Page 27 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I tap to answer, retreating into the small nook where my desk is. I lower my voice. "Hey. Is everything okay?"

Her face fills my screen, her wild curls whipping around in the wind since she's outside somewhere. Looks like a shopping center.

"Hey, Lonny! No worries. Just checking in." She scans what she can see of my apartment behind me. "Are they there? How are you doing?"

I sink into my office chair, relieved she's okay. "Yes. I'm… it's going well." I glance at Mike and Sean, who are looking at a tablet and seem oblivious to my conversation. Still, I drop to a whisper. "I'm managing."

"Good. You feel safe?"

"Yes."

"I know you were nervous about the second guy—" She stops and her eyes bulge like a cartoon. I follow her gaze over my shoulder to see that Sean has shifted while making notes on his phone. He's now visible to Raven.

She inhales slowly like someone's carefully inflating her. Then she squeals, "You're so right! He's cute!" Raven's voice pierces my phone speaker. It's loud enough to carry across the room.

Heat surges into my face, and I fumble with the phone, my finger smashing the end call button. Then my eyes dart to Sean. He seems fully absorbed in whatever he's typing, giving no indication he heard Raven's outburst. Thank God.

My phone vibrates with incoming messages:

RavenMad:WHY DID YOU HANG UP??

RavenMad:I was only stating facts!

Londyn83:I can't believe you! I never SAID he was cute.

RavenMad:Bloke is a hottie.

RavenMad:But I'm happy you're okay and feeling safe. Talk soon? Call me back!

I give her a thumbs up and then pocket my phone. God, I can't believe she said that. I'm just glad Sean and Mike weren't paying attention.

When I turn back, pretending like everything is normal in the world, they're talking about the hallway camera and are completely oblivious to my mortification.

I take the opportunity to study Sean—his elegance, the confident line of his shoulders, the way he listens intently as Mike speaks. Raven isn't wrong. He is a hottie. The kind of man who turns heads in a crowd. If he was an actor, he could easily be a leading man, like a Chris Hemsworth or Denzel Washington.

How does any of this matter, though? Considering how nervous I've been with two men in my apartment, even though they're men I trust, I worry I'm not mentally or physically prepared for a relationship.

It's just depressing. Will I ever be ready? I'm open to dating, but am I just fooling myself?

What if The Director ruined me?

My shoulders sink, the load of this reality pulling me down toward the earth. It must show on my face because Sean glances over, his brow furrowing as he excuses himself from Mike mid-sentence. He walks to me.

"Everything okay?" he asks in a low, soothing tone.

I nod automatically—the reflex of a person accustomed to deflecting concern. "Oh, fine."

"We'll have everything set up soon," he continues, misreading the source of my mood change.

He outlines the plan. Someone will always be on duty across the hall in the apartment I've rented month-to-month, monitoring the cameras they'll set up. The cameras will cover entry points and the living room, with no audio monitoring unless there's an active threat. When I leave the apartment, they'll accompany me and watch for any suspicious people. He even mentions adding a panic button app to my phone.

I nod along, realizing the irony of this entire situation: after six years avoiding being seen, I'm now paying two men to watch me constantly.

"You'll be completely covered," Sean is saying. "It's going to be okay. If someone is stalking you, we'll find them."

His reassurance wraps around me like a blanket—warm, well-intentioned—but it can't quite stop the chill beneath my skin. It's not just a potential stalker that has me spiraling. It's everything. The walls I've built. The life I've lost. The connection I'll never find with anyone because I'm damaged beyond repair. What man is going to have the patience to tolerate my freak outs? Because even if I found the right guy, I'm not confident I can attempt intimacy without getting triggered.

"Thank you," I say.

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