She looks at me a final time, a question on her lips, before she shakes her head and retreats, closing the door firmly behind her.
I drop to the floor as the lock clicks, the fight seeping from my bones. My eyes ache with the need to cry, but no tears come. I’m all cried out.
The sun begins creeping down the wall, a single ray disappearing silently into darkness before I finally rise. My knees throb, back aching from being in the same position for so long, but I barely notice.
I strip down, throwing on my finest set of lingerie—it’s what people really came to see anyways—and slide a silken navy dress over top,carefully masking the slut beneath.I freshen my makeup, just a touch of mascara and red lipstick is all I care about, and skip touching my hair. It lays in well combed curls around my face—everyone always prefers it down.
As silent as possible, I step into the main room of the house, the party already in full swing around me. My twenty-first birthday, and no one here even knew I wasn’t present. The party started without me, and no one even cared.
I search the room for my father but find Mateo instead, looming in the corner surrounded by a circle of kids. Some of them are his age, but most of them are older—people who should be my friends but don’t even know I exist.
They talk and smile animatedly, the girls and guys fawning over him like he’s a king or something, and I’m instantly consumed with rage.
Why’s he the king and I’m the fucking nobody? He’s done nothing to earn it, short of being born with a penis and our father’s favor. I’ve paid the price—I’ll continue to pay it.
I stomp toward them, the circle of people barely making room for me as I push through. “Mateo, where’s father?”
His smile melts, eyebrows drawing together, as if surprised by my irritation. Why would he be surprised? He’s stealing my birthday, just like he steals everything.
“Uh, he’s not here. Mother didn’t tell you?”
My stomach bottoms out. I feel like I’m going to puke.
“What?” My voice cracks, and the chatter of the group finally stops.Yes, let’s stare at the freak about to cry over her daddy missing her party.Poor little rich girl.
Mateo steps toward me, and I step backward. “He had to work late. There was an important deal I was helping him with earlier, one he just couldn’t step away from.”
“You—you helped. What?” Tears threaten my lash line, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay. Helping father has always been my responsibility—my right.
“Yeah.” Mateo rubs the back of his head with his hand. “He thought it was time I start learning the ropes.”
“Did he—” I can’t finish the question. The memory of my first time going to work and helping Father sits like a boulder on my chest. Mateo looks more confused, his eyes narrowing.
“Did he what?”
I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s my fucking right to take over the company. I don’t know why he’d bother with you. You don’t even care.”
“Can’t you just enjoy your party for once and not be a miserable person?” Mateo’s seventeen, still a boy, but he thinks he knows everything.
He doesn't know shit.
“Fuck off,” I snap, turning on my heel. I pass the bar, not bothering with the alcohol—it won’t give me the buzz I crave. Instead, I head for the back door, straight to Mason, the only person who looks even remotely happy to see me at my own party.
Not because he likes me—although he likes sticking his cock in me—but because I’m his best customer.
I walk straight up to him, shooting him a look that has him pulling the perfectly wrapped joint from behind his ear and extending it with a wink. “Just for the birthday girl.”
I grab the weed from his spindly fingers and fight a shiver as he steps closer, throwing his thin arm over my shoulders possessively. He chuckles as the group of guys around us stare in fascination—I’m the filthy rich girl known for being a bitch and a slut, hanging out with the known weed dealer. He’s greasy and smells more often than not, but he’s the only one who helps me forget who I am, what I’ve been through. And for that, I keep coming back.
“Got a lighter?” I look around the group of equally slimy-looking guys, each one sporting a tattered t-shirt and holey jeans. Several reach into their pockets, but it’s Mason’s lighter that flashes first.
I suck on the tip hungrily, inhaling the smoke. It instantly coats my lungs, and within moments, the familiar buzz covers my skin. I lean into Mason, and he resumes his chatter with the group of gathered guys like I’m not even there.
I’m grateful for it.
I wish I wasn’t here either. I wish I wasn’t anywhere.
“Want to go home with me tonight? I’m better than Mason, and my weed’s higher quality.” The voice is hushed behind me, so much so, I can’t be sure it’s real. But when I’m met with dark eyes and floppy black hair sticking to his forehead, my blood chills.
