Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

All her words and all true.

I did make her life difficult with my attention-grabbing ways. I did concoct plans and plots; I did throw tantrums and make everyone miserable, sent nannies and assistants away, terrorized her agents and her boyfriends, so I could be closer to her. So she spent time with me rather than at work or with anyone else.

But all I ever ended up doing was making her hate me more, making other people hate me more. And now that I need those people, no one will come to my rescue.

Except him.

This man.

Who keeps going, “Now you already know that my father is unwell. Which means,” he pauses, his eyes looking into mine, “you’re mine.”

A shiver runs through my body.

Big and massive.

It rolls through me and makes its way through my spine and my legs, all the way down to my toes.

It’s a shiver of dread. Of fear.

Still, I stay strong and say in a clear voice, “I’m not an object.”

“Nonetheless, you’re still mine and you’ll stay here.”

“I’m —”

“Now that I’ve listened to you,” he cuts me off, his voice slightly louder than before but nowhere near as hysterical or disturbed as he’s making me feel. “I want you to listen to me: I’m choosing to ignore your little stunt yesterday because I realize that it was misguided and an act born out of desperation. We should have had this talk a long time ago. That’s on me.”

I open my mouth to tell him that yes, it is on him, but he doesn’t let me speak. “So in case I wasn’t clear before: you’re not going back to New York. I don’t care that you grew up there and that you’ve lived your entire life there. You’re here now, in this town. You’re going to live under my roof. And when you live under my roof, you show respect. At all times and under all circumstances. I don’t tolerate temper tantrums or teenage rebellion. If you break something, you fix it. If you make a mess, you clean it. You steal something, you find a way to pay for it. And if you walk through doors you’re not supposed to walk through, I lock the door to your room. With you inside. Is that understood?” His chest expands on a deep breath. “Now, I’d like you to go back inside and get out of those wet clothes and get some sleep.”

“You hate me,” I say then.

I don’t know why but the words come right out.

Actually, I’m lying.

I do know why.

I know why I said it. I said it because I have nothing to lose here and I have to somehow convince him. I have to make him see that I can’t live here.

Not like this.

Which is the biggest reason as to why I want to go back so badly.

Because the man whose house I’m living in hates the sight of me.

And he does.

Oh yeah, he does.

The proof of that is right here: at my words, his jaw clenches.

The very first reaction that he’s shown me tonight.

“Don’t you?” I prod, my heart beating so fast that it’s bordering on painful. “Marty told me that you were Charlie’s friend. Back when she lived here. But that’s not true, is it? You weren’t her friend. I pick up on things, you know. I pick up on how whenever I talk about my mother, Mo gets this look on her face. Like she’s frozen. Like she’s in pain or something. Her smiles are strained. Her voice gets all tight. Of course I don’t know the reason. Charlie never talked about this place. All I know is that she hated living here. She wanted to get out and so when her parents kicked her out because she was pregnant, she took that opportunity and escaped to New York. So I don’t know why Mo behaves that way but there’s a reason, isn’t it? And then there’s you. You avoid me like the plague. This is the first conversation that we’re having in a week. You won’t even stay in the same room as me. It’s because of who I am, isn’t it? Charlie’s daughter. That’s why you hate me.”

I pause when a muscle jumps on his cheek.

And I think he’ll speak now. He’ll say something, either confirm or deny my conclusion. He’ll put all these questions that I’ve had ever since I arrived here to rest.

But he doesn’t.

He holds his silence and so I continue almost desperately, “So you can see why, right? You can see why I don’t want to live in a house where people hate me. Not to mention, why would you want me around anyway? You should be looking for ways to get rid of me.” I swallow thickly. “You don’t want me here and I don’t want to live in a house where I’m not welcome. So this is as much for you as it is for me. Just let me go. It’s that fucking easy.”