Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

“Are you telling me you don’t find that he deserved punishment?”

Straightening, I readjusted my bag and stared her directly in the eye. “My father went to prison, as he should have, for the misuse of authoritative power. So, do I believe a man I don’t truly know outside the media’s reports of him deserved some sort of reprimanding for his ill actions? Yes. Does that mean I’m shocked he didn’t? No. That’s not because I believe it’s okay that people could be bought off by false forgiveness and dirty money. It means that I’m aware of how faulty the system is. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Interest piqued in her features, her brows raising and eyes widening in the slightest way. “I didn’t put words into your mouth, nor did I place ideals in your head. We can both agree the system is skewed though, which is more than I thought I’d get from you.”

“This has to do with me not trying how exactly?”

Walking around her desk, she stopped just in front of me. “What did you do when your father was incarcerated?”

Why was that any of her business? “Did what I could to cope. Anybody would have no matter what circumstance they came from.”

“That’s a cop out. What did you do?”

“I…” Didn’t she watch the news? “I’m sure if you saw the media—”

“I’m giving you a chance to prove me wrong, Adele. Unless you’d rather me continue with my assumptions? You see, teachers talk. You used to be quite dedicated to your education here. In fact, I heard your academics were next level, second to the scholarship you were offered, but that wasn’t for your original major. What was that again?”

I said nothing.

“I believe it was business, correct?”

“If you know, why do you bother asking? I’m sure you also know it’s not business anymore since you’ve clearly checked up on me.”

“You got into this school because of your skills in dance and who your father was. Why don’t you do that anymore?”

I’d gotten into Bentley University because I was a talented dancer, not because of Anthony Saint James. If that had been the only case, administration would have probably found a way to kick me out, so their reputation wasn’t as tainted as my family name was. “Why do you care?”

“Who says I do?”

My eyes caught the time on the wall before I sighed, resigning to this pointless conversation. “I need to get going if I’m going to make my next class in time.” Turning, I stopped and gave her one last look over my shoulder. “I stopped dancing because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. And maybe…maybe that was for more reasons than I originally thought.”

The scar on my stomach weighed heavily on me, but I fought to place my hand there. I was stupid, weak even, and the anti-depressants Ripley had put me on amplified how I felt. Did that excuse how far I let myself go? How badly I could have injured myself with those scissors, like slicing into my flesh would somehow help? No. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and a slew of other things for letting my emotions win. But I couldn’t change that. I could only hope that one day I could look in the mirror for a long time and not hate the person staring back.

The tiniest grin tilted Ribbons’ lips, but I couldn’t decipher what it meant. Not willing to think about it, I tipped my head and walked out before she could say anything else. When the breeze hit my face as I walked outside, I replayed the odd conversation that just occurred and shook my head.

I didn’t like Professor Ribbons, but I was starting to think maybe she didn’t hate me as much as I thought. She’d once seen potential in me, and I wondered if she still did and masked it under tough love. Then again, I wasn’t foreign to that concept and what she offered went beyond that. Her reputation didn’t help me think that I had an ally in her either, so, as always, I drew back into myself and tried brushing off the conversation completely, shooting Theo a text.

A text that was left unanswered.

My finger lingered over the dial button after a day of staring at my phone waiting for him to make the first move. I was officially that girl. I’d told myself I’d wait instead of making a big deal out of it, but I couldn’t focus, got snapped at by more than Professor Ribbons, and nearly took out a student in the hall because I wasn’t paying enough attention.

“God,” I groaned, setting the phone down before I could hit the button that tempted me. Walking into my apartment, I’d hoped I’d find him and Ramsay again like the night before. No such luck. I wasn’t sure if it was disappointment that I felt weighing on my chest or something else. Expectation?

Swallowing, I set my things down and walked into the spare room to assess the damage. It was no longer messy, something I hadn’t noticed this morning in my rush out the door. Theo was the only one who could have cleaned it considering we were the only two who’d known about the mess.

Clicking my tongue when I saw some paint missed in the corner, I couldn’t help but reach for my hair. The ghost of his touch lingered everywhere, but the dyed strands of my blonde locks made the replay that much more intense in my head. It helped ease the doubt over why he hadn’t reached out once all day. He’d known I was busy, logically he was too. I couldn’t overthink the reasoning, which was my body’s first response no matter how hard I tried rewiring myself.

Closing the door behind me, I quickly changed into pajamas, let down my hair, and forced myself to stare at my reflection. Ribbons got into my head and she knew it. What I admitted to her wasn’t something I said to many people, but maybe it was time to change that. Ripley told me at the beginning of our sessions that admitting the problem aloud was the first step in changing it.

In my reflection, I noticed some pieces of my blonde locks had faded green, others black in them. I fingered them and frowned, wondering how many washes it’d take before it was back to normal.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I bit into my bottom lip and remembered what’d happened in this very spot. Theo was proving a point, trying to get me to admit what I knew deep, deep down.

I was worthy.

I was beautiful.

I was not deserving of my own criticism.