Stay With Me: Diamond In The Rough 3

by Hart, Rebel

  Then the words poured from my lips like water from a backed-up fountain.

  15

  Clinton

  California state assistance for teenagers.

  Jobs that require only a high school degree.

  Cheap motorcycles for sale.

  Places for homeless students to sleep in Riverbend

  Can I sell my dad’s stuff if he’s selling the only place I live in?

  I slammed my finger against the ‘enter’ key and watched the search engine whirl away. I picked up my third cup of coffee and chugged it back, groaning at the taste of rosewater. Fucking hell, I loved this coffee place. I’d miss it when I left. And I was damn lucky they didn’t charge me for the usage of their computers.

  Because my neck had grown stiff researching shit on my cell phone.

  I typed in everything I could think of. Any search that might give me some sort of reprieve from the insanity coming down around me. Weeks. I had only weeks to figure out what my next moves were. Otherwise, I’d be homeless. I’d have to sleep on the streets. Possibly drop out of school. Make my way in this world scrubbing dishes for less than minimum wage in some food truck while I sweated my ass off.

  “Come on, there has to be something.”

  I clicked around and sent myself articles. I highlighted things I jotted down in the notebook I carried around with me now. More and more, my notebook filled with ways to live. Ways to eat. Places that might take me in versus poems and short stories and novel ideas that came to me at the drop of a hat. My notebook had gone from creative to proactive. Artistic to sadistic. I felt like it mocked me some times, laughing at me. Like my father probably was right now.

  Satanic.

  The devil. My father was Lucifer himself. How he could do this to his own flesh and blood, I’d never know. How my mother could leave me with a man like this, I’d never understand. I didn’t want to understand. I never wanted to be as cold-hearted and as desolate as the two of them were.

  I just wanted to find a safe place to be myself.

  After hitting dead ends and growing tired of frivolous searches, I broke down and called that lawyer. I found his card I had taped to the inside of my notebook, figuring I’d have to make an appointment with him. I reached his secretary and gave my name. The reason for me calling. And just when I thought she’d rattle off his schedule to me, she told me to wait.

  “Clinton Clarke?”

  I paused. “Uh, yes?”

  “I was wondering if I’d ever hear from you again. How are you?”

  I was so shocked, I couldn't even remember the man’s name. “I’m good. I mean, well, I have a question. But, otherwise, I’m good.”

  “Are you wanting me to answer that question for you?”

  I sighed. “No, no. I just—I want to pick your brain a second.”

  “About what?”

  “I have a hypothetical for you.”

  “Question for a friend. That kind of thing?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Got it. Shoot.”

  “Let’s say there’s a house up for sale. Just went on the market. And there’s already a buyer.”

  “Nice. That happens sometimes.”

  I snickered. “Yeah. Anyway, the issue is that there are two people still living in the house. A high schooler of legal age and a woman.”

  He paused. “Uh huh.”

  “Yeah. And it’s assumed the woman is going to move when the house sells. But it’s not assumed the high schooler is going to move.”

  “Okay?”

  “What rights does that high schooler have? Can he—I mean—can this high schooler somehow stop the sale?”

  “Does this high schooler want to?”

  I snickered. “I mean, the high schooler won’t have anywhere to go.”

  “So, this kid not going with the move isn’t a decision he’s made.”

  I paused. “No. It isn’t.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Clinton?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You want to drop the veil of pretense for a second and talk seriously?”

  “That depends. Are you going to interject your services and make things worse?”

  “Not unless you hire me. Otherwise, this is simply a phone consultation where I tell you the kind of rights you have and how I can help you.”

  I sighed. “All right. Shoot.”

  “Your father’s sold your house, but has he explicitly said to you that he doesn’t want you going with him?”

  I cleared my throat. “He said that to my stepmother. Not me. I can’t get him on the phone.”

  “Is there any way for you to get a copy of the sale contract of the house?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Okay. You need to try and do that first. I can place a few phone calls if you—”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to make things worse.”

  He sighed. “I can leave your name out of it.”

  “Please, just—do I have a right to sell some of the things in the house to get some money for myself? Because I can’t leave town right now. I need to graduate first.”

  “Kid, I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. If you can get that sale contract on your hands to make sure your father hasn’t sold the furniture and the possessions inside the house, then you can sell those off yourself.”

  I paused. “I can?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even, like, the silverware and the furniture?”

  “All of it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. Dead serious. Even if he takes you to court and tries to prove that you ‘stole his stuff’ by selling it out from underneath him, the second you prove that he did it to you with the house, a judge is going to throw it out of court. It’ll be seen as neglect, and that won’t shine a good light on him.”

  I sighed. “I don’t have proof of that, though.”

  “You said he said it to your stepmother, right?”

  I nodded. “He did, yes.”

  “If you can get him to say it to you, too, or get it written down electronically somewhere, you’re good. You can’t record him without notifying him of the fact that you’re recording. But what he says in emails or text messages…”

  “I read you loud and clear.”

