Chapter Three
The morning alarm on her phone awoke her after she’d fallen into a fretful sleep on the couch. After Derek had stormed out the night before, she hadn’t had the fortitude to get up and do her nightly routine of brushing her teeth, showering, or even taking off her makeup. In a fit of self‑pity, hating her own beauty, she had lain there until she’d drifted off into a land of nightmares and repeated rejection.
Groaning, she sat up, rubbing at the sharp kink at the base of her neck. Her mouth tasted foul and her morning breath would rival a dragon’s. As she struggled up out of the cushy couch, she silently berated herself for not at least brushing her teeth before she went to sleep. Brushing her teeth had nothing to do with a beauty regimen, she told herself. It wasn’t vanity to want to have a clean mouth and teeth; it was cleanliness. Nothing more.
She shuffled to the kitchen, set the Keurig to brewing a large cup of extra bold roast, and then shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and take a shower.
She realized on the way there that nothing she did really seemed to matter much to her. Her usual enthusiasm for life seemed to have been stripped away with her hopes and dreams the previous night, and she felt empty. She could easily have gone back to bed and attempted to sleep off her deep depression. She didn’t really care. About much of anything. The day ahead seemed bleak and empty of purpose. In fact, the whole week ahead—or month, or year—seemed devoid of purpose.
Why was she going to shower and get ready for work? She didn’t really care for her job—sure, she liked the work she did, but she didn’t really like dealing with some of the people—and she hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t fulfilling. It didn’t make her feel like she was doing anything that made a difference.
So why was she doing it? To pay the rent? To buy food? Yeah, that was it; she was caught in the rat race, unable to jump off the hamster wheel and flee. But it still didn’t feel like it mattered that day. She thought about calling in sick.
Sighing, very near tears again as she thought of the bleakness of her life, she undressed and climbed into the shower anyway, the routine almost a comfort to her when the rest of her life without a husband and children loomed before her like a shadow of permanent loneliness.
She firmly reminded herself that she had to go to work because she had said she’d be there. It was an important day for her employer—though it was one that she secretly dreaded. That day was the beginning of the new buy‑one‑get‑one‑free iPhone deal at the cell phone store where she worked at the service desk. The store would be very busy. And if she weren’t at the service desk to help customers with their app questions and settings problems, then her boss would be upset. He’d said he needed all hands on deck.
Because she felt complete apathy that morning, only her moral obligation to always try to act according to God’s will kept her from taking that unplanned not‑really‑sick sick day.
Sighing again, she finished her shower and got out, wrapping a thick towel around her hair and another around her body. She padded over the plush bath mat to the mirror above the vanity, then wiped off the thin layer of accumulated steam with a fluffy hand towel and stared at her foggy reflection.
“You look terrible,” she said to herself. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were red with hectic color. “But men will still think you look fine, won’t they? More than fine, they’ll think you’re beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes at her reflection, wincing at the way the gritty after‑effects of her hard cry felt under her scratchy eyelids.
As she looked at her reflection, she realized that she hated that too. She hated the way she looked. She hated her own beauty. She’d often prayed, asking God why he’d given her such a gift. To her, it was more of a hardship. And perhaps that’s what it was supposed to be. Perhaps it wasn’t a gift but her cross to bear, something to help her build character.
She thought of Derek, and his demands for a more physical relationship, surely brought about by the appearance of her body and face, and she nearly broke out into sobs again.
Pushing all thoughts of her former fiancé from her mind, she left the calm environs of the peaches‑and‑cream bathroom to get dressed for the day.
She pushed all thoughts of work away too. She didn’t want to think about what a horror the day would be. She didn’t want to think about the oglers, the shoulder‑touchers, the elbow‑graspers. She didn’t want to think about the “what’s‑your‑phone‑number‑babe” questions, or the leers that she’d receive as she helped the male customers with their cell phones. And she didn’t want to think about the glares from their girlfriends, wives, and, sometimes even their mothers. Usually, she combated this kind of treatment by making it obvious that she was engaged. She would happily gush to anyone who would listen—and even some who didn’t want to—about how wonderful her fiancé was and their plans for their upcoming wedding. Usually, this discouraged most men. But she wouldn’t have that today, would she? No, today she would have no good way to fend them off gently. And her boss really disliked it when she had to get rude with a customer.
She looked down at her pale left hand, at the sparkling diamond and gold engagement ring on her third finger, and slowly reached to pull it off. She laid it carefully on the antique hand‑me‑down dresser and walked away, deciding not to think about it, either.
It wasn’t her fault she looked the way she did. She really did nothing to cause herself to look beautiful. She wore barely any makeup. She usually pulled her hair back in a plain ponytail. She didn’t wear suggestive clothing.
Sure, she ate healthfully and exercised to keep herself fit, but that wasn’t for beauty, it was because her body was a temple, a gift, and she tried to maintain it as such.
Grabbing a plain pair of black dress pants, a conservative purple blouse, and a plain black jacket from the closet, she dressed quickly for the day. As a concession to the chilly fall Portland weather, she added a pair of thick socks to the ensemble and slipped her feet into a pair of low‑heeled black boots, then went back to the bathroom to pull back her hair and moisturize her face.
