Free Scarred by Jennifer Willows Page B

Is tea okay with you then?”
     
    “Amelia, I didn’t come in for a drink. Just like you didn’t invite me in for one.”
     
    She seemed perturbed at his honesty. “Now just a minute, buster!” Her response just confirmed it.
     
    “Before you say anything Amelia, I am not saying that you meant to offer me anything more than your company. But as we feasted like two fat pigs in the sunny side of the trough less than an hour ago, I think that I can safely assume neither of us is thirsty.”
     
    “B-but—" She stammered and the first thought he had was that he felt like the big, bad wolf. Like he was about to eat the tender juicy morsel that her quivering lips presented.
     
    On second thought, he was.
     
    “Actually, I lied. I am thirsty.”
     
      
     
     

 
    Chapter Seven: Truth Is The Light
     
    Amelia was half way to poleaxed by the time pizza was finished. In one evening, every mantra she lived by in the last few years was blown to shreds.
     
    Don’t make friends, they will only leave you.
     
    Don’t fall in love, you will only get hurt.
     
    Don’t talk to strangers, they will only pity you.
     
    You are a monster.
     
    You are ugly.
     
    No one will like you anyway.
     
    On the ride back to her home with Ben she was lost in her own mind. Every last one of those statements had kept her out of the eye of the public for too long. She had readers that didn’t know she was a female, because she had spent so much time alone. There were times she didn’t even know what day it was, what month it was and she didn’t care either. Once she had even lost track of an entire season. The last was the reason that she moved to the middle of nowhere in the first place.
     
    Just before she purchased the house, she had fallen into a funk. The last time she had recalled going outside, it was spring and everything was in bloom. Or as much as the concrete jungle of the city could be termed "in bloom". The stalls on each corner were filled with fresh flowers and kissing couples held hands as they traversed the streets.
     
    She was alone of course, as she had shunned the company of other people for many years. But somewhere, deep down, she felt left out. There were newborn babies, joy, and beauty to be seen in the brightness of day. And even with all of the loveliness than abounded, she was still alone. There was never going to be a baby for her, for that she needed a man willing to give her one.
     
    The few people that even noticed her seemed to quickly turn their faces from her. As if Amelia was a physical reminder that while lilies may be gilded on one side, they could be tarnished on the other. It wasn’t until she walked past a bakery in her neighborhood that she and Charles used to love, that her melancholy turned into a full depression, one that she would be gripped within for months.
     
    The window was frosted over slightly, damp with dew too new to bead in the warmer weather. She saw a flash of nut brown skin, the red color of Fisher roasted peanuts the predominant undertone. The coloring was too familiar to disregard entirely and she stopped in her tracks. There was her ex. And he walked back to the table with his wife and apparently, they had a child. A daughter and who from the look of it, was in the gangly stages of pre-pubescence. Maybe eight or so? Amelia wasn’t good with estimating that sort of thing, but the kid was certainly seven or better.
     
    Was it? No, she thought, it couldn’t be.
     
    But as she peered into the warmth of the cozy scene, she knew that she was right. Charles had made a new life so easily, without her. He had made promises to another woman, and gave her the gift of children. While she was left alone with only her company to keep her sane and no child to hold in her arms either.
     
    It was that crucial moment that sent her into the welcome arms of North Carolina, to a place where no one knew her name.
     
    That wasn’t what she had intended at the time, not at all. She