Three Divisions: Crescentwood 1

by R. A. Smyth

  Although, they didn’t really seem like cold-hearted criminals, did they? They seem…different…somehow to the other gang members.

  Whatever is going on, I’m just going to have to drag my head out of the gutter, secure the wall around my heart, and use my vibrator for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter 14

  Ihave been living in this hellhole for a month now, one very long, lonely month. On the upside, I haven’t received any more creepy notes in that time. I’m hoping the sleazeball has moved on and won’t be bothering me anymore.

  Tonight is the night of the party my father insists on hosting to introduce ourselves to the ‘who's who’ of Crescentwood. Everyone is invited, including the kids from school. It’s going to be so much fun! My sarcasm game is strong.

  I spent more money on the dress I bought in town last week than my mother and I spent on rent, food, and bills in a month. It's obscene. Although, I can’t deny, the feel of the material against my skin is heavenly.

  Sadly, I am woken up at eight in the morning on a Saturday by a loud knock on my door. For fucks sake, does nobody around here understand the meaning of a lie-in?

  “Miss, your father has asked me to remind you that today is the day of the party and it is important you look your best. Hair and make-up will be here in an hour. You best get up and get ready for them. Breakfast will be in the kitchen when you are ready,” Thomas informs me before taking off, not waiting for a response.

  With a loud groan, I throw back the covers and climb out of bed and into the shower. I have no idea what to expect tonight. I know the families of the one-percenters will be there, and likely a few other wealthy, influential people from the town.

  Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and let the warm water wash over my face and down my body, trying to release some of the tension. I have no idea how I am going to keep my father from finding out that, not only am I not friendly with anyone in this town, but they are actively trying to drive us out.

  Having put off getting out of the shower for as long as I can, I finally switch off the water, grab a towel, and climb out. Pulling on a tank top and some sweats, I head down for some breakfast before everyone turns up and this fiasco of a day truly begins.

  Sitting down at the bar in the kitchen, my stomach starts grumbling. Thomas, the amazing man that he is, sets a piping hot latte down in front of me. Murmuring my thanks, I literally inhale the caffeine. He chuckles at my antics while setting a bowl of fruit down in front of me and starting to tidy up the kitchen workbench.

  “Eh, what’s this? Where’s the normal shebang of pancakes or a full fry?” I ask, thoroughly confused at the measly bowl of fruit. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good bowl of fruit, and growing up, I would have dived on a bowl of fruit like a nymphomaniac on her first dick of the day. It’s just that Thomas has been a life-saver since I arrived, ensuring I’ve been plied with as much greasy food as a girl can dream of. I’ve gotten used to eating a more substantial breakfast since coming to Crescentwood.

  “Your father wants to ensure you aren’t…eh…bloated today. He doesn’t want any issues with you fitting into your dress.” Thomas replies, looking a bit embarrassed. Not wanting to put Thomas in the middle of the bullshit between Robert and me, I just shake my head and dig into my breakfast. What an asshole though. My father is such a sexist pig.

  The rest of the day is a whirlwind, with a dozen people fussing around me, sorting out my hair and make-up. Somehow it manages to take all day just to get everything done. I never knew one person could spend so much time dolling themselves up. It’s insane. I must have so much hairspray and layers of foundation on my face that I look like one of the Barbies. On the plus side, I probably fit in perfectly with this messed up society. At least Robert will be happy, I think to myself while rolling my eyes.

  Putting on my dress that evening, I run my hands down over my sides and stomach, smoothing out any wrinkles and reminding myself of why I love this outfit. It hugs me in all the right places and feels like I am wrapped in the softest of fabrics. The dress itself is a floor-length black evening dress with diamanté – actually, at the price I paid, they are probably real diamonds - covering my chest which taper off as they head down towards my waist. There is a slit up the side of the dress that goes all the way to the top of my thighs meaning I have to wear a black thong to ensure my underwear doesn’t show. The neckline of the dress dips low between my breasts, framing and showing them off in such a way that they look full and perky, without coming across as slutty or too revealing.

