“Please don’t cry, baby girl. Please, Rose, please,” my father begs.
My vision is too blurry to make him out clearly, but even so, I note his disheveled appearance. Gone are the crisp suits and white shirts. The tee he has one looks rumbled and in need of a wash, the stubble on his face days old. I want to climb through the screen and hug him. I want for one moment to go back in time and be my daddy’s little girl again, safe in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Rose. Please, please, don’t cry.”
“I’m okay,” I splutter through tears. “I’m okay.” But I am the least okay I have ever been.
“You will be,” he reassures. “You’re strong, like your mother.”
His statement cuts through my tears, lighting a frightening rage in me. “I don’t want to be like her,” I growl. “I don’t want to be heartless and cruel. I won’t forget, Dad. I won’t forget you exist.”
“Sweetheart, she’s not heartless.”
“Could have fooled me,” I snap. I don’t understand why he’s defending her after she ran out on him when he needed us the most. She should have stayed and helped him fight. We could have found a way through this mess together; instead, my mother fled at the first sign of trouble, leaving my father to clean up the mess.
“Come on, Rose, you know her better than that. She’s putting on a brave face for you, that’s all.”
“Dad, she’s just picked up life here like she never left.”
“Darling, there is a lot going on in the background, which you don’t understand.”
His comment infuriates me. I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen. They have expected me to act like an adult for a while, but when something happens, they treat me as if I’m a fragile kid.
“Then tell me what’s going on, Dad, because being in the dark is killing me. I’ve no idea if I’m coming or going. It’s unfair to pick me up and dump me in a new country and expect me to act as if it’s all normal and fine. Because everything isn’t normal and fine, Dad. It’s so far from it.”
“Is that why you’ve not been on Facebook?” he asks gently. “I saw some of the posts on your wall.”
“The private messages are worse. I’ve deleted all the apps off my phone.”
“It will die down eventually, Rose.”
“It’s not just that, Dad. I miss you, and I’m worried about you, and Mum doesn’t even want to hear your name, let alone speak of you.”
“I’ve done some unforgivable things, Rose. It’s understandable she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Sighing, I rub at the remaining tears clinging to my face. “How bad is it?”
Regret fills his dark brown eyes. Eyes that look nothing like mine. It’s my hair I got from him—thick brunette locks, which make me stand out from my mum’s blonde. “If I’m lucky, I’ll do five years, but it could be as much as ten. I have the best people working for me,” he adds with a smile, as if it somehow lessens the blow.
At least five years. I’ll be in college by then.
Five years is a long time. It’s more than my high school career. It’s more than enough time for my mother to have got divorced and remarried. I look ahead at the endless years stretching out before me without my father present. It’s such an impossible scenario. It’s been only weeks, and I often feel as if life isn’t quite real. As if I’m in some alternate universe or bad dream and any moment I’ll wake, and life will be normal again.
“Why, Dad, why?” I cry.
“I don’t have excuses, Rose. I could blame it on your mother and say I started this when you were a child, and we were desperate, but the truth is, Rose, my business has been legitimate for most of your childhood. I broke the rules in the beginning to give your mother back what she’d lost, but I have no excuse this time. I got greedy. I thought I was above the law and now I’m paying for it.”
“What do you mean, give Mum back what she lost?”
Panic fills his features as he realizes he’s revealed information about my past I wasn’t aware of.
“When we moved to London, Rose, your mother wasn’t on the best terms with your grandparents, and we didn’t have much to start again with. She said she wasn’t bothered, but you know your mother. She’s always been used to a certain standard, and it was hard to give her it in those early days.”
“So you did this for her?” I snap. “Because she’s so stuck up, she couldn’t possibly live without her designer shoes and galas?”
“No, Rose. It wasn’t like that.”
“It sounds like that to me. Why leave New York to begin with? Why did you take me to London?”
“I don’t come from wealth or status, Rose. I met your mother while traveling and we fell in love. Your grandparents could never accept that, and it made life difficult. I had an uncle in London who was willing to put us up while we got back on our feet. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
I laugh bitterly. “Brilliant. So not only did this all begin with my mother, it began with my snobbish grandparents too.”
“Rose, you mustn’t say that.” But I can tell he doesn’t really mean it. I can see in his eyes I’m speaking the truth. He’s never met their standards, and it’s made my father do reckless, stupid things.
“Listen, Rose, I have to go. I’ve a call I need to answer.”
My stomach drops. “But, but when will I speak to you again?”
“The trial’s date is set in two weeks. We can video and talk for as much as you want until then.”
My eyes sting as dread uncoils in the pit of my stomach. “And after?” I ask thickly.
His face crumples. “Let’s not think about it yet.”
But I can’t not think of it. Two weeks is not enough time. Two weeks won’t get me through the next five to ten years. “But, Dad,” I gasp. “How will I speak to you?”
He swipes at his face as a tear rolls over his weathered skin. “I’ll write to you, Rose. It won’t be the same. It can never be enough, but it’s all we’ll have. I am so sorry, baby girl. So, so sorry.”
I’m crying again, though I’m trying to keep myself together. “I love you, Dad.”
