Beautiful Boy(9)

Finally, at the end of the hallway, I found a silver plate etched with  the name "Nolan Richards." Before I allowed my fear or panic to halt my  actions, I turned the handle and pushed through the door. I stopped dead  in my tracks, causing the receptionist to run into my back.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Richards, I tried to tell her-"

"It's quite all right, Tanya." Nolan cut her off and rose from his  chair, buttoning his coat before walking around the large oak desk.  "She's okay. I've been expecting her."

Time stood still.

Sounds vanished around me.

And thoughts fled my mind.

I didn't register Tanya's response, nor did I realize she had left,  closing the door behind her, trapping me in the room with the boy who  had shattered my life. No … not boy. He most certainly was not a boy  anymore.

Nolan had on a suit, and he looked as if he'd come straight out of a GQ  magazine. His hair-which used to be shaggy-had darkened to an almost  black color over the years, and he wore it short, cut closely to his  scalp. He had always been tall, but he seemed to have added about forty  pounds of muscle mass, distributed evenly throughout his entire body.  His arms, chest, and shoulders filled out his suit quite nicely, and I  attempted to stop gawking.

But I couldn't. Nolan most definitely wasn't the same kid from high school.

Not at all.

My gaze roamed the smooth skin on his face. His eyes were still the  familiar hazel that had haunted my dreams over the years, except they  seemed to have lost all the luster they once held. Other than the slight  humor I noticed in them as he peered at me, they were lifeless and  dull.

Emotionless.

"You've surprised me, Novah. Although I had expected you'd come here, I  didn't think it would've been this soon." His deep voice flooded the air  around me and filled me with …

Hatred?

Lust?

Disgust?

Desire?

Whatever it was, I didn't want it. The thought of falling into the same  trap I had found myself in fifteen years ago didn't appeal to me. All I  cared about was being vindicated and making it out alive.

Intact.

Whole.

"The sooner the better. This way, I can walk away and never have to deal  with you again." My hands shook around the file I clutched in my grasp,  but my words came out calm and direct.

"Then by all means, show me what you have." He moved away from me and  gestured to a long conference-like table against the far wall.

I hesitantly followed behind him, attempting to get a firm hold on my  increasingly erratic nerves. When he stopped and turned toward me, I  placed the folder on the table and waited for him to pick it up.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but I will anyway. You do not  hold the rights to these copies, and I'll be taking them with me when I  leave. I only brought them here to show you."

"I paid you."

"You paid me to take the photos, yet I still hold the rights to them.  And I am not going to-nor will I ever-sign them over to you," I said  with authority edged by distain.

He quietly observed the photos in his hands, not once turning his  attention to me. I thought he'd flip through them quickly, dismissively,  yet he didn't. He studied each one with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.  What I wouldn't give to know his thoughts as he carefully scrutinized  print after print.

"So, tell me, Novah." He closed the file and casually placed it back on  the table with indifference. "How disgusted were you when they came into  your office?"

"Are you serious right now? I'm disgusted standing here, in front of  you. Nothing about those people disgusted me." No matter how hard I  fought to keep my composure, I lost. My voice rose and my fists balled  at my sides in anger.

His head tilted to the side, observing my reaction with intense  curiosity. "A woman missing an ear, a boy so depressed he refuses to  take care of himself, a man missing two legs-which I see he kept on the  prosthetics-and a guy without an arm … none of that bothered you?"

"Not at all. Regardless of what you see, I saw them as unique, strong  fighters. People with history. Beautiful people. You're the hideous one,  judging others based on appearance alone."         

     



 

"You're lying," he accused with clipped words. "You're only telling me  what you think I should hear. It's not how you really feel."

"Oh, it's not? Please, Mr. Richards, tell me how I really feel. Since you apparently know me so well."

He took a step toward me, closing the gap between us, and my heart  skipped a beat. "You pity them. You're sad for them. You saw people  whose bodies have been altered due to gruesome circumstances, and you  wanted to make them better. You think I don't know you? The Novah I  remember never wore makeup. She never styled her hair other than to  throw it up in a ponytail. And she never wore designer clothes. Face it,  you're no better than anyone else now. You stand here with your salon  styled hair, painted face, and expensive clothes, trying to prove how  you're better than me. You're not better than me, Novah."

I wanted to scream and argue, but I couldn't. Over the years, in order  to be professional, I had changed my appearance. I began to fit into  society's mold of perfection. But he was wrong about one thing.

"Yes, I wanted them to feel better about themselves because no one  should hate the way they look. No one. I believe everyone should be  comfortable in their own skin. But I do not pity them. And the only  sadness I have for them is over someone like you thinking they're so  ugly I wouldn't be able to illustrate anything appealing in them. People  like you are disgraceful. You should be ashamed of yourself. People  like you make me sick."

I grabbed the file off the table and spun on my heels to walk away, but  his firm grasp on my arm halted my steps. It filled me with rage and  warmth all at the same time.

"Take my picture," he whispered in my ear from behind. "If you think I'm so repulsive, take my picture. Find my beauty."





Four





I turned back around, ready to slap him across his face, but his  expression stopped me. His eyes were wide and bright, staring painfully  into mine. His fingers twitched against my upper arm, yet his posture  remained tight and rigid.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"I'll pay you anything. Name a figure."

"I don't want your fucking money."

"Then what will it take?" he asked as he finally released his grip on  me. He took a step back and ran a hand over his short hair before  dragging his fingers down his face.

I shouldn't have said anything. I should've simply refused his offer and  walked away, but something in his eyes made me continue. "I want an  apology."

"For what?"

I blinked a few times, hoping I had heard him wrong, but his sincerely  confused expression convinced me I hadn't. "Seriously? For what? How  about for taking something from me fifteen years ago? How about for  spreading inappropriate pictures of me around school and ruining my  reputation? How about for hurting me more than any other person has ever  hurt me before? Take your pick, Nolan."

"That's what you want? I apologized fifteen years ago. I've fucking paid  the price for it already, Novah! But if another apology is what you  want, then fine. I'll do it."

"No. You never apologized to me. You read me a letter your daddy typed  up for you. You said the proper things to convince a roomful of people  to turn the other way while your father cleaned up your mess." My entire  body shook from adrenaline, rage, and pent-up hostility. "Not once did  you ever genuinely apologize for anything you did to me. I want to hear  you say it, and I want you to mean every fucking word."

His gaze avoided mine while his chest heaved with every strained breath.  After long seconds, he finally looked into my eyes and took two steps  closer to me.

"You said I took something from you …  What do you mean?"

I swallowed hard, straining to push my saliva past the lump in my  throat. "You were the first guy to ever touch me. The first one to ever  see me or do anything like that to me. It was my first experience, and  it wasn't a good one."

"I'm sorr-"

"No!" I put my hand on his chest to stop him from moving closer. "I'm  not done. You have no idea what happened back then because you left. You  didn't hang around to see the looks. Hear the vicious rumors. I allowed  you to see me. You! And in a matter of a few days, everyone saw me.  Humiliation doesn't even begin to describe what it was like walking  through those halls for four years. That's what you took from me."

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't give you the apology you're looking for.  Not for taking something from you. I can only apologize for how it  turned out. I can't take the blame for the pictures being spread around,  but I can take the responsibility and apologize for my part in your  reputation being ruined. And I can sincerely tell you how unbelievably  sorry I am for hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you."