Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(6)

And I did. It was the first time she got an inkling of how close I'd grown to what she referred to as, "That Theroux girl," in her most derisive tone.

She didn't beat around the bush. The day she found out we walked home together from school, she forbid me from ever speaking to Scarlett again.

With a somber face I told her calmly and simply, "No."

She smiled smugly, like she'd been expecting that. "I'll talk to that little piece of trash myself. I'll keep her from ever wanting to so much as look at you, that I promise."

That set me off into the biggest rage of my young life. I could see I even shocked my always a step ahead mother as I began to throw things, going from calm and somber to livid and violent between one breath and the next.

I did have a temper, and it was an ugly thing, but on this particular day there was more than a trace of calculation in it. I'd been expecting this for some time.

I'd been preparing for it.

Plotting it.

There would be no do-over. I'd only get one chance. I couldn't risk not taking it far enough, so I let her have it.

We were in her favorite sitting room. Every single thing in the room was meticulously placed, chosen by her. On a normal day, I knew better than to so much as misplace a pillow in this particular room.

This was not a normal day.

I began by reaching down and picking up a prized object on the glossy mahogany coffee table.

It was a Fabergé egg, worth a lot of money, I knew. It was possibly the most valuable thing in this room full of valuables, and that's why I went for it first.

Our eyes met, hers narrowed and disbelieving, mine full of pure, desperate spite. I held her gaze for one meaningful moment just before I turned and threw the thing, with all my might, straight into the wall.

She gasped and started screaming.

I started screaming louder.

That was only the start. I kept going, breaking things until I felt I'd adequately gotten her attention.

That was when I really let her have it. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!" I screamed into her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she screamed back.

My voice got deadly quiet to show her that I was in control of myself. "If you embarrass me to Scarlett I'll make you sorry. Every time you want to show me off at some stupid party, I will put on the stupid suit, I will let you do my stupid hair, and then the second you try to introduce me to someone." I pitched my voice louder suddenly, back to near hysteria. "I'm just going to shout FUCK at the top of my lungs."

Her hand was at her throat. She looked horrified. "What has gotten into you?"

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" I repeated, again and again.

"What is wrong with you?"

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

"I don't even—"

"CUNT!" I brought out the very worst curse word, which I'd only ever heard from my dad when I was eavesdropping on my parents fighting. "CUNT! CUNT! FUCK!"

I won that round. She couldn't stand the thought of anyone thinking her perfect son might be disturbed, mentally challenged, or worse, ill bred.

I thought I'd won the war with that silly display. I thought it was enough to keep her in check, to make her leave me alone to live my life, to pick my own friends, to make my own choices and take my own path.

I was so foolish.





CHAPTER THREE

"Every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away."

~Laurence J. Peter





PRESENT





SCARLETT





We were having a beach day. All of my roommates had conspired to drag my cheerless ass out into the cheerful light of day.

Fun in the sun. Yay.

I actually did try to be a good sport about it. I put on a tiny bikini with a sexy gold sequined cover up, piled my hair on top of my head in a thick, messy bun, and put on my best knock-off designer shades.

And, of course, my game face.

We all brought a guy along, though it wasn't planned.

I took Anton. He had a break in filming from his show, and he loved the beach. And the company.

Leona brought her still-boyfriend pilot, Ed. I still didn't like him, but I kept my mouth shut about it. There's a point when your girlfriend has fallen too far for a guy to be turned back with any sage advice, and that was the point when I stopped giving it. I wouldn't alienate her. We were put on this earth to support one another, not tear each other down, and so I was resigned to watch, worry, and wait. There was nothing I could do but be there to pick her up off the ground if she fell too hard.

Demi brought her friend, Harry. He was an adorable college kid with messy brown hair and thick, black hipster glasses. I kind of loved him. He was sweet and shy, and innocent enough to be just perfect for a bright and shiny young soul like Demi.

Farrah brought along Mitch, a guy she'd been dating on and off for at least a year.

He wasn't her boyfriend, per se, but he was certainly a regular, and all of the roommates liked him.

Even me. He was a cop—LAPD—so I'd just avoided him at first, aggressively so.

As I've said, I have a very healthy fear of the police.

But over time, Mitch had just sort of grown on me. He was nice, and he seemed fair. Honest. Sincere and straightforward, particularly so when he talked about his work. He was one of the good guys. It was as refreshing as it was baffling to run into one.