I smile to myself and take a deep breath. My smile fades when it goes to commercial break almost immediately. If there is anything worse than daytime television, it’s daytime commercials. I almost want to change the channel. The only thing that stops me is the idea that after several minutes of crap, I’ll get instant gratification from the show coming back on.
I munch on some more nachos and realize with horror that I almost devoured the whole plate.
Not good. Need to call for back-up. I wipe some crumbs off my jogging pants and get up to call Anna for some more comfort food, when a news commercial stops me dead in my tracks.
News music blasts loudly, giving a sense of urgency. The camera zooms in on the face of a well-groomed reporter. “Coming up after this program is the afternoon news. What would you do if you were drowning? Learn how to survive. Find out why this woman will never eat kale salad again. And more on the fire that destroyed a home close to the downtown core.” A video clip shows my burnt home. I instantly remember everything from that night. James Richardson coming towards me. My father, the local drug dealer, mad as hell that I flushed his products down a sewer drain instead of being a good delivery girl.
The camera zooms back on the newsman. “Many of the deceased are still unidentified. This story and more, immediately after The Jerry Springer Show.”
I try and catch my breath.
Flashes of that night continue to mercilessly into my conscience. I can hear my father yelling at me, as if he’s in the room. I can see James Richardson, with his devilish smile, beside me. I can hear my mom’s cries through the flames. I can hear all their cries. All the dead.
It’s not my fault, I remind myself.
I want the intrusive thoughts to end. Usually, I would write about things that bothered me in my journal.
No fucking way that’s happening now. Thanks again, Lancelot Cain.
I almost want to run out of the guesthouse back to the city.
That’s what these rich brats want though. They win, if I surrender. If I give in, they get what they want.
I remind myself of the opportunity I’ve been given. If I could go back in time and tell Elle Mavin of a few weeks ago of what Arthur Cain has given me, she would tell me to suck it the fuck up. Don’t waste a chance at graduating from the top high school in the country. Don’t let the rich brats win over you.
I hear the loud sounds of a sports car outside. Of course, it’s Lance Cain. Why is he off from school so early?
I wonder if Principal Aldridge found his prime suspect on the anonymous letter? Lance Cain fits the bill of someone who would sink so low as to try and scare me away from Ryland in a creepy fashion. He’s already tried a lot of shit to get me to leave.
I walk outside, slamming the door behind me. I immediately check to see if Arthur Cain is watching me again, but thankfully, he’s nowhere in sight. The only thing I see is Lance Cain.
I storm up to him without him even noticing my presence. When I get within five feet from him, he gives me the courtesy of his attention by looking towards me.
“I don’t owe you shit!” I say.
He smiles. “Well technically, you owe me everything. Without my family, where would you be? On some street somewhere, right?” I clench my fist, thinking about how good it would be to hit him again. He looks down at my hands. “No hitting this time. I don’t hurt woman.”
“You don’t hurt woman? That’s rich. Are you just coy or plain stupid? What you did at that party would give most girls eating disorders for life. And if anything, it’s your father whom I am eternally grateful for, not his silver spoon up the ass son.”
He rolls his eyes. “If you only fucking knew.”
I point at him. “No more letters from you. I don’t owe you shit.”
He looks at me coldly. “I heard about that letter. It wasn’t me. I’m sure you don’t exactly trust me, but you should on this.”
“I don’t trust you, you’re right.”
Lance takes out a money clip from his front pocket. He doesn’t bother counting, but I see a hundred-dollar bill on the front of the large bundle of cash. He throws it towards my feet. “Take it. Take it and go. Don’t call Winters to drive you. Call an Uber, take a taxi—whatever. Just fucking go.”
“I would never take your money. I’m not your charity case.”
“Yeah, you’re just using my family to get what you want. Not charity, right?”
I laugh. “You haven’t had to work a hard day in your life, have you? And I’m the charity case. I work for what I get in life, you were born into yours.”
Lance comes closer to me, until I’m forced to look up at him. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know shit.” He points at the clip on the pavement. “That’s enough to start somewhere else. Take that opportunity.”
I take a step back. “I’ll show you what I can do. I’ll show you all my worth. Take your money back. I won’t cheapen myself to take a dollar of it.”
Lance takes a step forward. I can almost feel his body against mine. In my rage, I almost feel like shoving him back, but I worry his father could be watching again. Lance raises an eyebrow