He smiles sadly. “I love you too, my beautiful girl. Never ever forget that. We’ll speak soon.” He holds his hand over his heart, and I do the same.
“I’ll message you,” I promise. “Bye, Dad.”
“Goodbye, Rose.” The screen goes blank, and although I know I have two weeks left, I can’t shake the feeling I’ll never see or hear from my father again.
Closing my laptop, I flop down on the bed, covering my head with the pillow as great heaving sobs shudder through me. The sound of my agony is too loud to be muffled by the duck-and-goose down held over my face. I crumble like I’ve never done before, the pain in my heart spreading throughout my body, and it feels as if I might die.
Over the last year, my father and I grew apart. I was busy with school and holding my place in the social hierarchy, and he was obviously busy trying to cover his tracks. It’s time we can never get back. Time we thought was better spent on other tasks.
I thought I had all the time in the world. I thought I had forever, but it wasn’t until forever was lost and broken, I realized it was never a real concept to begin with.
Chapter 11
The next day doesn’t get much better. Like Isla warned, Sophia is out for blood. Tension lingers through the air, thick and foreboding as I enter the courtyard adjacent to the cafeteria, a tray of food in my hands. The looks and stares I’m receiving distract me from the actual danger, and by the time I see Sophia out of the corner of my eye, it’s too late to stop her. She slams into me, sending the tray flying and nearly knocking me over. A collective gasp fills the air, and I regain my balance and stand straight, teeth clenched tight.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t see you there,” Sophia purrs, her smile as fake as her apology.
Bending to collect my yogurt, water, and salad, which thankfully didn’t split open on impact, my gaze catches Ash w
atching us from across the yard. I can’t work out his expression, and when our eyes meet, I see nothing but confusion.
That makes two of us. Because while I’d love nothing more than to make Ash and his minions pay for thinking they can mess with me, I’m also dealing with the conflicted feelings inside me, leftover from when we were thirteen.
Everyone in the vicinity watches me with bated breath; they are waiting for the explosion. The drama, which would surely follow such a move, but I’m not so easily swayed. I’ve played this game before, and I’ve dealt with bitches far worse than Sophia. Picking up my tray, I straighten, squaring my shoulders as I look Sophia straight in the eye.
Her smile falters as mine grows. “That’s all right, Sophia. I know what a klutz you are,” I reply, sickly sweet. “Be careful now.”
With a flick of my hair, I turn my back to her, grin still in place and find Isla watching me from a table across the courtyard. Whispers follow me as I walk to her, the tension turning into excitement. The game’s not over, it’s only just begun, and my reaction has only added fuel to the fire.
Bring it on, bitch.
“Oh my God,” Isla hisses as I take my seat. “I was totally expecting you to explode.”
“Well, you know the British are renowned for our decorum. Now tell me, Isla, what does Sophia treasure most in life, not including Ashton and her title?”
She picks up a chip, sticks it in her mouth, crunching as she thinks. “Hmm… well, she’s on the event committee, and I know she’s always in charge of the theme and decorations for school events.”
Leafing through my salad, I consider my options. While I’m not really keen on joining a committee, it will look good on college applications and help with my social status. Plus, it will piss Sophia off big-time. The question is, how do I get onto the committee?
“Are there any events coming up?” I ask.
“Yeah, actually,” Isla answers. “Albany hosts a fall charity gala each year in October.”
My lips lift. “Excellent. My mother’s an event planner. I’ll offer her services free of charge and hopefully get myself an in.”
“Are you really sure you want to do this, Rose? It might be easier to ignore her and hope she goes away.”
I laugh. “Do you really think that’s going to happen? I was made a target from day one, and I’m not the type to stand back and take it.”
I say the words and talk the talk, but on the inside, a part of me is still considering bowing out. A part of me is tired of this world and its games. A part of me is simply tired of life itself.
I make it through the next two classes unscathed, but I know something is coming when I walk to my locker at the end of the day. There are too many hushed giggles directed my way and not enough movement. It seems the entire school is hovering around my locker, waiting to see this next round unfold. The crowd parts and I notice water on the floor first, except it’s not water; it’s a pink liquid with tiny bubbles floating on its surface. Fizzy pop. My gaze follows the small puddle to the drips, which steadily fall onto its surface from my locker. My jaw sets. Marching forward, I punch in my combination with force, spreading my feet around the vastly growing drink pooling on the floor. Opening the door only makes it worse and pink liquid splashes all over my three-thousand-dollar shoes. A sound of rage leaves me as I ball my fists and take in the mess. Two large bottles of soda sit nearly empty upside down in my locker, and when I reach inside to take them out, I see the bottle tops have been half unscrewed, causing the drink to slowly leak out and coat my belongings.
“Shit.”
I turn at Isla’s gasp. “Shit indeed.”
“Miss Chandler’s coming,” a collective hiss travels down the corridor. The crowd around me disperses immediately.
Isla looks from me to the exit. “Need help?” she asks, even though I can see she wants to run.
I kinda do myself. “Go,” I tell her. “I’ll message you later.”
