there was a band she couldn’t wait to see. She had a crush on the lead singer and couldn’t wait to watch them perform. At about two am, my phone rang. When I heard a guys’ voice answer me I knew something was wrong. He told me that they were rushing Emilie to the nearest hospital because she was…she was…ra…raped in the alley behind the bar,” he stutters between sobs. “They got in a car accident on the way to the hospital and by the time they got her to the hospital she was…she was dead.”

That’s all it takes for me to wrap my arms around him and hold him while his body shakes. I never would have imagined that this is what he was keeping inside.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he cries, “And I’ve beaten myself up over it for almost two years because I should’ve been there to protect her. My parents think she was on the way to the hospital because of the accident, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what happened to her before.”

I stand up and straddle him, wrapping my arms and legs around his big body. The force he uses to hold me crushes me but I don’t really care. His hands grip my back and he squeezes. I feel tears trickle down my own cheeks, and I feel my heart breaking in my chest for what he’s been through. I pull away to look into his sad, lifeless eyes. I recognize his pain. I know how he feels.