Determined to run away from her failed marriage, Cartier Davenport, finds herself escaping failure by secluding herself in a seaside village hidden away in the rolling hills of the English countryside.
Surrounded by her books, paints, and large over...
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c a r t i e r
My number one rule: be silent.
It's not asking for a lot is it? I don't think so. I'm a quiet person in general. I speak quietly, work quietly, and keep to myself...quietly. There is no reason to be boisterous, loud, and inconsiderate for the other human beings that are around and subject people who relish in the quiet with the shit coming from Noah's phone or his mouth.
Every time I've heard the word cunt since he started working for me I cringe. His music with thundering bass and aggressive words spits out the word cunt left and right begins I notice it always starts at a dull hum, but by two hours the damn music is shaking the walls to my house and giving me a headache.
Okay, I'm exaggerating, so the walls aren't literally shaking but I shouldn't be gifted with hearing his crap taste in music for more than a few seconds let alone hours on end.
After the first week -- that was awful, I learned he purposefully ignores me when he wants to cut corners on a job that I'm paying him incredibly well for.
So, when I saw his earbuds for the first time I nearly lept for joy because I wouldn't be assaulted by the world's worst rap music. Then I realized with those going in, he genuinely wouldn't hear me when I notice things aren't getting done the way I want and the way I'm paying him to do it.
Me allowing the music to be played is me accomodating for Noah's silly needs, and I no longer accommodate for anyone.
Signing the divorce papers changed me. I lived nearly half my life to accommodate, love, and practically worship someone else and all it got me was being alone in this house with nothing but me, myself, and I.
Accommodation isn't in my vocabulary anymore.
"You've got to be kidding?" I seeth while cuddled deep in the center of my pillowy bed and drop my book to my chest.
The distant throbbing sound of bass has been playing for the last hour while I've been in my bed relaxing. It's nearing 9:30 at night, and this fool is still going at it with the music.
If I had his phone number I'd call him and tell him to turn it off, but besides him working here we try to avoid each other at all costs.
Forcing my eyes to read the words and their letters, I try to drown out the inconsistent beat of the bass beating through the woods separating the houses and filling my seclusion with the world's most annoying noise.
Last night, I dug out my earbuds from my suitcase that I use on flights to drown out the noise and fell asleep that way, but tonight I wouldn't be so kind.
The beat again pulls my attention from my romance book, right at the best freaking part, I might add, so I growl and dog ear the page and throw it to the foot of my bed and jolt from my bed. "Selfish, immature, asshole," I state and rip my robe from the antique white wrought iron jacket rack and shove it on messily wrapping it tightly around my waist.
