Page 4 of Sweet Chaos
“I was just leavingyourhouse.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and reached for the door handle, tugging on it. But he wrapped his hand around the door frame, preventing me from closing it.
“I expected more from you. You’re a disappointment, Scarlett.” He looked down his aquiline nose at me, his winter tan telling me that his recent ‘business trip’ had nothing to do with mergers and acquisitions.
You’re a disappointment, Scarlett.
Why? Because I wasn’t like him? Because I didn’t want to chase the almighty dollar? Because I didn’t aspire to live an empty life in a SoCal McMansion, trapped in a loveless marriage?
“Life is too short not to do something I’m passionate about.”
He laughed hollowly. “Feel free to pursue yourpassion,as you call it, but you won’t be doing it on my dime. If you insist on making poor life choices, you’ll be forced to deal with the consequences of your actions.”
What a joke. I hadn’t been living on his dime since I graduated high school.
“Give me your keys, Scarlett.”
I blinked, not sure I heard him right. “My keys?”
Of course. He wanted my car. It had been a high school graduation present. Therefore, it belonged to him, not me. I slid the Audi key fob off the ring and placed it in the open palm of his hand then tossed the keychain into my bag on the passenger seat. The final string tying me to my father had been cut.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me sitting in the driver’s seat of a car I couldn’t drive. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.
Inhale. Exhale.
Why did I have to take everything a step too far?
Perhaps I would have been a dutiful daughter, I would have tried harder to please him, if he had been a better father. A better human being. But I hated how he treated us, like we were his possessions and not people. All he truly cared about was money and power and he abused them both. Used them as a bartering chip to keep us in line.
After staring vacantly at the stone fountain on the front lawn for a few minutes, I cleaned out the car, tossing hair ties, zinc oxide, tubes of cherry Chapstick, and a pack of gum into my bag. I found a hoodie in the backseat and tied it around my waist. My dad could keep the empty Starbucks cups and the sand in the carpets from my surfing.
Slamming the door shut, I fished my cell phone out of my bag. The battery was at one percent. I mentally face-palmed myself as I called Nicola and chewed on my thumbnail, waiting for her to answer.
“Scarlett? I’m about to get my ass kicked by the head chef,” she whisper-shouted over the noise of the restaurant kitchen. “I’ll call you back.”
“Nic. Hang on. I need you to—”
The line went dead, and I wasted precious seconds of my life staring at the dark screen, willing it to come back to life.
Perfect. Just perfect. Adulting at its finest. I groaned as I set off on my trek across town. It could be worse, I reasoned.
So what if I was living paycheck to paycheck and struggling to make ends meet? I was doing something I loved. Surrounded by cool people. Working on my designs that someday I’d be able to make a living at.Hopefully.
I dug around in my bag and came out with a maroon knitted beanie. It was Ollie’s. Ollie could rock a beanie like nobody’s business. I missed him and the way we used to laugh until our stomachs hurt. Why did we have to ruin everything?
I jammed the hat on my head and threaded my arms through the hoodie that was far too big for me, zipping it up to ward off the January chill. Tonight, the temperature had dipped down to fifty degrees. Too cold for my West Coast blood. The streets were dark and there were no sidewalks on this stretch of road that ran alongside the golf course, so I stayed close to the Bougainvillea. I’d listen to music, but my phone was dead, so I got lost in my own thoughts instead.
Tires screeched, and I threw myself back, my hand over my racing heart. Branches snagged my hoodie as I fought to untangle myself from the Bougainvillea bushes.
“The fuck are you doing?” he growled.
I knew that voice. Honey and gravel.
3
Scarlett
Cast in shadows, his face peered from the driver’s seat through the open passenger side window of his black G-Wagen.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking. What are you doing?” His car was parked at an angle, blocking the road. But I very much doubted that he cared.
