“I don’t want a career!” I shouted, flinging my hands up. “I don’t want to be like every normal, nine-to-five shmuck out there! I want to live and breathe art.”
Mom scoffed, shooting Dad an evil look.
“Alex, following a career in the arts is virtually impossible,” Dad went on, glaring at me like the errant child they always thought I was. “You’ll never make enough money to support yourself.”
“Well, she doesn’t need to support herself, Dan. She’s already found a Sugar Daddy! Jesus Christ, I’m going to be sick.”
“Roger is not like that!” I cried. “He’s a good man! And he loves me.”
“He doesn’t love you, Alex,” Dad grunted. “He’s thirteen years older than you. He’s a rich creep, and he’ll eventually get bored and leave you to fend for yourself. And then what will you have? Nothing.”
I gulped down the pain and hurt filling my throat like bile. Their words were like daggers, cutting me all over my trembling body.
“So you don’t think I’m talented enough to make something of myself?” I seethed, directly at my father. He was such a fucking hypocrite I was sick to my stomach. “You don’t love art down to your marrow?”
He momentarily faltered. His face flashed with the slightest remorse and shame, burying it only seconds later in a mask of anger and disgust.
“It won’t work out, Alex. And when it doesn’t, you will not crawl back to us.” My father stared into my eyes, and not once did he plead with me to reconsider, or tell me he loved me and that he was worried. Instead, he gave me a weak excuse and an ultimatum. “You have to choose right now. Him, or us.”
And without a single hesitation, I stood up, went to my room, and began packing.
I packed all my Earthly belongings that meant anything to me and waited outside on the curb for Roger. When he got there, I collapsed into him, inhaling his sweet scent and using it like a Band-Aid for my bruised and scraped up heart.
My parents came out of the house, and I took my things to the car. I had no desire to hear any more of their negativity. If they wanted to let me go, they would get their wish.
I didn’t need them, anyway. I never had.
I sat in the passenger’s seat, watching as Mom and Dad talked to Roger. They weren’t doing anything of significance, but I was still just the tiniest bit curious. After a couple minutes, they turned and went back inside. And Roger got into the car with me.
And that was it.
As he drove us home, to my new home, with my husband, I began to silently fume.
What kinds of parents could just write their only child off like that? What kinds of people could disown a child just for wanting to live her own life? Technically, I’m not a child at all. I’m eighteen-years-old. I have every right to live my life how I see fit, especially if I’m not under their roof or expecting them to pay for anything.
All I ever asked was for them to love and trust me. And they couldn’t do either. I was so shaken I felt numb inside.
“What did they say to you?” I finally spat out, peering at Roger to my left. “My parents…”
He was quiet for a moment, just staring ahead at the FDR. Finally he took a breath and released it quickly.
“They just told me you’re my responsibility now,” he shrugged. “And that they don’t think very highly of me, not that I really fucking care about that.”
His tone of voice was very blasé and unaffected. For some reason it rubbed me wrong. Of course he didn’t need to worry about what my parents thought of him. They didn’t even know him. I certainly didn’t care.
I guess I just thought maybe he’d feel a little more sympathetic to his wife, and the fact that she’d just chose him over her own flesh and blood. But he really seemed like he didn’t care about anything that had just happened.
An uncomfortable feeling began crawling inside me, urging me in some way I couldn’t understand. But I chose to ignore it. I was just upset about the drama of the day.
You know me, Barn. I’ve always been independent. There was nothing that Dan or Cara Mackenzie could give me that they hadn’t already. Food and clothing and a bed to sleep in. They loved me because they had to, because I was theirs, but they never showed me any affection. Dad is a bitter artist who was never dedicated enough to make anything of himself, and Mom is an ex-junkie who never wanted kids. They were a match made in parental hell, and I was just the unfortunate burden.
Well, no more. I’m done feeling sorry for them. I taught myself how to be an adult when they didn’t. I learned every single thing I know about the world on my own, and I’ll keep learning.
Accept that I no longer need to feel alone, because I have Roger. And he’s my world.
I reached over the console and ran my fingers up his shoulder, rubbing him in a comforting way. Letting him know that it’s just us against the world, and I’m fine with that. We’re like Bonnie and Clyde, only without the misery and the painful ending. Ours will be happy, I just know it.
He turned his head and gave me a small smile which I returned. I loved being the one to make him smile. And I know I’ll keep loving it until the end of time.
“I can’t wait to get you home,” he crooned. And I swooned.
He’s all I need.
Chapter Three
Alex
This is sufficiently awkward. But believe it or not, it isn’t because we were dry-humping each other in public five minutes ago.
I saw Noah looking at the bruises on my arm.
I knew I shouldn’t have worn a t-shirt today.
Hiding my shame slipped my mind tonight, merely because I didn’t think I would be hanging out with someone. I never hang out with anyone.
I hadn’t even planned on stopping for a drink, but I was just so excited about how everything went at the gallery, I figured I’d earned a scotch. Little did I know, the universe had some hilarious plans, and now I’m having a seat in a booth at a quaint diner with Noah Richards.
And he’s looking at me like he wants to ask a million and five questions, none of which he’ll ask, because we barely know each other.
Even though… dry-humping. Yea, that happened.
I still can’t fathom it.
I can’t believe I spent all evening getting faced with Noah Richards, and we almost started hooking up in public. Jesus, that was idiotic. Imagine if someone there recognized me and told Roger… Holy moron, Bat Girl.
I’m such a fucking dumbass.
But I mean, it did feel amazingly good to dance with him like that…
He’s just so drop-dead, stone-cold beautiful, it’s almost hard to believe he’s a real human person.
Of course I’ve seen Noah Richards in movies and TV shows before. Everyone knows his face, even if he’s not necessarily an A-list actor. He’s a well-known dude, especially in NYC.
And he just so happens to be a bazillion times hotter in real life. That was part of the reason I didn’t recognize him. On the screen for some reason he doesn’t look as tall. He’s at least six-feet, maybe more. And his hair is a bit lighter, his eyes much more brilliant.
And his body… Well. Let’s just say having him pressed up against me, grinding with that tall, muscular frame, was satisfying on a level I can barely understand. I almost had an orgasm just from dancing and rubbing into his boner. And I think he was kissing my neck a little… I can still feel his lips there as I hesitantly trace the scorches he left on my skin with my fingertips.