Ugly Beautiful Scars (Ugly Beautiful #1)

1. Chapter 1

LONDYN

I'M A WALLFLOWER.

Like a random landscape photo of a meadow on a motel wall, I'm completely forgettable. When someone passes by that photo, they never stop to actually look. They never absorb the colors or the way sun rays pierce each frail flower petal, making them bleed light.

That's how it should be. No one is meant to study that motel photo like it's fine art; it's only purpose is to fill a bare white wall and make guests feel better about the shitty little room they're stuck in for the night. That's it. And it serves its purpose well.

I'm an insignificant image no one remembers.

I prefer it that way.

And I've done a very good job of blending into the background these past six years. I even moved to a huge city where I'm a speck of dust. Slowly, I'm starting to feel okay again.

Okay is good. Being invisible is working for me.

So…

Why the hell is that man staring at me from across this coffee shop like I'm the Mona Lisa?

His eyes darted to my direction the moment I walked in. Golden hair, strong jaw. Definitely a leading man. The way he's sitting—so at ease as he reclines in a metal chair—makes it look like he owns the place.

I hate attractive men.

Some of the most handsome men do the worst crimes because they know they can get away with it.

I try to ignore the stranger's gaze as I wait in line for my double-shot espresso.

I'm sure I'm mistaken adn he's staring at something else.

Maybe he's staring out the window. Or at the woman behind me; she's pretty.

Besides, I'm in public. It's morning in Lower Manhattan, so every inch of sidewalk is stuffed with people in business attire rushing to work.

This coffee shop is packed. There's usually a police officer across the street this time of day, chatting with buddies.

Tons of people would hear me scream if that unnerving, attractive man tried to grab me.

My gaze wanders as I try to calm my pulse.

Nothing bad has happened.

I'm okay.

There are plenty of people here drinking sugary lattes and choking down dry scones.

This is my favorite coffee shop because it's always busy.

It's always filled with the aroma of coffee, laughter, and plenty of local artwork to distract strangers from noticing each other.

It usually takes forever to get my coffee, but long lines are fine as long as I'm safe.

I'm safe.

Crowds are safe.

My eyes scan a neon pink and yellow painting of a dog on the wall, then I look at the exit closest to me. The shop is on a corner, so it has two exits, but the second one is behind the unnerving stranger. The one closest to me is about six feet away, perfect for a quick escape.

I bounce on my toes. I can feel the man's eyes tracking my body, so I glance over. He doesn't react, only stares, his square features looking angelic.

God, what is his problem?

My heart thumps faster, and I look away. I adjust my gray t-shirt, glancing down at myself. I'm not wearing anything sexy because I no longer dress that way. It's only plain, baggy shirts and jeans for me. Ponytails. Sneakers. No makeup. Plain and unnoticeable.

My hair is brown nowadays and I even wear big, ugly black glasses, so I shouldn't be recognizable. It's been six years since I was in the spotlight; people's attention spans are so short I doubt that man is staring because he actually recognizes me.

The man's green eyes are intense and heavy, though, like the electrically-charged air right before the director yells, "Action!" It feels like any second the clapboard will cut through the noise of this place, and the man will spring to life, playing his part.

I reach into my purse, letting my fingers trace my small taser first before gripping the can of mace.

Is this a mace or a taser situation?

I might need to up my game and finally purchase a gun. I've just always been worried I'll fail to use it correctly in a moment of need, and my attacker will snatch the gun from my grip and use it against me.

Well, I don't have a gun now, so that's a future concern.

The line finally moves, thank god, but there are still four people ahead of me. I had another sleepless night and today I have a lot of numbers to crunch for an important client. I need my two shots of espresso. And I don't want to cause a scene if I'm just panicking for no reason.

I had an unsettling dream last night. I can't remember the details, but I woke with a thundering heart and I was sobbing.

My day started in a triggered state, so that's likely why I'm so on-edge now.

The entire morning, I felt like someone's been watching me, but really, no one is there. My only company is my paranoia.

I need to push through this anxiety. The stranger isn't moving; as long as he stays there, it'll be fine.

I glance at the woman now talking to the cashier. She finished ordering and is pulling out her wallet, so it should only be a few more minutes. A few more minutes. If the man just stays there and—

He quirks his mouth and stands, going completely off-script. I watch from the corner of my eye, hoping he's leaving, but he's walking straight toward me.

Fuck making a scene.

I spin on my heels and power walk to the closest glass door exit, accidentally knocking a muffin from a woman's hand in my rush. If this were any other day where I skirt through life unnoticed, I'd apologize profusely and offer to buy her another one. But my safety is most important.

She cusses at me with quite a creative string of words as I run through the door. I crash into another person outside on the chaotic sidewalk.

"S-sorry," I mumble to him or her or whoever it is. I don't look, I just hurry away, weaving through the jumble of bodies.

I glance across the street to a bagel shop that's hiding in the large shadow of a skyscraper.

No police officer this morning. No, no, no.

My pulse quickens and my lungs squeeze. Why isn't that police officer there like always?

