Cruel Kisses (It's Just High School #2) - Thandiwe Mpofu Page 0,123
on her face so damn evil, it makes my stomach lurch.
I’m going to be sick.
“I believe you and I have a deal to make,” I mutter. I think I’m going to be sick.
Courtney Fitzgerald glances at me with a big smile on her face and opens the door wider.
“I knew you’d get the message, Mia. Come on in,” she says sweetly. But when I step in the house, my old house, I stop dead in my tracks when I see who else is in the room.
My slimy, snake eyed, disgusting father.
“Amy,” he greets and my world stops.
28
I don’t remember the last time I put in a word to the Big Guy upstairs, but I think in those rare, few times, I didn’t get an answer back. Probably explains why I’m messed up. Or why I don’t bother talking to Him, but right now, it’ll take a whole ‘Moses parted the Red Sea’ kind of miracle to get me out of this.
“Just give it to me straight,” Dad demands. “What are we looking at here?”
We’re in Dad’s office in LA, a bunch of stuffy lawyers. One of them has been dad’s lawyer since before I was born. He even worked with Mia’s asshole of a father once and so dad bought him on my case to see how all this will play out.
“It’s not looking good,” the old guy—let’s call him Grey—grumbles, running a hand down his face. “With the missing person’s report, the abandoned car, the video…”
Now that surprises me.
“The video?” I snap, looking up now.
“Oh good, you’re paying attention,” Dad drawls, looking annoyed. “I was beginning to wonder if you even give a damn about your future.”
“You’re not a saint for doing this, Dad,” I fire back.
“You’re damn right I’m not a fucking saint,” he grumbles, watching me with an equally pissed off glare. “I’m your father. I’ll do what I must to protect you.”
It would have been a touching little speech and a powerful, cliché show of love if he wasn’t actually my father or THE John Fitzgerald; a ruthless businessman who liked playing hardball and watching little businesses collapse while he profits from them. Besides he and I both know why he’s doing this, but we won’t talk about that right now so I just stare at him, tugging the damn tie I’m wearing for the court hearing this afternoon.
“What video are you talking about?” I question, still holding dad’s gaze.
“Well,” the Old Grey clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I got word through my contacts that they have a video of you with your hand around Ms. Montague’s neck from before the summer.”
“It’s completely fabricated,” Dad says, staring at me. “Isn’t it?” But he knows better. I refuse to say anything and get back to staring out the large floor-to-ceiling length windows overlooking downtown LA and allow her face to filter in my mind.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw her, tears streaming down her face like a torrent, her eyes filled with pain, begging me for something. Obviously, it was artifice, Mia is an extremely great actress.
She tried to see me, looking for me everywhere but I just couldn’t stand to see her when so much chaos was happening in my head, my soul and everything else she managed to snake her way into.
She was faking it this entire time while she reeled me in like a damn fish, captivating me with her sweet kisses, her touch and the warm, soft comfort in her arms that I allowed me to just be my-fucking-self, to breathe, to feel and in a way, to heal.
But, she was just wrapping chains around me and when I finally realized what she was doing, my face was all over the internet, an arrest warrant was issued, and everything has been going down the drain since.
But was she really playing me? Did she fake the way she was looking at me? Did she lie to my damn heart? Because for a moment there, I really believed she felt what I was feeling, that’s he loved me back, that she was MINE. Was she?
“We can argue that the recording is inadmissible and that it was also fabricated,” Old Grey is saying when I tune back into the conversation. “But if they can get witnesses who can corroborate the story, then it’s highly likely the judge will allow it to be entered as evidence against us.”
“And if it’s admitted, what then?” I question, keeping my voice low.