That done, she trudged reluctantly back to the kitchen, doctored her steaming cup of coffee with just a touch of honey and some organic cream, grabbed an apple from the fridge, and her keys and capacious purse from the entryway, and headed out the door. The clock app on her phone showed she had little time left if she wanted to be on time, but she found that she really did not much care about that either.
Juggling her purse, coffee, keys, and apple outside the door, she attempted to lock the deadbolt.
“Here, let me help you with that,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Face averted, Bella barely suppressed an eye-roll. Really? Less than thirty seconds outside her apartment, and she was going to be hit on already?
Suppressing a sigh, she turned, “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
Then, seeing who the voice belonged to, she smiled in relief.
“Oh, hello, Lucien. How are you today?”
Lucien was her new coworker at the store. She’d told him about the vacancy in her apartment building just a few days ago, and he must’ve taken her advice and rented the space.
“Fine. Just fine. I like the apartment. Nice building. Great landlords. Thanks for the tip.”
Bella grinned, happy to have been able to help him. He seemed like such a nice guy.
His expression changed just slightly as he stared down at her smile, his smile slackening a bit and his eyes drifting to her lips.
Oh no! Too much! Too much. Tone it down, she thought.
She stopped smiling, and he stopped looking at her like he was a carb addict and she was a double‑chocolate‑chunk cookie.
“So, are you ready for the big sale today?” she asked as they turned and headed for the elevator.
He gave a short bark of derisive laughter, “No, I barely know what I’m doing. I’m not looking forward to the rowdy horde of people you said we could expect.”
Trying for an upbeat tone, Bella said, “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad?”
Lucien chuckled again. “You don’t sound very convincing, Bella the Beautiful.”
She stopped walking, feeling a chill skate up her spine. “Please, Lucien, don’t call me that.”
He punched the “down” button on the elevator and turned to look at her. “Why not? It’s true.”
“Just, don’t, okay? I want us to be friends, not . . . well . . .”
Lucien’s eyes sharpened. “Not what?”
“Just friends, that’s all,” Bella said, wishing that she could somehow suddenly become invisible. Maybe just shrink into the floor and disappear. Or, perhaps somehow transform her features into those of an elderly grandmother. And, as long as she was fantasizing about impossible feats, it would be great to know exactly what Lucien was thinking of her, too.
Maybe she was wrong, and he was just being friendly to a new coworker. Maybe he wasn’t like other men.
She nearly snorted to herself in derision. Sure, sure, he wasn’t like everyone else. Just like Derek hadn’t been.
To cover her upsetting thoughts, which were surely putting a sour expression upon her face, she took a long sip of her coffee. When the door to the elevator finally opened, she pasted a thin smile back on her face and tried to appear cheerful. The day would be hard enough without her reading things into her coworker’s behavior that might not be there.
Lucien gestured for her to precede him into the steel‑lined elevator, and she entered quickly, muttering a soft “thanks.”
On the way down, Lucien remained silent, and she wondered if she should say something. He was her new coworker, after all, and she didn’t want to offend him. She glanced at him.
He was looking at the shiny steel elevator door in front of him, but he caught her glance in the wavy reflection and turned toward her.
“Look, I’m . . .” Bella began at the same time that he said, “I didn’t mean . . .”
They both broke off, and Bella laughed.
The stiff tension between them broke, and in a moment of decisiveness, Bella resolved to be just blunt and honest with him. Didn’t most people like that, anyway?
“Look, I wasn’t trying to be rude. I appreciate your complement, it’s just that I’m used to guys only treating me a certain way because they think I’m attractive, and I guess I’m getting a little tired of it,” she said, ending on a sigh of real frustration.
“I get it,” Lucien said. “I do. A woman who looks like you must get lots of unwanted attention. Let’s just forget it, and try to make the best of this day, okay? We can start over, and I won’t call you that anymore.”
“Yes, let’s make the best of it. Thank you,” Bella agreed.
But, she really didn’t feel like trying to make the best of anything. Inside, under the apathy hid a morass of hurt, pain, and confusion. If she’d really tell Lucien the whole truth—that she’d been dumped by her fiancé the night before, that her emotional life was in a turmoil, that she really didn’t care about her job, or herself, or, well, much of anything other than the Lord—she wondered what he’d say.
She took another sip of her coffee and glanced at him again, intending to ask him what he thought of his new job so far. Her breath caught on an involuntary gasp as she caught a glimpse of his face. For a moment, superimposed over Lucien’s features, there appeared the snarling visage of a wolf, dark eyes looking at her hungrily, teeth bared in a snarl of predatory dominance.
She looked away hurriedly, choking on the sip of hot coffee that she’d just taken.
Lucien reached out a solicitous hand to help her, silently offering to pat her back to help with the coughing, but she leapt back in fear, unable to stop herself.
Still choking, eyes streaming, she glanced back at his face. The strange image was gone, and Lucien’s handsome face was frowning down at her in concern.