Beneath the Country Sky

Chapter 2: Flames of Frustration

The shrill sound of knocking cut through the haze of Scarlette's drunken sleep. She groaned, burying her face into the pillow, trying to block out the noise.

"Scarlette! Wake up!" her grandmother's voice echoed through the heavy wooden door. "It's already late, and your room smells like a bar."

Scarlette's head pounded, and her mouth tasted like stale whiskey. She reluctantly opened her eyes, squinting at the harsh sunlight streaming through the curtains. The room was in complete disarray-empty bottles of whiskey and vodka lay scattered across the floor, mixing with her discarded clothes from the last few days. The place reeked of alcohol, sweat, and something else she didn't care to identify.

Her grandmother's voice sounded again, more insistent this time. "Scarlette, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my house. Get up now!"

With a groan, Scarlette finally sat up, her head spinning. Her body felt heavy, and her stomach churned with nausea. "What is it now?" she mumbled under her breath, rubbing her temples. She glanced around the room, feeling more irritated than ashamed by the sight.

The door swung open, and there stood her grandmother, Victoria, hands on her hips and a disapproving frown etched deeply into her face. Her sharp eyes surveyed the mess, her lips pursing tighter with each passing second.

"This place looks like a dumpsite," Victoria snapped. "How could you let your room turn into this? You've been here barely a week, and it's already a disaster."

Scarlette rolled her eyes, throwing her legs off the bed and standing up, though she swayed slightly from the remnants of her hangover. "It's just a few bottles. It's not the end of the world."

Victoria raised an eyebrow. "A few bottles? You've practically turned this room into a trash heap. And look at yourself-when was the last time you took a proper bath?"

Scarlette opened her mouth to retort but quickly closed it, deciding it wasn't worth the argument. "What do you want?" she asked instead, grabbing a towel from the chair and dabbing her sweaty face.

Her grandmother sighed, her stern expression softening just a little. "I want you to start taking responsibility for yourself, Scarlette. You're not in the city anymore where people will wait on you hand and foot."

Scarlette flinched at that. The reality of being far from her glamorous life was like a cold slap to the face. She hated it here, hated how her grandmother constantly reminded her that she wasn't a star anymore, just another person with problems and flaws.

"And speaking of responsibility," Victoria continued, folding her arms, "you're going to cook your own breakfast today."

Scarlette froze, staring at her grandmother in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me," Victoria said calmly but firmly. "If you're going to stay here, you need to learn to fend for yourself. That includes basic things like cooking. Now get to the kitchen and figure it out."

"I don't know how to cook!" Scarlette protested, the frustration evident in her voice.

"Then today's the perfect day to learn," Victoria said with a finality that meant there would be no more discussion on the matter.

Scarlette huffed, storming past her grandmother and down the stairs toward the kitchen, her head still pounding from the hangover. As she walked, she muttered to herself, "This is ridiculous. I'm an actress, not some farm girl."

When she reached the kitchen, the memories of the previous day flooded back to her. The dried fish and rice Cooper's mother, Linda, had served her. Scarlette shuddered at the thought. The food had been so simple, so beneath her. She couldn't understand how people could eat such things.