Does he have something better to do than chat with his friends and take an extended break?

It's fine. I'm still safe in the crowd. Crowds are safe.

"Hey," a deep, masculine voice calls from behind me. The voice cuts through the low rabble of other people. "Wait up."

I push around a group of women in navy pant suits, hurrying toward the crosswalk and hoping I reach it before the light changes.

"Hey," he says.

He's closer now. His voice is louder.

"It's me."

I'm not going to make it to the crosswalk in time. I sense a tall, broad body behind me, so I yank the mace from my purse. I spin to face him, letting out a short scream, threatening to spray him right in the damn eyes.

The man behind me stops abruptly, staring at me with heavy grooves cut around his wide nose. It's not the man from the coffee shop. Actually, I don't see the guy from the coffee shop at all, only a sea of neutral strangers.

A woman pushes past me. She approaches the man and greets him. Then they both glance at me, the crazy person clutching the can of mace and threatening to harm two innocent people saying hi to each other.

Heads turn in our direction; more male gazes are on me, noticing me.

I inch away.

"You okay, miss?" the man asks me.

I don't answer. Instead, I almost trip over my own feet as I scurry to the crosswalk. My heart is still pounding in my throat as I squeeze the mace in my fist. My body is trembling. I wait for the little green LED man to appear, telling me I can cross and escape what just happened.

As I wait, my panic is quickly replaced by embarrassment; the guy from the coffee shop wasn't looking at me after all. He's probably still back there, getting his coffee or chatting with whoever he was actually noticing.

I'm okay. No one is after me. I'm just… bat shit crazy now.

Damnit, why did I react like that?

My dream spooked me too much and launched me into this 'irrational zone.' It's good to be aware of your surroundings, but what I did was a step too far.

People pile around as I return my mace to my purse and try to take some calming breaths. I close my eyes, attempting to center myself again. I repeat my mantra quietly— I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe —until my heart stops pounding and I can inhale fully. Then I open my eyes.

The light is still red, and now there's a larger crowd waiting at the curb now.

My gaze wanders and I'm not trying to think about anything, only exist in the present moment so my mind stops spiraling out of control.

My eyes pause on a bald man at the edge of the crowd.

He's wearing a plain blue t-shirt. The late summer heat has caused beads of sweat to gather above his brows.

My first thought is about how sweaty he is, then I realize he's staring in my direction.

I really don't want to have another freak out, so I wait a few seconds, expecting him to look away.

He doesn't; he's staring at me. This time, I'm sure of it.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Or I'm imagining this.

I'm losing my mind.

Is this real or am I extra paranoid today?

I need to stop being so damn triggered.

When I open my eyes, the man is still there, at the edge of a sea of bland business suits. Staring. At. Me.

It's best not to take chances in this cruel world.

I don't wait for the light to fully change before launching myself into the street. As soon as it's yellow, I dash into the crosswalk, getting plenty of honks from cars that almost hit me. When I'm safely on the other side, I pause to glance around again as I catch my breath.

The man is staring at me from across the street. The light changes to green and the crowd starts to move. But not the bald guy. He's motionless in a wave of undulating bodies. His hands are stuffed in his jean pockets. His dark eyes are locked on me.

I turn, scanning for the subway entrance but it's too far away. I need a quicker escape. Maybe the guy in the coffee shop was an imagined threat, but something about this one feels real.

I swallow hard and back away. He starts to move toward me with determined steps, piercing me with a clouded gaze.

A bus nearby is about to leave, so I race to catch the doors before they close. It's going in the opposite direction of my office building, but it's my quickest escape.

After launching myself up the bus steps, I check my wallet, remembering I used my emergency bus pass last week when I was craving sushi for lunch and didn't want to walk. How could I have forgotten to buy a new one?

Always have an emergency single-ride ticket.

The female bus driver with frizzy hair frowns at me, looking like she's ready to scream because she's sick of all the people wanting free rides.

"I'm sorry," I say, my throat tight around each word. My body is trembling. "I-I'm sorry. A man was chasing me, and I just needed to get on. I don't have a pass. I'm sorry."

Her tense expression relaxes as she studies me. I try to steady my shaking hands by pressing them into my stomach, but they keep quivering like it's winter and I forgot my gloves.

The bus driver's eyes meet mine, gentle now, and an understanding between women passes between us. "Okay, honey. Sit up front with me. You need me to call someone?"

I exhale. "No, but thank you." I sit in the empty seat directly behind her. "Thank you."

After closing the doors, she eases the bus into traffic. I catch sight of the man outside and he wanders to a food truck that's next to where I just was. He was probably looking at the truck this whole time, right? Not looking at me.

I try to convince myself it was all an illusion because I'm safe. For now, again, I'm safe. I focus on what I can see outside the window. Objects. Sensory details. I try not to let the tears flow too steadily, let the flashbacks swallow me.

The memories have been quiet for a while now, months, but bits and pieces are edging in. Flashes of a man from six years ago, a man with inky black hair and dark eyes. Attractive. Fixated on me.

Dangerous.