• dynasty • | gnr | kiss | bon jovi |

•16•

Grinning like nothing else matters, I waltz into the house with three new records under my arm and Stan on my mind. It's like night and day, I left here today feeling like my world was crashing down around me, but honestly it was nothing a few Greatful Dead albums couldn't fix.

There was an authentic and signed Hendrix t-shirt in a glass case going for a few hundred dollars, but I couldn't even think of asking for that.

I'm even whistling a happy tune as I stop in the kitchen for a glass of water before I go upstairs, but as soon as I step in all the happiness Stan worked to instill in me evaporates.

Jon stands by the kitchen table beside my mother. They sip glasses of wine, chattering quietly. Jon hardly looks like he's been crying, he doesn't even look strung out. His very presence brings my blood to a boil, and this time I'm determined not to fall apart.

"Get out."

My voice is a raspy growl, hardly audible, filled with malice.

Jon's voice trails away as he looks up at me, instantly setting his glass to the side.

"Sweetheart, I was starting to think you'd never return. I-"

"Get out!" I scream, starling both him and my mother simultaneously. They both stare at me, completely shocked. "I never want to lay eyes on your horrible face ever again! Get out of my house and never come back!"

I hurl the words at him like stones, but he doesn't take them seriously. "Sweetheart, please. I tried to give you some time to cool off, but obviously it hasn't-"

"Cool off? Cool off? You're horrible! I'm not coming back to you Jon, I made it very clear that we're over!"

He approaches me with a small smile. "Surely the pieces I put on hold for you at Harry Winston will solve this dillema. Nothing like a little jewelry to take your mind off of things, huh?"

I blindside him with a hard backhand slap across his cheek, which sends him stumbling backward. I'm filled with pleasure as he recoils, glaring at me through squinted eyes.

"Calliope Jackson! How dare you!" My mother exclaims.

I turn my attention to her, gritting my teeth in anger.

"Do you even love me, mom? You never take my side on anything, it's always my fault! Don't you know I have feelings? Don't you know that he's humiliated me in the worst way possible? If you did it wouldn't even matter, because you put your social climbing agenda before your own daughter! You don't even ask why I'm upset because you don't care! You don't even ask what he's done wrong! You don't care about me, mom, so I'm done caring about you, and this whole stupid 'life' you've created for us! I'm just done!"

I storm toward the staircase.

"Get the hell out of my house Jon!"

I'm so completely angry with myself as new tears ooze from my eyes. I slam my bedroom doors behind me and shove the jewelry box and the records into the nearest drawer before slumping over the side of my bed to sob.

In the midst of all this storming around, something white falls out of the sleeve of one of my new albums, a tiny slip of paper with numbers written on it. Below those numbers Stan's name is written.

It's a phone number. A number I'm seriously considering dialing when my bedroom doors quietly open and close.

It's my mother, and no doubt she's here for a lecture.

"Please, spare me," I whimper and bury my head in my hands. "I know, I've shamed the family once again."

She settles beside me on the bed, placing a gentle hand against my back.