  I match the dress with a pair of black Louboutin heels, the blood-red sole oozing sex appeal. Looking into the mirror, I can’t believe what I see.

  My hair is pulled back into a low chignon with a fancy braid, leaving some curled tendrils to frame my face. The make-up artist has given me dark smoky eyes and bright red lipstick which compliments the red on my shoes and, surprisingly, the foundation doesn’t look caked on.

  I’ve never looked so put together, so sophisticated, in all my life. Two months ago, I would never have believed I would be standing here today. Hell, if anyone had suggested it, I would have laughed in their face and asked what they’d been smoking.

  For the first time since I arrived here, I actually look like I belong. It’s a far cry from the poor, sad orphan girl who showed up here only a few short weeks ago. Tonight, I look formidable, strong. Since I’m stepping into a den of lions tonight that’s exactly what I need to be. I need to wield this look like a weapon.

  All too soon, there is a knock on the door.

  “Miss, your father is waiting for you,” Thomas says through the door.

  Giving myself a final once over in the mirror and a mental pep talk that I can totally do this, I turn and head towards the bedroom door.

  Opening the door, I find Thomas standing on the other side with a smile on his face and his elbow pointed out for me to place my arm through, ready to escort me down the hall.

  “Miss, you look absolutely mesmerising.”

  I’m unable to say much in response with the butterflies fluttering about in my stomach, just about managing to mutter out a thank you.

  Thomas directs me downstairs and towards the ballroom that I got a peek at when I first arrived, but haven’t had a chance to explore since then. I can hear voices and laughter and the hauntingly beautiful music from a string quartet through the ballroom doors.

  Opening the doors and stepping into the room, I see it is full of people, most of whom I don’t recognise. The string quartet is set up on a stage to one side of the room and there is a bar off to the other side with several people milling around, waiting to be served drinks by one of the bartenders manning it.

  Before I have a chance to take in anything more, I hear my father calling me, “Sophie! Sophie!” Waving at me through the crowd until he has my attention, he beckons me over to where he is standing with an older man. I’ve never met the man, but I instantly know he is Preston’s father. With his black hair, albeit with salt and pepper sprinkled in on the sides and throughout his neatly trimmed beard, and his strong jaw, the resemblance is uncanny. I can only imagine this is what Preston will look like in twenty or thirty years.

  It’s only when I step up beside my father, looking closely at Mr. Donaghue, that I can pinpoint the subtle differences between him and his son.

  The most obvious contrast is the eyes. Preston’s eyes are a grey colour that could initially be mistaken as making him appear cold, but there is a softness in his eyes that draws me in. The whole world fades away, leaving me feeling like I’m lost in a sea of fog, completely untethered. It’s both terrifying and strangely…freeing. Mr. Donaghue’s eyes are nothing like that. They are bottomless pits of darkness showing me just how soulless he really is.

  On the inside, he’s the spitting image of my father. Driven by money and power, constantly seeking that rush of adrenaline when he exerts his control over others. He and my father are one in the same; wolves walking amongst sheep, playin
g by their own rule book, and currently winning.

  Preston does an excellent imitation of his father; but it’s just that; an act. Unlike his father, his morality meter swings closer to right than wrong. No, unlike his father or mine, Preston isn’t a sociopath, just a common, run of the mill asshole.

  As I step up beside my father, he puts his hand on my lower back in a show of affection, but his subtle meaning is clear – behave.

  “This is my daughter, Sophie. Sophie, this is Charles Donaghue,” my father introduces.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I respond, extending my hand even though I instantly know I don’t want to touch this man.

  “The pleasure is mine. Your father speaks highly of you.” Mr. Donaghue responds politely, while his eyes run over me assessingly, as though trying to determine if I’m a threat. He must decide I’m not as he quickly dismisses me. More fool him, he has no idea of the fighter that stands in front of him.

