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After the wedding last night I went to bed, tears filling my eyes while I prayed the next day would be better. All thoughts of Vance were pushed to the back of my brain, along with his anger toward me. College was what I needed to be focusing on, making something of my shit life. All I could do was keep pushing forward, remembering that things could be worse.
Waking up the next morning, I had hoped I could spend some time with my mom before she and Henry left for their honeymoon, but it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen as soon as I woke up. I had barely seen her yesterday and today she was absent, nowhere to be found in this enormous house. In fact, I hadn’t seen anyone except the housekeeping crew.
Disappointment settled heavy in my gut. When will I ever come to terms with the fact that my mom is and always will be, absent from my life. Five years ago, I didn’t just lose everything, I lost my mom. Finding her that night, seeing her…
Squeezing my eyes shut, I will the memory away. I press my curled fists into the Tempur-Pedic mattress and exhale through my mouth. After a few moments, I feel calmer and open my eyes.
At least I haven’t run into Vance yet, and after his cryptic threat last night I’m more than thankful for that. I’m not quite sure what to make of him. I was too shocked by his words to form a single sentence last night. I wanted to respond but I couldn’t, my vocal box refusing to work.
Most of the morning is spent hiding in my room, sneaking out to grab some breakfast from the kitchen before retreating back inside it. It feels weird staying here, eating food without asking. This doesn’t feel like a home to me… it feels like I’m more of a guest…an unwanted guest at that. When I hear voices carrying through the house, I pop my head out my bedroom door and into the hallway.
I don’t see anyone, but I can hear my mom’s high pitched giggles and Henry’s deep laugh. I bound down the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning, beyond excited to see my mother, and maybe get a chance to spend some time with her. When I reach the bottom step, I’m met with disappointment once again because I know my mother isn’t staying here. Not with them pulling luggage out of the hallway closet.
“Hey, sweetheart. We’re about to head to the airport,” my mom greets me.
“Oh, okay,” I say, trying to hide the hurt from my voice.
Shouldn’t I be used to the let down by now? I feel like one of those kids that wait outside all day for their parents to pick them up, but they never come. That’s my mother, never showing up, never caring.
“Sorry we weren’t here when you woke up, we had some last minute errands to make,” she explains while looking through her carry-on bag. She doesn’t even look up at me as she’s talking, which only grates on my nerves further. I’m her daughter, not some piece of crap, the least she could do is give me a sliver of her attention.
Henry starts to wheel out the first suitcase and that’s when I spot someone moving behind him, walking through the door.
Vance. The air around me becomes electrically charged. The fine hairs on my arms sticking up at his entrance. When we were kids, I thought he was disgusting. I mean, I thought all boys were. But now… now I’ve come to realize that Vance is anything but disgusting. He’s sin dipped in chocolate.
“There you are. I need to talk to you before we leave,” Henry says, propping the suitcase up against the door.
“What is it? I’m busy,” Vance snaps, his gaze on his phone rather than his father. His muscles tense and as if he feels my eyes on him, he lifts his eyes to mine, giving me his full attention. I should look away, it would be the smart thing to do, the safe thing. But, I’ve never taken the easy route and it’s not like he doesn’t already know he’s disgustingly gorgeous, drawing all the attention and air out of the room.
I’m simply window shopping, looking is just fine. Plus, he hates me anyway, and I’m totally not checking him out. Taking in his appearance, I see he’s wearing a pair of jeans, Wrangler, I think, that hang low on his hips, rather than a designer pair. He’s matched his simple jeans with a plain cotton t-shirt, and a pair of black boots. He looks more like the boy from my past than he did yesterday in his suit and tie.
Swallowing, I imagine the body he’s hiding beneath that cotton shirt. Does he have a six-pack? Are his muscles stone, and chiseled from rock? God, I need to stop thinking about him. Somehow I snap myself out of the trance his presence has put me in and lick my dry lips. Hopefully, I’m not drooling. The last thing I want is for him to know that I’m attracted to him.