Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
It was then that I had to tell her some personal truths.
“I don’t have to be in front of cameras, do I?” I asked hesitantly.
Brienne Norcross is supermodel beautiful, with nearly flawless skin, but her forehead crinkled deeply into a frown. “Why? You don’t seem like a shy woman.”
I was wearing a turtleneck… even though it was February in Phoenix and a little too warm, I wore them whenever I could. If I didn’t have a turtleneck, I wore a scarf.
I tugged at the collar nervously. “It’s just… I’m a little self-conscious of my scars.”
Baden had given her some basic background about me, including about my injuries, which accounted for much of my time out of the workforce. But that had not come up in the interview until that point, and I doubted they would have come up had I not mentioned it.
“I can understand your worry.” Brienne’s tone was neutral. “But it’s not my intention to put you in front of cameras. I have an actual press secretary, but I do most of the on-screen media myself.”
I sighed with relief, even knowing I was still going to have to put myself out there. While I might not have to be in front of cameras, working as the liaison meant I would be dealing with people.
But I couldn’t hide behind the computer the way I had been for the prior year while living with Emory and working as an editor.
This was all part of the Jenna 2.0 restructuring plan.
Putting myself out there.
Learning how to be a part of society again, because honestly… it’s lonely when I’m hiding.
“I think you’re going to do fabulous, and I’m so proud of you,” Emory says as she folds another T-shirt and places it in a pile on the bed.
“You’ve always had faith in me, and that’s given me courage,” I reply easily.
Emory has been by my side through my injuries and recovery, and she pushed me to move to Phoenix to get out of my comfort zone. If it weren’t for her, I’d still be hiding at our parents’ house where I landed after I got out of the rehab hospital.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
The fire changed everything in my life. I had an amazing career and the perfect relationship with a man I adored and his daughter, Chelsea, who held the biggest piece of my heart. We were a family, living together, as he split custody of Chelsea with his ex-wife. We’d discussed marriage, and I knew a proposal was forthcoming.
But then the fire happened, and I was lucky to escape with my life. My recovery was brutal. Weeks in a medically induced coma, dozens of painful skin graft surgeries, intense rehabilitation, more surgeries, and the mental strain of dealing with my disfigurement. The world sees the scarring on my jaw and neck, but they don’t see the worst—the scarring on my shoulders and the entirety of my back, butt, and portions of my legs. Puckered pink flesh webbed with pale white veins that I loathe to look at in the mirror.
But what I refuse to see, I must feel. While bathing, I have to run my fingers over the lumpy skin that they couldn’t fix, no matter how great the plastic surgeons were.
That’s the part of me nobody will ever see. And not because I’m inherently ashamed of myself—my parents taught me to be confident and that looks are only skin-deep.
No, it was my boyfriend, Paul, who destroyed my self-worth because he could barely look at me after. He couldn’t touch me.
And ultimately, he left.
All because of the way I looked.
It was an ugly lesson to learn… that our value to other people is tied to our physical appearance.
While it hurt that Paul couldn’t see past my disfigurement, it hurt worse that he removed Chelsea from my life.
I understand now that he was a coward. He tried to come up with a dozen different reasons that all rang hollow. However, in the end, he admitted that my burns were too much for him. It was something I’d ultimately forgive, but I couldn’t ever look past him keeping Chelsea from me. For two years, I had been in her life, and then after I was recovered enough to leave the hospital, he wouldn’t let me see her.
And again, my mind wanders back to Gage. I know it’s because he’s the first man since the fire who has paid me a compliment. It stings to know how much my vanity responds to that.
I actually think he was flirting with me.
Or he could’ve been trying to make me feel better by flirting, so maybe it wasn’t genuine.
No, I think it was genuine.
He seems genuine.
“Okay,” Emory says with irritation. I turn to look at her, eyebrows raised. “What is going on with you? You’re quiet and introspective. Which, okay, is totally Jenna-like. But you’re doing it with this weird smile on your face, and it’s freaking me out.”