Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I’ve spent more time with nannies than with either of them, and if I wasn’t so bitter about not having my own parents around growing up, I could accept that this was probably for the best. I’ve been loved, just not by the woman who birthed me and the man who married my mom with the declaration that he was going to treat me as one of his own. Thank God they never had a child together. Not that my mother would ever ruin her body again—her words, not mine—by putting it through the trauma of getting pregnant a second time.
Lights flicker from the television as I quietly make my way to the landing of the stairs. With a quick glance in that direction, I find Flynn sprawled out on the sofa, softly snoring while the evening news plays quietly across the room.
I make my way to the kitchen for a bottle of water, realizing this is going to be so much easier than I first anticipated. Usually the first night I have a new detail, they’re up my ass and prepared for anything. My parents must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel with this guy if he’s already passed out on the couch a mere handful of hours after arriving.
This could be the beginning of the end. It’s taken forever to get to this point, and years ago when I threatened to leave, my not-so-loving parents reminded me that I don’t have a penny to my name. The luxuries I have here will disappear if I leave.
Yep, they threatened to cut me off if I moved out, explaining that everything I have technically belongs to them. At home, I have everything at my fingertips, and I want for nothing. Now I know that throwing money at me is another way to control me because they only deny me things when I get into serious trouble.
The first three months after rehab was brutal. My car was gone. My phone was taken away. My credit cards were destroyed. I had nothing.
Spending three months without all of the things I cling to for my own sanity made me realize leaving wasn’t an option. It’s not exactly a prison. I can spend money on whatever I want. I can go anywhere I please, anytime I desire, but with the stipulation that I don’t cause trouble for them and I take my security details with me.
How sad is it that I grew attached to Phillip? He has been the only constant in my life for months since I’ve been alienating the acquaintances I, at one point, thought were my friends. Being sober and clean has opened my eyes to a lot of things, and it’s left me insanely lonely. For a while, I could get lost in the idea that Phillip was my friend. He went everywhere with me. If I wanted to go shopping, he drove me. If I had a doctor’s appointment, he tagged along. I mean, I know it was his job, but his presence was consistent.
But Ronald moved to Seattle, leaving New York City behind for a more favorable position in his growing company. He left Phillip behind until he could find a replacement. I’ve behaved. For months I’ve been on my best behavior, all in an attempt to get Phillip to stay with me.
He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. Why would he? The man he loves moved, and he wanted to be with him. I wasn’t taking it personally until Flynn took over today and Phillip was out the front door without whispering a goodbye. Maybe the trouble I caused before I calmed down was too big to forgive. Maybe the time we spent watching television and laughing at ridiculous reality shows was fake on his part. Maybe he was nice to me to appease me, another way to manipulate me into behaving.
The man I’d grown to call a friend just left without a word, just left like we hadn’t spent the last two years growing close.
I shake my head, ridding it of those thoughts, and make my way out of the kitchen into the attached garage. The row of expensive cars doesn’t even make me look twice. I grew up with money, leaving me expectant and selfish. I’m no better than the alleged friends I find myself complaining about constantly.
By the time I open the door to my BMW and settle in the seat, I already want to go back inside. I’m not going to the party Sasha wants me to bring drugs to. I no longer even have access to drugs, and that’s another shitty thing I’ve done. My drug dealer, a guy I met the second semester of college before I dropped out, ended up in jail while I went to rehab with no criminal charges filed. He got six months for possession and I got cucumber water and therapy. While still in my bitter phase, it didn’t seem like much. I spent many hours thinking he should’ve gotten more for ruining my life. I spent months without credit cards, a car, and cell phone after all, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that way of thinking was beyond screwed up.