Returning to my locker, I pull out my things, shaking off the excess liquid.
“What has happened here?” Mrs. Chandler demands.
Taking a breath, I put on a polite expression and face her. “Someone thought it would be funny to pour soda in my locker, miss.”
She takes in the scene with a look of outrage, her hands on her hips. “How did they get into your locker?” she asks, raising one perfectly manicured brow.
“I don’t know.”
“So these aren’t your soda bottles?”
“No, Mrs. Chandler.” It takes all my effort to keep the frustration from my tone.
“Well.” She taps her foot as if she doesn’t know what else to say. She’d love nothing more than to pin this one on me. “Is there something I need to be aware of? How are you getting on with the fellow students, Rose?”
She says the words, but she doesn’t mean them, and even if she did, I wouldn’t be grassing on Sophia any time soon. This is a battle to be won between ourselves.
“No, Mrs. Chandler. I’m settling in fine.”
Her critical gaze travels over me and then the mess. “I’ll find you a plastic bag for your things and have the janitor come clean this mess.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
Ten minutes later, I’m exiting school, a bin bag slung over my shoulder and a fire burning at my core. The flames only grow when I find Ashton waiting by the decorative gates, his stance casual, his gaze anything but.
“I’m so sorry, Rose. I tried to talk her out of it,” he starts, striding to catch up with me as I ignore him and march past.
“Leave me alone, Ash.” My shoes stick with every step I take, the soda on my knee-high socks beginning to irritate my skin. “I’ve not got the patience for your games today.”
“I’m not playing games,” he insists.
I stop, my anger surging forward. It doesn’t matter that my rage isn’t only caused by Ash. I let it out anyway. The bin bag drops to the ground as I ball up my fists and, with as much force as I possess, shove Ash in the chest.
“You’ve played nothing but games since I got here,” I yell, causing those passing by to look our way. “First we’ve never met, then you’re all over me in the art closet, and let’s not forget under the stairs.”
“You started that.”
“Ugh!”
“Okay, okay.” He laughs. “I deserved the kick to the balls.”
I cross my arms, and his eyes go directly to my cleavage, igniting my fury further. “And I’m going to kick you in the balls again if you don’t stop ogling me and piss off.”
“You were such a polite, innocent girl when we met.” He smirks.
I pick up my bin bag. “Well, guess what, Ashton? Life has a way of stamping the innocence right out of you.”
Turning on my heels, I walk away, hailing the next cab racing by. Looking back, I can’t see Ash on the sidewalk; he’s either been swallowed by pedestrians or he decided to listen and left.
Tears prick at my eyes as I slump in the seat.
“Where to, miss?”
“The Bel-Air, please.”
Closing my eyes, I will myself to keep it together. Crying can come later, when I’m alone and no one will witness the start of my demise. The last thing I need is some arse-kissing minion snapping a photo of me breaking down, and Sophia thinking she’s won. Because she will most certainly be paying for her soda stunt.
***
My mother returns home late again. I don’t register her presence until she’s standing above me, peering at my open laptop. I had all the best intentions of devising a cunning battle plan when I got in, but after speaking to Isla, I ended up in bed crying as I tortured myself going through my Instagram feed. Picture after picture of my old friends having fun, going to parties, or just hanging out. Living a life that was once mine and I can never have back.
I might be able to find some semblance of it here, but it won’t happen without a fight, and as much as I tell myself I’m ready for Sophia’s takedown. In reality, I’m
not.
In reality, I return home from school to an empty apartment, which feels nothing like home, and the aching emptiness of my lost family wearing me down to the depths of my soul. Sophia’s winning, but she had a helping head start. I began falling before I stepped foot on the plane.
“What are you doing?” my mother snaps.
“Having a pity party,” I mutter, not bothering to look at her. Instead, I click on a picture of Luke and stare at his face.
“Enough of this, Rose. Pull yourself together.”
“Why?” I glance up, the emptiness inside me hurting. “What’s the point?”
Frowning, the anger drains from my mother’s face. “Rose, why are you acting this way? What’s happened?”
“Do I really have to explain this to you?” You’d think it’d be obvious. You’d think she’d be feeling some of what I am; after all, she lost her life and my father too.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, she reaches for my hand, sadness filling her features. “Things will get better, Rose. It will feel like home eventually. Give it time.”
I open my mouth to answer when a video call pops up on my screen.
My mother’s face twists and rage darkens her gaze. “Why is he calling you?” she growls.
Sitting up, I pull my laptop out of her reach. “Because he’s my father,” I yell. “And he’s given me more comfort through one video call than you’ve managed since this whole mess began.”
“I don’t want you speaking with him,” she demands, getting to her feet.
I jump to mine. All of today’s events snowball together, building inside me until I’m ready to burst. My teeth hurt from clenching as my body shakes with emotion.
“He’s my dad. You can’t stop me,” I hiss.
“You’re only dragging out the pain, Rose. He can’t video chat from behind bars.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t plague me every night wondering how long it’s going to be before I see my father again? I’m not like you, Mother. I don’t have this magic ability to cut everyone off and be all right.”
The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1) Page 7