Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1) by Sarah Zolton Arthur Read Free Book Online Page B

looks could be deceiving, that it is so deep it could swallow me up.
    “I imagined a monster jaw of liquid closing in around me and tensed, pushing back from the rail. My rubber sneakers skidding against the dew dampened wall. But he held me…”
     
    I read the rest of the piece, gaining confidence with each paragraph. My superpower can’t touch me in here, my fortress of solitude. No matter how I fail out there, and no matter what Cricket says about writers, in here, I shine.
    The room stays completely silent, deflating the confidence I just finished talking myself into, making me feel ten kinds of uncomfortable. I begin playing with my hair, trying to straighten out any perceived tangles with my fingers, flattening my shirt down my stomach several times, and still no one says a word. Their nonresponse is about to suffocate me under the heaviness the silence has created. Clearly if I stay any longer the tears will start to fall, because they teeter along the rim of my eyes just waiting for an excuse let loose.
    “Sorry I wasted your time,” I barely get out before the room erupts. Claps and shrieks split the air. I hear, “oh my god,” and “that was awesome,” or “holy crap,” all jumbled and layered, each voice fighting to be heard over the others.
    I feel victorious in these few seconds until all good humor is siphoned from the room with two little words—That. Sucked.
    Callum slouches in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He covers his mouth in what I’m sure has to be a fake yawn and says it again. “That sucked.” Way to be constructive. “I know you took 305, Elly. I just thought you passed it.”
    His buddy Tim holds up a fist and they bump them, laughing loudly and ridiculously like nothing in the world could be funnier. Tim and Callum have never been fans of my work, that’s for sure. But this story, I’ve never written a more personal narrative before. At least not one I’d ever shop. So those words sting more than I regularly would allow them to.
    The tightening in my stomach warns of impending doom, and swallowing several times to force the rancid, acidic taste back down my throat, I start to stand. To get out. Benton could be a ninja with the way he sneaks up on me. Until his hands press down on my shoulders, I had no idea he’d even left his seat.
    “That is hands down the best piece you’ve ever shopped.” His warm hands do something to me, and I fight the urge to rest my head against his stomach, a stomach I feel behind me so close the tips of my hair rustle with his every breath.
    We might be the only two people in the room right now, everyone else having faded into the texture on the walls or the pile of the carpeting. At any point he could have removed his hands, should have removed his hands, but Benton doesn’t. His fingers squeeze tighter, using slightly more pressure to keep me in place. How did I get so lucky to get this man’s friendship?
    “Thank you,” I whisper, making all the eyes now start fading back in from the walls.
    Their eyes fixate on Benton and me. All too aware of the feelings I harbor for the man standing behind me which my poker face can no longer conceal. They’re kind enough not to speak on it, but my muscles tighten just the same.
    With his hands still on my shoulders, his thumbs begin to massage the tightened muscles by my shoulder blades. No one else could see the way his thumbs work their magic, but they’ll sure be able to see my reaction to it if I don’t reign it in. I bite my bottom lip to stifle the sigh on the verge of escaping, instead swallowing hard and breathing out a long breath. To them it looks like my ritual, something they’ve all witnessed a time or ten. But I know the truth, and the way Benton shifts ever so slightly, pressing a little more against me so my head actually rests against his stomach now, I think he knows too.
    “That isn’t a critique, Callum. It’s an assault. Fuck, you’re lucky if I don’t report you.