“You should really stay away from me, Princess. I’m not a knight in shining armor, and I’m not a person you need in your life,” he declares before turning away and walking down the steps as students move out of his way, until he disappears out the door with a trail of puck bunnies giggling after him.
What the hecky heck just happened? Stay away from him? I want nothing to do with him, and he really needs to stop calling me Princess. I’m nothing close to being a princess, except for being locked away in my tower, and there’s no escaping that.
6
Kat
The rest of my day went pretty okay, besides my confusing thoughts, until it took a quick turn and now I’m not in the best mood. I went to get lunch at the Coffee Grounds Café—if coffee is my religion, then that place is like my mecca—when I happened to look across at the sports center. The one guy I’ve gone four years without seeing is everywhere now. I know I’ve lived in my own little bubble, but this is getting ridiculous. He was hanging around with a group of jocks and a flock of girls literally hanging off his arms with their breast plastered against him, stroking his biceps. I watched him scowl down for a split second and glance up with a smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever his teammate was saying to him. He was putting on a show. I could see it all, and I was shocked that no one else could. Or maybe they did. The guys around him didn’t stand too close and kept looking at him like he might explode at any second. That didn’t stop the girls from hanging off of him though. I stood there like a creep and jolted out of it when he suddenly whipped his head up and captured me in his gaze. I couldn’t look away, watching him in his element and being treated like a god. He arched his eyebrow at me and shrugged off the girls, as if he was going to come stomping over to me. I spun around and got out of there, disappearing into the café. I stayed for a long time in the back corner booth by the windows, eating my bagel as I stared outside and waited until the coast was clear. He wants me to stay away from him? No problem. I don’t have time for a guy to ruin my plans and stop me from getting out of here.
Speaking of getting out of here… Unfortunately, I had to go to my father’s townhouse to grab some clothes to change into at Mary’s dorm room for the party. I’m already dreading this, because I’m not going to do so well in the crowd. I’m there to be a supportive friend and keep an eye on Mary, but maybe there’ll be a corner I can hide in later.
Inserting my house key to the devil’s playground, I silently open the door to slip through and pray he’s not here, or at least sleeping in a coma of drunkness. My socks mask any noise on the stairs leading to my room on the second floor, and I can breathe a little easier when I make it to my room without an incident. I quickly gather a simple grey sweater dress that drops down to my knees, some black tights, plus extra skating clothes and my skates,just in case. Looking around at my pink bedroom that has been my prison since mom died, nothing has changed in here, like time has stood still. Fringe pink curtains with butterflies that match pink walls and bedspread… It's like I died and this room hasn’t been touched, because it’s too painful to look inside. I hate this place and the freaking color pink. A shudder runs through me, and I decide it’s time to leave just the way I came. Sneaking out, I quietly close my bedroom door so it doesn’t look like I came home and rush down the stairs with my heart racing.
Please don’t be here. Please, Lord, for once, give me a break from the constant pain, I chant in my head.
I enter the foyer and count down under my breath until freedom comes for me past these doors.
“You look just like your mother, and more like her every day,” comes his voice in the dark, making me skid to a stop with my eyes squeezing shut with dread.
I slowly turn around to see Father in the open doorway of his office with his back turned towards me and half a glass of scotch in his left hand, hanging from dangling fingers. He’s gazing at Mom’s portrait above the mantle with his face twisted in an unreadable expression. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this. I stay quiet in the center of the foyer, inching my way past the small round table with flowers in a glass vase in the middle, closer to the front entry. Staying as quiet as a mouse hasn’t helped before, but I can only hope it might work this time. He turns around and pins me with hatred in his brown eyes, blaming me for looking like her. I meet his stare without showing any emotion, because he eats any fear I show and devours it whole until there is nothing left for me to give anymore. He sees the laced skates dangling