  “I understand you and my father are in business together.” I say, subtly fishing for information.

  “Yes, that’s right. Your father’s assistance has been instrumental in the proliferation of my company. You should be very proud of him.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about his business interests, but I’d love to hear more about them,” I enquire, smiling innocently, digging for information and wanting to know just how my father is involved.

  “Not tonight Sophie, this is a party after all,” my father says, laughing it off before Mr. Donaghue can say anything, and clapping his hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly in a silent gesture of intimidation, aimed to keep me in line.

  “Of course, perhaps some other time.” I agree weakly, knowing there is no point in pursuing that line of enquiry and running the risk of pissing off my father tonight.

  “Charles here is a busy man, he doesn’t have time to indulge spoiled teenage girls,” my father says derisively, having had enough of my input in this conversation even though I’ve barely said anything at all.

  I nod along, as though I agree with what he said. “I’m sure you are. It must be incredibly difficult to balance your many companies, being Governor, and your family,” I muse, attempting a different approach in hopes of gaining a better insight into Mr. Donaghue, while keeping away from anything work related, which my father clearly doesn’t want me to talk about.

  “Yes, it can be quite a challenge, but Preston understands the importance of what I do, and I try to make time for him when I can.” Mr. Donaghue replies smoothly, reciting a line that I imagine he keeps stored away to use on voters and reporters to gain their approval. However, his words lack warmth. His eyes don’t brighten at the mention of his son, the way a loving fathers should, and his voice doesn’t hold any regret at missing out on important father-son moments. If I had to guess, I would say Preston lives alone in his mansion.

  As sad as that may be, I can’t help but think that being lonely is better than the alternative. His father could have successfully manipulated and bent him until they were one and the same. No, Preston is already angry and damaged enough, without further interference from his father.

  “We should mingle and talk to the rest of our guests,” my father directs to me with a hard glint in his eyes. He’s angry with me for doing more than just standing beside him like arm-candy and smiling pleasantly, but mutely, at his guests. “Thank you for coming, Charles. Find me later and we can have a chat in my office before you leave,” he finishes cryptically, before pulling me away from Mr. Donaghue and introducing me to another nameless, faceless couple.

  The rest of the evening goes by in a blur of introductions. The men talk to my father about vague business opportunities while the women try to engage me in aimless chit chat about superficial matters like house renovations, cheating housewives, and which couples have money issues. Who cares?! I sure as hell don’t.

  I am nodding along to some boring drivel, an older lady whose name I don’t recall, is going on about, when I spot Preston and Barrett, along with the other one-percenters at the opposite side of the room.

  Barrett notices me watching them and winks provocatively, licking his lips as his eyes dip to the floor and eat me up, taking in the way my dress clings to my curves and highlights my breasts, liking what he sees.

  I involuntarily bite my lower lip, as my own eyes devour the hot as fuck sight in front of me that is Barrett Belmont in a suit. A fancy-ass suit that probably cost a fortune and is intended to be worn by businessmen stuck in offices all day. It looks anything but professional on Barrett. Yet, it suits him; it’s worn in such a way that would make anyone else look like a douche, but only makes Barrett look drool-worthy.

  He flaunts the line of actually wearing a suit, with his top button undone and his tie loosened around his neck. The tail of his shirt is untucked on one side and slightly rumpled looking, like he just picked it up off the floor and put it on before he came out tonight. The sleeves of the shirt and jacket are rolled up to his elbows and he has paired the black suit with a pair of black and white designer sneakers.

  Seeing that Barrett’s attention is elsewhere, Preston turns his head, following Barrett’s line of sight, and I am immediately ensnared as his penetrating gaze draws me in, the way it always does when our eyes meet.

  The rest of the room begins to fall away, the music quieting to a soft melody in the background; and it’s just me and Preston. There is so much emotion in his eyes. So much anger and hurt that he is clinging to, in an attempt to drown out the pain and sadness which is bubbling underneath, threatening to spill over. If only he would let himself feel those feelings then perhaps he could move forward, let go of that carefully constructed restraint he has and let someone in, to care for him, love him.

