Page 8 of Filthy Little Pretties
My arms peek out from under my silver down comforter, stretching to opposite ends, as my body begins to wake from the deep slumber I’m so happily invested in. The heat that engulfs my body suddenly feels stifling instead of comforting, so I push it down, kicking my feet to help. My eyes flutter open as the air rushes in, making my skin prick with goose bumps.
The ceiling is all I stare at, letting my reality sink in. Damn. Today’s the day. The start of my new life. My ninth life if I was a cat.
Natural light fills my bedroom suite from the wall of windows directly across from my oversized California king. Although the window is tinted to keep the heat at bay, it doesn’t keep out the morning shine. My eyes squint as I look around, struggling to accept being awake. I despise early mornings, and I should’ve closed the shade before I went to sleep, but last night, I couldn’t bring myself to lower it.
I’ve seen a sky full of stars in every place I’ve lived, but there’s something about the lights of a city, crowded with skyscrapers. The vitality of life always seems to be busting at the seams, and that makes it too hard to pass up. I laid there watching time go by until sleep took me.
Funny enough, it was the most peace amongst chaos that I’ve felt since I don’t even remember when.
A rap on my door turns my attention, just as it opens to the butler entering with a forced smile on his aged face.
“Good morning, miss. I have your breakfast. I thought you’d like it in bed before starting the day.”
This treat is his polite way of telling me my father won’t be dining with me today. I want to say he seems apologetic, but I watched as his eyes darted away while he spoke, so I’d call this more of an irritation to his duty. It must suck to be the messenger.
The fact that my father communicates with me via the butler shouldn’t sting so much, considering Daddy dearest hasn’t spoken more than two words to me in the three days since I’ve arrived. I can’t blame him. Then again, I guess it’s a drastic improvement from the zero words I’ve received from him in the five years I’ve been living abroad with my mother—the woman he despises just a bit more than me. Even now.
“Miles isn’t home?” I remark, using my father’s name as I smooth the blanket before he places the tray onto my lap.
Victor, I believe is his name, shakes his head before changing the subject and turning to walk toward my closet.
“Some of your things arrived today from your mother’s. I was quite surprised to see them so soon. Overseas shipments typically take longer than a few days to get to their destination.”
“Mmm,” I answer, while taking a bite of the sweet fruit adorned in honey and yogurt.
“They’re probably the things that were stored at our apartment here in the city.” A “good riddance” gift from her. I’m fairly certain she didn’t shed any tears when I got on the plane.
Ignoring my statement, Vic points to my closet. “Your uniforms are back from the dry cleaners, miss, and the accessories laid out. The dress code is stringent,” he states with a lift of his brow. “I know your previous experience with adhering to the rules of higher education have been questionable.”
My eyes narrow at the insinuation, midbite. It seems my reputation has leaked out all the way to the staff. I should smile and nod, but that’s never really been my style.
“Is that so?”
Pushing the tray aside, I twist to hang my feet over the side of my bed and stand, gathering my long honey-blonde locks onto the top of my head as my T-shirt brushes my toned stomach.
“Victor? Right?” I question over my shoulder with a cunning grin. “As much as I’m enjoying the jabs you’re throwing out, unless part of this new regime is to dress me, I think I’ve got it from here.”
Flustered huffs fill the room as he straightens his uniform jacket, and I let out a small laugh, turning to face him.
“No, miss. That is not my intention.” Vic starts toward the door, seemingly offended, but pauses just inside the doorframe with his back to me. “One last piece of business. Your father wanted me to remind you that your new school is an admired institution, not a place for you to cause more trouble. The families that attend are legacies. You need to remember who you are.”
I’m glad he isn’t looking at me. Saves me the indignity of having to see his face when he reminds me of my father’s disappointment.
A rush of breath sweeps past my lips as the door closes. “I’m trying, Vic. Trust me, remembering is harder than you think.”
I knew what I was coming back to endure. I knew this would be hard. Change only happens through unbearable pressure, but my alternative was staying in Spain with my absentee mother and finding out that what I thought was rock bottom was only the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes you have to go back to the beginning to figure out how you’re supposed to end.
So now I’m back where I started, trying for a happier ending to my adolescence.
Walking to my en suite bathroom, I turn on the shower in the expansive half-open glass enclosure and turn back to the mirror to brush my teeth. God. I look as wrung-out as I feel. It’s funny how your reflection can change in the blink of an eye, making you a stranger to yourself.
The tart toothpaste fills my mouth as I brush, becoming spicy, until I spit into the pristine white bowl and lift my eyes to stare at myself again. How did I get here? That’s a dumb question. I know exactly how.
Cupping my hand with water to rinse my mouth, I close my eyes until I drag the back of my hand across my full lips to wipe away the droplets of water left dangling. It wasn’t one moment that brought me down, more like a messed-up calamity of terrible decisions that sent me in every single wrong direction.
“Get your shit together, Donovan. This is your last chance. Don’t fuck up.”
Steeling my resolve, I turn to disrobe and pull the tie from my hair before stepping into the shower. I dip my head under the water, letting it bathe me in warmth, and wash away the last of my thoughts.
