Page 58 of Beautiful Beast

The exception to the avoid-being-social-at-all-costs rule is my people, who I love to be around. But when I’m thrust into new situations with strangers, I typically retreat into myself and just observe.

There was something about Adam that I just couldn’t resist pursuing, though.

When you know, you know.

And that’s another reason I’m so sure about him. If it wasn’t for extroverts adopting me, sometimes against my will, I wouldn’t have any friends. But Adam would have happily let me walk away so he could indefinitely wallow in misery, but I was compelled to get through to him.

There must be a reason we were thrown together.

“Belle!” Ariel squeals. “Please. You’re my best friend, and you’re going to make me go to a partyalone? The whole point of having a best friend is so you never have to do anything alone. You’re literally abandoning me.”

“You’re my best friend, and you’re going to try and torture me? Sometimes your best friend is meant to be the voice of reason. Netflix is a perfectly reasonable compromise.”

“It’s a party, not waterboarding.”

“It’s a club,” I return, wrinkling my nose in distaste. “I’d have to leave Buster, wash my hair, get dressed, stop reading my book…”

The list of sins goes on and on.

“You mean, be a normal twenty-four-year-old?”

“If that’s considered normal, then count me out.”

“Please, please,please. One of the guys from the play is having his birthday party there, and he is so dreamy.”

“You aren’t making it sound better,” I complain, idly stroking Buster’s fur. “That just means you’re going to ditch me when you hook up with him. You don’t need me.”

“I do need you! And I’ll pay for your cab back home. You’ll be reading your book again in no time if you help me out by being my wing woman.”

Ariel is absolutely gorgeous and doesn’t need a wing anything. But I suppose I can understand not wanting to show up to a social gathering alone.

“Ugh, fine, but I’m not wearing high heels.”

Buster has an uncanny ability to pick up on my energy and read my mind. He gives me an imploring look from his spot beside me on the couch, and I lean down to kiss his head.

“Sorry, buddy,” I reply to his unspoken criticism. “Trust me, I’d rather stay here with you and Stephen King. You can blame Ariel.”

Buster follows me into the bathroom and stays while I take a shower. His snores from the carpet beside the glass stall are so loud that they can be heard over the jet engine spray of my grandmother’s rainforest showerhead.

There’s a safety railing attached to the grey tiles, and I wonder who installed it for her.

I wonder if she was nervous taking showers alone in the apartment.

I wonder if she died alone or surrounded by adopted loved ones since her real family was nowhere to be found.

I wonder so many things that I’ll never get the chance to learn now, thanks to my useless mother.

Sadness and guilt eat away at my insides even though there’s no way I could have known that my grandmother was alive and needed me.

Who lies about someone’s death? My mother is such a vile monster.

Now I’m left wanting to know all about my grandmother’s life, and I have no one to ask. Adam knew her better than I did, but they were still just neighbors. He won’t know the answers to the questions I have or be able to teach me the lessons I want to absorb from her.

My life would have been so different if only I had grown up with Annie instead of my own mother.

After toweling off, I walk naked to my temporary bedroom, Buster following me while making a series of snorts and snuffs to express his displeasure at my poor decisions.

As a diehard, committed introvert, I don’t have a ton of club clothes. My default style in my day-to-day life consists of jeans or yoga pants with basic T-shirts and hoodies.

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