Not knowing what else to do, she peeked around his impossibly wide chest, making sure to keep the right side of her face hidden. She met the eyes of the woman standing in the doorway, instantly recognizing her as Gabriel’s companion who often came here with him. A stab of jealousy hit her chest, and she turned away.
“Are you keeping that poor girl—”
A growl rattled from Gabriel’s chest, and she jumped. Oh, she had heard about shifters—heck, all of the staff here except her was a shifter—but they didn’t exactly talk out in the open about it. She knew Gabriel had to be one, too, and her curiosity piqued, wondering what he was.
No! Stop wondering. He’s not for you. She had to get out of here.
“Look at me,” he said in a low voice that brushed over her skin like velvet. “Why are you hiding from me?”
A vice-like grip tightened in her chest. There was no escape now.
But there was one way to get out of this mess.
Just get it over with.
Slowly, she turned her face up to him, her body instinctively tensing. Ready for the reaction. As their gazes met, everything went in slow motion.
His mouth turning up at the corners.
Then stopping halfway.
Sky-blue eyes widened.
And there it was.
The expression of horror on his face.
Why did I think he would be different?
Surely by now, she was used to that look—the disgust that came just before pity when they saw the horrible burn scars on the right side of her face.
When she met people for the first time, they gave her that look. In the last eight years, she’d learned to shrug it off and move on. But somehow, coming from him, it was worse, like the first time she’d seen the extent of the damage herself.
If he was disgusted with what he saw now, then she couldn’t imagine how he’d react if he saw the real extent of the damage.
Unable to continue being in his presence, she ducked away from him and then dashed toward the employees’ exit. Rosie would not be happy that she didn’t finish the day’s work, but right now, she just couldn’t be here. Her chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself, and if she didn’t leave, she would have a breakdown.
The fresh air outside as she exited the building helped her to breathe, and somehow, she made it to her car. Quickly, she got inside and started the engine, thankful that she at least kept her car keys and wallet in her pockets. However, she was still wearing her apron, and her face and hair was still dusted with flour. The first thing she would do when she got home was take a shower.
It was a miracle she got home at all without crashing, as her hands were still shaking as she put the key into the door of her trailer. It was a thirty-minute drive from Main Street to the Sunshine Woods Mobile Home Park, but it was cheap, and her beater car managed the commute every day. Shutting the door behind her, she made a beeline for the shower, stripping her clothes off and pulling the pins out of her hair as she walked through the single wide.
The cold water felt cleansing as it blasted at her, but the tightness in her chest remained. Even as she closed her eyes, she couldn’t erase the memory of Gabriel’s expression when he saw her scars.
Water washed her tears away, but they continued to flow. Somehow, even after all these years, the hurt felt fresher now than it ever did before. She thought escaping her past would make it all go away. After all, starting fresh out here in Colorado meant there would be no reminders of Chicago. No reminders of the poor inner-city neighborhood where she grew up, of the various apartments and motels she shared with her mother and stepfather. And of course, the tragic event that scarred her for life and made her feel so worthless. Her self-esteem so crushed that she let someone isolate and abuse her because they gave her a morsel of affection she’d been craving all her life.
“It’s not your fault,” she said aloud.
Therapy and getting away from all of it helped a lot. But, oh, there were bad days, like today, that made her feel she would never truly forget or be free of the past. Not when she wore those reminders on her body.
Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around herself. As she passed by the sink, she froze. Normally, she didn’t bother to stop and look at her reflection, but an urge made her stop. Maybe she was turning into a glutton for hurt or because she couldn’t possibly feel any worse that she already did, but something in her made her want to confront her scars.
Slowly, she lifted her head to see the reflection in the mirror. When she had met other burn survivors the first few years after it happened, she knew it could have been worse. Some of them couldn’t even hide their scars as it covered and discolored their entire faces or bodies, while she could easily hide them with the right hairstyle and clothes. Her eyes, lips, and ears were left intact, but webbed skin covered most of her cheek, and there was a patch of scalp behind her ear where hair couldn’t grow. Her entire right shoulder and arm were covered in patches and scars that extended to just below her fingers. It was where most of the skin grafts were applied to ensure she would regain functionality and reduce the pain.
Her physical therapist helped her recover and even suggested she take up some kind of hobby to help the