  “But even so, there are things in that house you’re privy to that aren’t specifically your belongings. Not sculptures and priceless art he might’ve gotten at an auction or anything. But neutral items the entire family uses, like couches, chairs, china. You have a right to that.”

  I sighed. “Thank you so much.”

  “And before we hang up, I just want to put this out there. If you need me—for anything—it’ll be pro bono work.”

  “You don’t have to do—”

  “Pro. Bono. Do you hear me?”

  I swallowed hard. “I do. Thank you.”

  “Keep my number handy. Know you’re not alone in this fight.”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  “Call me in a few days and let me know how you’re doing. All right?”

  I snickered. “Why?”

  He paused. “Because I care. And I get the feeling that idea is foreign to you. So let me start teaching you that.”

  It wasn’t foreign when Rae was around. “Okay. Sounds good.”

  I hung up the phone with him and leaned back into the chair. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and sighed with relief. Okay. That was a better outcome than I had hoped for. Now, how the fuck was I going to get my hands on a copy of that sale contract?

  Time to start searching the internet again.

  The more I searched, the more insane this scenario became. A few weeks ago, I’d been hanging out with Roy, biding my time until graduation, and dreaming about plans to get out of this place. And now, I’d loved. I’d lost. I’d almost died. Only for my father to come to the decision he was going to throw me out on my ass. Force me to survive alone, no matter what.

&nbs
p; Wait. The bank account.

  I picked my phone back up and punched in my information on my banking app. And when I saw that the $4,999.00 transfer had actually gone through, my jaw hit the floor. I pushed away from the coffeehouse computer as I sifted through the numbers I’d recently dialed. I called the guy back I’d spoken with at the beginning of the week, hoping to initiate another transfer.

  But things didn’t go as planned.

  “Your account’s been locked down, Mr. Clarke.”

  I sighed. “Figures. I take it my father did that?”

  “I’m not allowed to discuss the specifics of—”

  “A few days ago you could. I’m still a beneficiary on that account, right?”

  He paused. “Actually, sir, no. You’re not.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Your name has been removed from the account.”

  “You’re being serious right now, aren’t you?”

  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. But it didn’t lessen the sting.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Clarke. But if I can be of service to you at all—”

  “You’re good. Thanks.”

  And I hung up the phone before the tears crested the folds of my eyes.

  I tried to focus on the good. If I could just get my hands on a sale contract, I might stand a chance at reaping a great deal of money before this six to eight week period was up. And until then, I still had things I could sell. I threw away my empty coffee cup and started out of the coffeehouse. I flagged down a taxi and got in, then rattled off my home address.

  I needed to go home and start preparing things to sell off.

  It didn’t shock me when I found Cecilia at the kitchen table. She’d practically taken up permanent residency there. I had come downstairs this morning and seen her sitting there, staring into her mug of coffee. And when I left to skip school and come back to the coffeehouse, she’d still been sitting there. Now, as I walked back inside around three in the afternoon, I found her still sitting there. Still in her robe. Still with that same damn mug of coffee.

  Had she even moved?

  “Cecilia?”

  The two of us hadn’t spoken since yesterday. Since she told me the offer my father had made her. And that the invitation wasn’t open to me. I walked into the kitchen and sat down in front of her, waiting for her to lift her eyes to mine. Waiting for her to acknowledge me.

  But she didn’t.

  “Cecilia?”

  She sighed, but didn’t say anything.

  “Cecilia, we can do this.”

  She licked her lips. But again, stayed silent.

  “I know you think this is hopeless. I know you don’t think you have a choice. But you do. You have a choice in all this. You have a choice to stay with me and not go with you.”

  She closed her eyes. Drew in a deep breath. And still, she fucking stayed silent.

  “I’m serious. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m dead serious. You deserve better than him. Better than this. You won’t be safe with my father.”

  “But I’ll be safe with you.”

  I sighed. “I talked to that lawyer. Remember him? We’ve got some avenues we can take to get money.”

  She shook her head. “You and I both know how unpredictable your father is.”

  “And angry. Which is why you shouldn’t be with him. Don’t live alone in a house with him. You know it won’t be better. Don’t you? Can’t you see how happy we’ve been as a familial unit every time he’s been gone?”

  She shook her head. “If we try something, he’ll find a way to snuff it out.”

  I reached out for her hand. “Which is why we have to fight.”

  Her eyes fell to my palm. I wiggled my fingers, beckoning for her to take my grasp. She slowly moved her hand over mine and I closed my fingers, holding her trembling hand within my own. Tears slipped out from her eyes. It made me sick to see her crying so much. After everything this woman had done for me—after stepping up for me the way she had—it killed me to watch her go through this. To watch my fucking sperm donor yank her around like this.

  “You have a choice, Cecilia. You just need to see that for yourself.”

  And instead of answering, she fell silent, refusing to answer as the tears continued to silently fall.

