the room. If they think I’ll stay here and be some punching bag for all of their insecurities, they’re mistaken. My father and Wes did that enough for a lifetime. Continuing that kind of frustration and pain isn’t in the cards for me.
I don’t stop for a coat because it’s not cold enough here for it. Either way, I’m leaving. Opening the door, I try not to let the built-up pressure in me tumble over. It’s not my style. Level-headedness is something I pride myself in. But as Toby’s words sink in, my heart hammers in tandem of my rising anger. It presses against my temples, letting me know this won’t be easing up anytime soon.
After shutting the door, my feet tap easily on the stoned pathway. Francis’s guards don’t pay attention to me. Like the first day I arrived, they stand, arms together, almost like British guards. Seeing yet unmoving.
That must be one helluva job, to act like there isn’t a care. When in reality, the safety of everyone pertinent to the cause has to be watched without being shown they’re being watched.
I roll my eyes as even more frustration settles inside me. I’m so angry that when my toe stubs on a rock, I yell.
“Fuck you!” It slips from my lips, and I continue my warpath to my car. All of the vehicles are aligned in the massive driveway, all with plenty of room separating them, but mine stands out the most. Unlike all of theirs, it’s the cheapest. Francis drives a Land Rover that makes my Avalon look like a tin can in comparison. Toby—or I think it’s his—drives a Stingray. It not only shows his maturity level, but it also pushes me to believe he’s loaded.
When you’re a kid raised by wealthy adults who have more money than they know what to do with, you notice other people with the same predicament. Me? I’m homeless, loveless, and penniless. It didn’t dawn on me that my dad would abandon me and make me live in debt. At first, when I’d pissed him off, it felt like he cared again, but it soon was proven that he didn’t. It wasn’t even him cutting me off that hurt, it was her. Marsha. Who he let control him.
It never bothered me that he wouldn’t pay for schooling. Between scholarships and me willing to work, I wanted to make something of myself, and he underestimated it. At first, I thought it was tough love, and when I showed him how well I was doing, he didn’t care. But no, it wasn’t tough love; it was a woman who told him I used him.
It’s true, I was dramatic and made mistakes. Hell, I even dated Wesley to garner his attention, but she made me out to be reckless and childish, and told him to not help me anymore.
Without siblings, the sole pedestal was on me. All the marks against me were too heavy, and when he brought that gavel down, it made me realize his standards were always going to be too high. It’s why I let myself go. Allowed myself to love Wesley, to go to school, work two jobs, and be independent. What I didn’t realize in all of that was that he wasn’t going to be there for me in the emotional times.
Like Mom’s birthday.
Whenever that day comes, I don’t celebrate, I mope. How do you celebrate the life of someone who could be dead or alive? She’s missing. It has been six years. I should be over it. I’m not. Dad moved on too fast, too quick for me to realize it, and now he has a woman who’s soulless, stealing his heart and money with a flick of her wrist.
Why her?
Why not some stay-at-home mom and not a hot model who spreads her legs easily? She’s barely older than me. He definitely fucked my mind with that tidbit.
I hate him.
Everything he’s changed into.
He disgusts me.
My hand connects with the door of my car and when the handle pops from me pulling, I nearly fall to my knees with tears. Life was never meant to be fair. It has always been burdensome and mopey, like a teen that doesn’t get their way. But does it eventually settle? Like when they finally surpass the hormonal age and grow up, would life do that?
I smack the window as saddened anger rides me like a trainer to a horse. It hits me again and again like a crop, whipping me until