“Harrison, how are you?” I answer.
“I have a problem.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he does.
“What is it?” I ask, leaving out thethis timeI want to tack on to the end.
My son and I butt heads often. Because of that, I try to keep my temper in check when I speak to him.
“It’s bad,” he says, and I sink into my chair, blowing out a sharp breath.
Of course, a Monday wouldn’t end without some bullshit.
“Just start from the beginning, son.”
Chapter Three
Seraphine
“I’m telling you; he hates me.” I spear my hands through my hair, ducking my head and leaning forward on my elbows.
“How can a father hate their daughter?” Justine asks, chewing on something crunchy. I look up at her sitting across from me at the large round table and shake my head.
“Very easily, apparently.”
Groaning, I push my food away and lean back in the chair. Being at work is my only saving grace these days. This first week with my father has been hell. Absolute hell. Actually, I think being in hell would be better than this. I’m all too quickly remembering why I couldn’t wait to get out of there, why I was so desperate to get rid of him. Thinking that way makes me feel like a terrible daughter, but how can I be a good daughter when my father is downright awful? I’m living in a house where I’m waiting for a grenade to go off, and its anxiety-inducing in a way I can’t begin to describe. My nails are chewed down to the beds,my lips are dry, and I swear I have a bald spot from tugging on my hair so much. I’m one step from a nervous breakdown.
“If I had the room, I’d let you stay with me, but Zach’s brother is already on the couch.”
“You think he’ll share?” I raise a brow, only half joking.
She cracks a smile. “I could ask.”
“It’s terrible I’m considering that. Sharing the couch with a stranger is more appealing than my father. That’s insane.”
“Yeah, it kind of is.” She frowns, not at all making me feel better.
Justine has worked at the spa about six months longer than me. She’s a couple years older, and we get along well. We aren’t exactly friends, as we’ve only hung out outside of work a few times to grab dinner or lunch, but we chat easily while on shift together. I’m comfortable enough with her to tell her what happened now that I’m not, but not enough to call and vent when it happened. The only person who was worthy of phone call time was Gia, but I ruined that over a year ago.
I can’t fully blame my life going to shit on getting with Harrison. Yes, it’s kind of where it started; it all went downhill from that point, just in a different way than when I was with my father. I was so desperate to get out of that house that I didn’t see what I was getting myself into. Still, I should have been a better friend, and I swear I’m going to call her and tell her that. I won’t be mad if she doesn’t forgive me, hangs up on me, or cusses me out. I messed up, and I’ll own it. But I would love it if she’d at least hear me out, let me get this off my chest.
The phone rings out front, and Justine and I look that way.
Though we have the sign on the front door that we’re on lunch, the phone is still on. A glance at the clock shows we should have been back to work five minutes ago, but neither of us have a client until 1:30, so we weren’t in any rush.
“I should get that,” Justine says in a tone that tells me she doesn’t want to get it at all. “It’s probably Clara making sure we aren’tstealing.”
I roll my eyes. Why does everyone in my life suck? My father doesn’t want me around. In fact, he can’t stand me. He’d be completely fine with me sleeping on the street and freezing to death. Honestly, I’m not sure why he agreed to let me stay with him at all.Misery loves company, I suppose.
My boss doesn’t trust me. Though, to be fair, she doesn’t trust anyone. But I feel if she doesn’t trust us, she should be here instead of barking orders at us from whatever country she’s visiting this week.
Harrison cheated on me, because I guess I’m not a good enough person to be respected. Yep, the people in my life are gold.
“Sera, it’s for you!”
I frown, getting up from the chair. Justine is waiting for me at the front desk, phone held to her chest.
“Who is it?” I whisper.