  “Sophie? Sophie! Where are you going?” My father interrupts, breaking the spell I was under as I look around in confusion, realising I’d taken several steps toward Preston, as though I was unconsciously trying to reach out and comfort him.

  Glancing back, Preston is staring at me with a perplexed frown on his face, as unsure of what to make of our ‘moment’ as I am.

  “Sophie!” My father hisses, annoyed at my defiance. “What do you think you are doing? You still need to meet the Belmonts.” He jeers, wrapping his meaty hand around my forearm and dragging me away from Preston and Barrett.

  Seeing that I am not resisting him, he thankfully lets go of my arm, enabling me to create some distance between us as I trail him across the room towards Mr. and Mrs. Belmont.

  “Steven,” My father practically purrs when we reach the couple, completely ignoring who I assume is Mrs. Belmont.

  “Robert, lovely party this evening,” Mr. Belmont greets as he casts his gaze slowly over me, a look in his eyes not dissimilar to the one I just saw in Barrett’s. The heated look I get from Mr. Belmont, though, causes the complete opposite reaction in me. I struggle to keep the look of disgust off my face and the dress I’m wearing, that had made me feel sexy and confident, now makes me feel dirty.

  “Steven, this is my daughter, Sophie. Sophie, this is Steven and Missy Belmont,” my father introduces. Mr. Belmont, the perv that he is, seizes the opportunity to lean in and kiss me on the cheek, ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand against the side of my boob and lingering longer than is socially acceptable. By the time he pulls back, I feel queasy, and in desperate need of a shower.

  Glancing at my father, thinking the display of disrespect would have angered him, I find he isn’t even paying attention, instead running his hand down his shirt, ironing out non-existent creases. What the hell? I didn’t for one second expect him to stand up for me or anything, but to just stand there and ignore what is clearly happening? It doesn’t seem like something he would stand for.

  Finally stepping away from me, enabling me to regain some of my personal space, Mr. Belmont starts engaging my father in conversation as though neither Mrs. Belmont or I are there.

  With the two men ignoring our presence, I silently observe Mrs. Belmon
t. It is immediately clear why she didn’t speak up at her husband’s deplorable behavior. The woman looks like she is barely managing to stand upright, staring at a random point on the floor while she sways back and forth in her high heels and sips away on what I’m pretty sure is not her first, or even her fifth, glass of wine.

  When she lifts her gaze up from the floor I can see that her eyes are glazed over and her pupils are dilated, indicating she’s been taking more than just alcohol tonight. Jeez, is that what happens to women who decide to stay here and become unhappy housewives? Is this the future Meaghan was bragging about in the café? I do not understand these people.

  Poor Barrett having to live with these two. No wonder everything about him is superficial flirtiness. He likely has no idea how to make real connections with people, particularly women. I can’t imagine either of his parents gave him the time of day growing up. Are all the families in Crescentwood as broken and damaged as ours?

  I zone back into the conversation between my father and Mr. Belmont, just in time to catch the tail end of what Mr. Belmont is saying.

  “-very well behaved for someone so young.”

  Tearing my eyes away from Mrs. Belmont so I can look at her husband, I catch him looking at me.

  Wait, are they talking about me? As though I’m a well-trained pet? What the fuck?

  “Mmm, she has her moments,” my father murmurs, not agreeing.

  Laughing, Mr. Belmont replies, “Ah, you need a bit of fire every now and again, keeps things interesting.” His eyes land on the slit of my dress as his gaze once again turns heated.

  I don’t know what the fuck they are saying right now but I can feel my skin crawling and the urge to run is riding me high.

  Realising that I am listening to their conversation, my father quickly thanks Mr. Belmont for coming this evening and ushers me away from them. For once I don’t fight him. I am more than happy to get as far away from that sleazebag as possible.