Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
— Mom
“What?” I drop the piece of paper. “What is this? What do you mean she just left? Does she think this is easy for you? And now she’s gone?”
“Defending me even when I hate you?” Ambrose takes another swig. “Look who’s perfect now?” He chuckles.
“It’s not funny!” I yell. “This is child abandonment!”
“Look around you, B; we aren’t children. We’re both eighteen, living alone in a giant mansion with an unlimited amount of money…” He tilts his head. “Really, we should celebrate.”
He’s hurting. I know he is.
He’s masking it.
But he’s lost everything.
I know the feeling. The feeling of just wanting someone to tell you they love you and mean it and being disappointed every single time they don’t.
“Ambrose…” I lean down, ready to rest my hand on his shoulder. He bats it away instantly. “We can come up with a plan. I can cook more. I’m good at cleaning—“
He snorts out a laugh. “Okay, Cinderella, you ready to be my fucking maid?”
I swallow my pride. “If that’s what it takes, then yes, I’ll be your maid.”
“Unbelievable.”
Why is he angry? “I understand if you want me to leave, I can probably find a place tomorrow if I need to—“
“—Stay, it will be entertaining for me to see you cleaning bathrooms, but B, we have plenty of maids who come in and out.”
I swallow. “I should at least help out somehow.”
His eyes darken. “I think you’ve helped enough; just stay out of my way and keep eating your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the dark.” He grabs his phone and starts furiously texting with one hand. “Until then, I’m inviting some friends over.”
“Like, Hudson?” I ask lamely.
“Like…” He sends the text. “…the entire Senior class.” He eyes me up and down. “I’d change if you ever hope to get any guy to look at you twice. This girl, thinking she can clean my house when she can’t even iron.”
“I fell asleep in my uniform,” I blurt. “I was studying.”
He grins up at me. “Aw, how cute, hoping to become something someday? Well, look where that gets you; not near drunk enough on the kitchen floor talking to a foster kid. Good luck, princess.”
I bite back my response and stand, pissed that he’s lashing out at me while I’m trying to do the right thing, trying to protect him. I get that he’s hurt, but he’s going beyond trying to break me.
I almost smile.
After all, I don’t need a savior.
I’m my own hero.
I’m alive.
I have food.
A bed.
And while I don’t have friends, since I keep to myself, I have me.
Me is all I need.
It’s all I’ve had until he tempted me with more.
He wants me to change?
Okay. I’ll change my clothes.
I jerk the bottle from his hands, take a giant gross swallow, and hand it back. “Thank you.”
“For the drink?”
“Oh no, for the reminder.” I glare. “That your taste really wasn’t as good as I remember.”
His nostrils flare. He jumps to his feet, we’re chest pressed against chest; his look is a challenge.
One I accept as I stand up on my tiptoes. I run my tongue along his lower lip; he doesn’t push me away; he barely breathes. “See? Nothing.”
I don’t wait for his response.
I simply turn around and walk up the stairs leaving him alone in the kitchen, wallowing in his anger.
One day he’ll know that I was protecting him. One day he’ll feel like shit for being so cruel.
But today?
Today I’m going to remind him who I belong to.
Me.
Chapter Sixteen
Ambrose
I’m already feeling better, could have been that half a bottle of whiskey that I drank earlier, but at least I don’t see MB, and my friends are all at my house partying, something that my parents always said I couldn’t do.
If I hosted a party, it was more like, oh look, we catered and bought sparkling cider and some soda! Wanna watch Avengers again?
I went to other parties and prayed not to get caught, then left early so that I wouldn’t smell like weed and alcohol. The last time I left was when Quinn and I fought freshman year.
Shit, I don’t want to even go there or think about It.
Stupid Hudson, he really can’t let it go; then again, most can’t since nobody talked, but duh, that’s what money does.
I grab another bottle of something and toss it back as music pounds through the house. I have the pool open, the cabanas have several couples desecrating them, and I just ordered nothing but a shit ton of junk food, then took out all of my dad’s old mixers and liquor bottles and set them up.
Honestly, it looks planned.
My mom would flip.
And I hate that my heart flops a bit and then teases me, saying, if I’m no longer perfect, she’ll come back.
I mean anything to save her reputation, right?
Or does she not even care anymore?