The Elites

Chapter II: Satan's Spawn

Chapter II: Satan's Spawn

My flight had arrived.

"This can't be real life," I muttered, tightening the grip I had around my rolling suitcase. Here I was, standing in the airport lobby, listening to the lady at the front desk repeat herself, while cursing my father's name.

Eric Wentworth is a dickface, plain and simple.

He is a man that walked out on my mom and me after a huge, screaming match, and never tried to contact me. At the time, I was had just turned four so I do not remember much of that night, but I do remember the slamming of the front door and the loud sobbing of my mother. I remember him disappearing for a few days and then coming back to our house. What happened while he was there was a blur, but I do remember him placing a soft kiss on my forehead before walking out the front door, never planning to return.

At first, I would sit by the window in my bedroom,waiting for his truck to pull up in the driveway... but it never did. Of course, like any child I went to my mother and asked her when my dad was coming home, but she wouldn't answer. I spent countless nights, crying, wondering why my father suddenly didn't want anything to do with me, wondering if there was something wrong with me...if it was my fault.

When I was ten, I asked her again. This time, she told me the cold, hard truth: that my father had cheated on her, that he slept with another woman. In the beginning, I was too shocked to reply and then I was sad to form coherent words and as I got older, the sadness turned into hatred and even looking at a picture of him made my stomach churn.

It wasn't until I was twelve that I actually got a lighter and burned all of our pictures together, completely taking him out of my life. I hate him. I don't want to be anywhere near the Hamptons or him.

For the first time ever, I actually wanted to be at school on the last day. I wouldn't mind getting decked in the head with a clock or getting set on fire if it meant that I get to spend the day with Kimmy.

I want to spend time with her before I leave for three months and I'm not able to see her until school begins again. Unfortunately, her strict parents wouldn't allow her to skip school to be here with me. On any other day, I might've understood, but not today, not when there was no schoolwork to be done.

God, I hated parents.

Yesterday had been the worst day of my very short, very mediocre life. I was still hoping that my mother would grin that beautiful, cheeky grin of hers and tell me that she was joking, that I wasn't flying halfway across the country to live with a man that I hadn't seen in twelve years.

But so far, she hadn't.

My mother sighed and I looked away from the airplane runway and to her weary form, and suddenly she looked so much older. Even though my mother. hairs is streaked with gray, she's only 34. The hair came from the stress of working late night shifts and dealing with me, but there were prominent wrinkles beginning to form around her eyes. Those hadn't always been there, had they?

She was wearing thick sweatpants and an oversized sweater even though my weather app reported that the weather would hit the high nineties today. She had been doing that a lot lately.

In Florida, it's barely ever call but recently she's been stocking up on winter clothes, spending money, that we didn't have, and claiming that she was working but I knew for a fact that we weren't getting any money because I pay the house bills and sometimes when I came home from school, she was still in her thick, footy pajamas. She was obviously keeping something from me, but I didn't want to press the truth out of her. I want her to tell me on her own, when she's ready.