  16

  Raelynn

  The weekend came and went. As empty as my heart and as angry as my soul. Neither Michael nor Allison called me once the entire time. Probably because they were spending every waking moment doing everything but having sex. D.J. kept waltzing in and out of the house like he fucking owned the place. Which meant I had to listen to him and Mom fight all weekend. More of the same. More of him accusing her of shit she wasn’t doing. More of Mom crying. More of him storming out. More of her getting drunk and bringing some random guy home from a bar before D.J. showed up with flowers and make-up sex.

  The cycle made me sick.

  I hated being at home. I hated being in this town. I wanted to graduate, leave it all behind, and get the fuck out of Dodge. The plan had been to move with Allison. Get a place together near her college campus. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that anymore. How could a best friend forget about her heartbroken friend all weekend? And for a guy? If Allison’s heart had been broken and I was still with Clint, I’d bat Clint off in a fucking heartbeat to go be with her.

  Guess I didn’t mean as much to Allison as I figured I did.

  Monday morning couldn't come fast enough. But even then, it still sucked. I walked to school by myself, went to class by myself. I got out of one toxic environment and plunged headfirst into another. I didn’t see Michael or Allison until I got to homeroom. Allison’s face was flushed with a red I was all too familiar with. She smiled with a dopey smile I’d once had on my face.

  She was in love.

  And making out in the back stairwells of the school.

  I didn’t feel like facing Michael and her at lunch. It was too painful and I was too angry. Sure, maybe my anger wasn’t warranted. But that didn’t stop me from feeling angry. From feeling like they needed to tuck shit in a bit. So I took my lunch to the library. I bypassed the table I usually occupied and headed for the middle of the room. A table surrounded by rows and rows of books.

  People had to navigate a labyrinth in order to come find me.

  And that was how I wanted it.

  I sighed as I tried studying. I opened my books and munched on some snacks I managed to steal from my pantry at home. But I wasn’t hungry. I was tired. I needed caffeine. I needed a pick-me-up. I needed coffee, otherwise I wouldn't make it through the back half of my day. I looked up from my books, spotting a clock down one of the rows of books, hanging cock-eyed on the wall at the end. I squinted my eyes to take in the time. Only halfway through lunch before my studying period started.

  I hadn’t taken my study period lately.

  But today I needed it to get some damn coffee.

  I packed up my things and snuck out of school. I made my way out the back doors and sprinted for the main road. I had over an hour before history class started. So I took my time. I walked into town and crossed the road, heading straight for the coffee shop by my work. It still gave me the creeps to walk around in that parking lot. I stayed as far away from that dumbass tree as possible. I ripped open the door of the coffeehouse and sniffed deeply, drawing in its wonderful scent.

  Then I got in line.

  I pulled out my phone while I waited and scrolled through the pictures I had saved. The only thing that gave me any sort of distraction this past weekend was looking at prom dresses. I mean, I wasn't going. Not now, anyway. I wouldn't have a date. My two best friends would be tonguing each other down all night. Not something I wanted to endure for some ‘high school memories.’ Still, looking for dresses and saving pictures pulled me out of my nightmarish life for a little while.

  Gave me something else to focus on.

  “No. No. Too short. Why did I like this one again? Nuh-uh. Too expensive. D
on’t make it in my size, I don’t think.”

  I deleted dresses I didn’t like. Ones that were too sparkly after sleeping on them for a couple of nights. I eliminated them, one by one. Until I was left with dresses that were more simplistic. Elegant. Full-length dresses with soft, silken material. And definitely no fucking sparkles. Something green. Or blue. Possibly navy. Though not black.

  A tapping on my shoulder ripped me from my trance.

  “Can I help… you…?”

  I turned around and gazed into Clint’s eyes. I looked up at him, my brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes fell to my phone and I quickly closed out the pictures. Then I slipped my phone into my purse.

  “He—hey, there. Hi. Hi, Clint.”

  He grinned. “Hi, Rae.”

  I cleared my throat. “How are you doing?”

  He nodded. “Been better. Yourself?”

  “I’m getting along.”

  “Study session time, I take it?”

  “Huh?”

  He nodded toward the door. “At school. Study session time?”

  I snickered. “Oh. Yes. It is. I need a pick-me-up.”

  “Don’t blame you. Sleep’s hard to come by nowadays.”

  “Yeah. I suppose so.”

  The cashier sighed. “Can I get you anything?”

  I whipped around and saw there was no one else standing in front of me. Just an impatient woman behind the cash register softly glaring at me. I scurried up to the front and placed my order. An iced caramel macchiato. With an extra shot.

  Then Clint leaned over. “And I’ll have a large rosewater and caramel coffee. Put it on the same ticket.”

  I looked over at him. “You don’t have to do that.”

  But he didn’t answer me.

  Instead, he simply handed the girl his card, paying for my drink without so much as a glance down at me. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or frustrated, irritated or flattered. Clint ushered me over to the side where we waited for our drinks. And I watched as the girl behind the cash register followed Clint with her eyes.