Chapter 5 05

05

I V Y

~Two weeks later~

It was two a.m. when I heard the front door click open. I jerked up awake with my heart in my throat. Who could that be by this time? I craned my ears to listen when I heard a thud and a whispered curse immediately after.

Rising to my feet, I tiptoed out of my door and came to an abrupt stop when I noticed Elliot stumbling his way into the penthouse. He looked drunk, and he reeked the closer I approached him.

"Hey, let me help you," I said, reaching for him. He spun on his heels, squinting through his drunken haze, and nearly toppled over.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me? Are you slow or just stupid?" He shoved me off and I staggered then braced myself so that I wouldn't fall.

I'd fallen on my bum a lot of times.

My hands fell limply at my sides. "I just wanted to help."

"I don't need it," he hissed. "What are you still doing here?" He groaned and held his head as he fumbled his way towards his room. I walked tentatively behind him, looking out for him. But who looked out for me? No one, except my bedridden mom. And I adjusted to it.

It was a sore pill to swallow, but it was high time I realized people didn't change. Maybe I held out a little hope, gave him the benefit of doubt. But it was two weeks since the wedding, and even in his drunken state, I was still not worth his time.

He entered his room and turned to me, scowling. "God, you're so pathetic," he scoffed. "You're not wanted. Get it through your thick skull. Hell, you don't even have to be here but...here you are. Fucking get lost." He punctuated the words and rounded it up by slamming the door in my face.

I managed to jump back on time with wide eyes, barely missing the smack to my face. 'You're not wanted.' The words swirled in my mind like a mantra. Oh, how right he was. Everywhere I went, I was looked down on, humiliated, taunted, bullied... unwanted.

I stared into the bathroom mirror, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white.

There had to be something about me that made people dislike me.

I leaned closer. Maybe it was the dull brown of my eyes, or the paper-pale skin that no blush could fix. Maybe the hair-always limp, always lifeless.

My lips parted like I was about to say something.

To who? To what?

I looked away.

Of course they hated me. I'd hate me too.

>>>

Sunlight filtered into the room, and I just stared. My eyes strained painfully from being wide open all through the night. My cheeks were puffy from crying. Yes, I'd succumbed to the hurt that bubbled in my chest despite assuring myself that I'd stop crying.

But the more I thought of my life, the harder it was to keep the tears at bay. I could only remember one time in my life where I had a friend. Then, I was in middle school and her name was Theresa. She was the only friend I had while everyone teased me for hanging out with her. Theresa was physically disabled and I usually pushed her around in her wheelchair.

In the cause of my thoughts, I wondered if the only reason she was my friend was because of her disability. If she wasn't disabled, would she have been my friend? I didn't have the answer to that, but Theresa had moved by the next summer. And no one wanted to hang out with me after she left.

Since then, I have been pretty much a loner. I craved friendship. How do you crave something you've never truly experienced? My eyes prickled but there were no more tears left to cry. I swallowed thickly and decided to take a cold shower. Maybe it would numb my feelings the way it numbed my body.

It didn't. Who was I kidding? I strolled out of the bathroom, dressed up and moved to the kitchen. I was surprised to see Elliot eating at the dining table.

"Good morning," I greeted. I didn't wait for a response, instead I moved past him and into the kitchen then poured myself a glass of water. My throat was parched.

His fork clanged noisily when I came back to the kitchen. "Oh great." He stood to his feet with his laptop bag. "My appetite is ruined."

I pressed my lips together and said nothing. There was absolutely nothing to say to Elliot Grayson. He stood there with his shaggy black curls combed to perfection and dressed in a crisp charcoal coloured suit. He would look perfect, edible even, if he didn't have that signature scowl and permanently hardened eyes on his face.

"Listen and listen good, whatever your name is," he stalked closer to me. And my grip on the glass tightened. Fear coiled in my chest as I waited for him to speak. "I need you out of my way. When you see me, turn the other way."

He didn't even have the decency to remember my name. And I didn't have it in me to be surprised.

I gave a rushed nod. Anything to get him away from me. He pushed back and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Then he gave me a cruel smirk as he said the next words.

"I need the house tonight. I'd prefer it if you stayed somewhere else."

Not again. "What? Why?"

"You've got money now, don't you?" He taunted. "Book a hotel and get out of my hair. This is my house and I need it tonight. Alone."

I had some money but that didn't mean I wanted to spend it on a hotel or unnecessary things. Damn Elliot, and his whole family.

"Except you want to hear me pounding into your fellow whore tonight. Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe you'd even want to join for more dollar bills," he mocked with disgust. "I do not want to come back and smell your awful poverty stricken scent."

I sighed dejectedly. "Elliot, your mom said we-"

"Marianne is not my fucking mom." The words left his lips like a curse, and his face heated with rage. I watched stunned as Elliot turned on his heels.

He slammed the door so hard, it rattled with a loud bang that ricocheted off the walls, and made me jump. The door rattled on its hinges and I just stood there... confused.

If she wasn't his mom then who was she? And why did she claim to be his mom?