Page 55 of Daddy's Princess

I guess in a way, I am. Not an alcoholic hangover, but an emotional one for sure. The blaring alarm on my phone finally gets on my last nerve, and I pull my exhausted body off the bed and across the room to silence the damn thing. Before I drop it back into my bag, I see that I have several missed calls and some text messages from Oliver.

Part of me wants to delete them immediately, part of me wants to read them, another part of me wants to call him and scream until my voice quits. I do none of those. I power off my phone and decide I’ll figure it out later. This is one of those moments where I really don’t want to be the adult. My mind is a riot of thoughts, and it feels like there is a vice grip around my lungs, and I can’t quite catch my breath.

I manage to get myself ready for the day, and with the mystical powers of Candace’s good makeup, I’m able to camouflage the fact that I cried all night and slept like crap. Satisfied that the girl in the mirror looks like she has her shit together and isn’t scattered in a million broken pieces, I head to the office. If I didn’t need to finalize the last page of Fairyville, I wouldn’t be going in at all. The idea of running into Britney or Oliver right now makes me want to vomit.

On the train, I unwrap the new sketchbook I shoved in my bag just before leaving. My heart aches when the spine makes that new book crackle as I open to the first page. Usually, a new book is exciting. It’s new possibilities. A fresh start. This time it’s a reminder of unfinished things. I never leave a sketchbook half done. From the very beginning, I have used every single page of every book I’ve ever used. It feels disloyal to be starting fresh while my other book is out there somewhere.

Shaking those thoughts away, I do the same thing that’s brought me solace time, and time again, I put pencil to paper and just draw. I don’t give much thought to what I’m going to draw ahead of time. I just start. Slowly, the old woman that I drew on this very train just a few short days ago emerges on the page.

Her once smiling eyes are crystalline with sadness. Her weathered features are drawn, not with the lines of happy years, but with a millennium of heartache. With each stroke of my pencil, her hands, gnarled with age, take shape. By the time we arrive at my stop, I feel a little lighter. The heartache is still there, but the tiniest bit of weight has been lifted off my chest.

The office is pure chaos when I arrive. I avoid everyone, heading straight to my desk to grab the Fairyville portfolio, then ducking into one of the smallest supply closets. I use some boxes of printer paper as a makeshift desk and get to work.

Yes, I realize how pathetic it is to hide in a closet just to avoid running into Oliver, but this is about survival, and I very much can’t survive a confrontation with him right now.

It only takes me three hours to finish up my project. I do a flip through start to finish and feel bursting with pride. The book is amazing. I’m not one to brag about my own artwork, but I’m damn proud of the work I put into this.

After a quick check to make sure no one is around, I leave the safety of my little closet. Things don’t look any less chaotic than they were when I first came in. I hear snippets of conversations as I make my way to Nadine’s desk. Britney’s name and Wildwood are mentioned several times. Which is weird because Britney had nothing to do with the Wildwood project…

Oh, well. Not my problem.

Nadine looks frazzled when I approach. I’ve never known Nadine to be anything other than completely put together and competent. Something is definitely up. I almost ask what’s going on but remind myself that I don’t care. I just need to turn in my assignment and get the hell out of here before I run into either Oliver or Britney.

I lay the portfolio on the desk in front of Nadine. “Here is the Fairyville portfolio. I’m finished.”

Nadine gives me an annoyed look, does a cursory flip through, then sets the file on the edge of her desk. “Great. Now that you’ve finished that, I’ll need you to finish up the project Britney was on. Taylor has everything you’ll need—”

“Um… Actually, I only came in today to finish this up before the deadline. I’m not feeling well today, so I’m going home.”

I think she’s going to argue for a moment, but she simply nods and tells me she hopes I feel better soon. Of course, she would be nice to me, she and the rest of the office still thinks I’m Oliver’s whore.

* * *

“What the hellis going on here?” Candace kicks the end of the couch where I must’ve fallen asleep. “Did I miss the memo on it being gorge on cookies and chips, then take a nap day?”

I take in the empty food wrappers scattered around me, and then promptly burst into tears. Candace’s eyes bulge, and she only hesitates for long enough to set her bags down before she is sitting beside me, hugging me tightly.

I cry and cry and cry until I’ve cried myself sick. Candace doesn’t say anything, she simply holds my hair back while I retch into the toilet. Finally, I feel empty. Empty of tears. Empty of emotion. Just empty.

Like the good best friend that she is, Candace helps clean me up, then demands that I tell her what happened. I tell her the whole sordid story. Even the parts that I swore to myself I would take with me to the grave—the part about me falling in love with Oliver.

“That motherfucker. What did he have to say for himself?” I chew my bottom lip, not wanting to admit that I haven’t talked to Oliver. “Sugar Elaine Larson, don’t you dare tell me you haven’t talked to him about this.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “What was I supposed to do? Just walk in and say, ‘could you stop kissing the slutty bitch that’s had it out for me since day one and tell me why you’re kissing her?’”

“Yes!”

I instantly deflate. She’s right. I should have. If I had I wouldn’t have so many questions floating around in my head right now, I’d have answers. The truth is, I’m scared to find out what those answers are. I don’t want to know that, once again, I’ve picked a bad guy. The inner little girl rails against my thoughts, screaming that Oliver is a good daddy and that he would never hurt her. It’s the same part of me that fell for Cody and look how that turned out.

Never again.

“I just couldn’t. Okay?”

I can tell it takes every bit of self-control for her to not argue her point. Instead, she pulls our favorite throw blanket off the back of the couch and throws it over our laps. “How about a little Towanda therapy?”

Somehow, I manage to give her a smile. “Sounds good.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies and eating junk. Around six o’clock, Candace’s phone rings. She answers the call and wanders into her bedroom to talk to whoever it is. A few minutes later, she comes out of her room with a mischievous smile on her face.

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