Beautiful Disaster

Chapter Two

I turned to him with a “what’s so funny” look.

His gaze hardened and turned condescending as he looked at me. “It just surprises me that someone like you would use such a teenager word as awesome,” he replied smoothly, still chuckling.

I felt my face heat up as I continued to look at him. I wanted to say something smart and witty back, but the words got caught in my throat. Not only was my brain frozen so I couldn’t think; it was also his face and the way he held himself.

His beautiful face was hard and cold, looking at me; daring me to say something. But for the life of me, I couldn’t.

Before I turned away I saw almost a look of disappointment cross his face before I was facing Scarlett again. It seemed like he had wanted me to say something. Something that would have proven my reputation for putting people in their place. For never letting anyone walk all over me. Except I was broken now.

I grabbed my receipt from Scarlett, barely registering her shocked face as I all but ran out of the salon.

I was so focused on controlling my unexpected tears, that I didn’t notice the swarm of people waiting for me outside.

I was surrounded by pushing people in an instant, all yelling questions at me as they blocked me from getting to my car.

“Miss Knight, any comments on your father’s decision this morning?”

“Miss Knight, is this new look you rebelling against your father?”

“Miss Knight, is this new look a cry for attention? Do you not get any now that your mom is dead?”

The voices and bodies chocked me as I tried to push through them. “I just need to get to my car,” I thought over and over as I pushed.

Amazingly, Butch appeared out of nowhere, pushing the reporters aside like you would annoying flies. I sent him a look of gratitude as I rushed into my car and sped off; knowing he would make sure no one was following me.

I turned on the radio and took deep breaths as my hands shook on the steering wheel.

“Stupid,” I muttered to myself as I drove out of town, into the surrounding forest.

I should have known the moment I let my guard down that something bad would happen. The universe hates me, after all. I let my mind wander as I took the familiar curving roads towards my home.

Since my mom died a month ago, my dad started hitting me. The first time was when I refused to go to her funeral. He had barged into my room with a look in his eye. Then he slapped me right across the face. Hard.

I could count on one hand the number of times my parents had hit me. Every time I was under the age of seven, and I was being a brat.

I had looked up at my dad, horrified and disbelieving that he had done that. He had looked calmly down at me from where he was standing above my bed.

“You will go to your mother’s funeral. You will tell everyone that you were just overwhelmed and couldn’t deal with all the stress. You will not tell them how you were being a selfish brat. And you will hurry up and get downstairs in ten minutes,” he had calmly demanded. I just nodded, holding my stinging cheek. He then turned on his heel and strode out of my room, as if nothing had happened.

That was the first and only time I had cried since the mess with my mom started.

Thinking about that brought me back to reality. What would my dad do when he saw my hair? I was starting to wish that Butch would have come with me.

Butch was a six foot seven beast of a man who originated from Russia. He had broad shoulders that would make a linebacker jealous, chin-length dark locks that the women on Herbal Essence commercials would die for. Not to mention his slight accent that made women weak at the knees.

He also happened to be my bodyguard, for lack of a better word. I knew that if he was with me when I got home, then my dad would leave me alone. After all, he never hit me when people were present.

            I could feel my breath quicken and my palms started sweating as I rounded the last corner in the winding road and pulled up in front of the wrought iron gates that led to my house. I pressed the opener and pulled onto our mile long driveway.

Our giant, three story house came into view; with its stark white paint and rolling lawn.

I remember when we moved here, mom wanted to paint the shutters and accents a bright cheery yellow. Dad said no of course, but he eventually consented to having the door painted yellow. He could just never say no to my mom.

I pulled into the attached garage, hoping I could use the back staircase and sneak up into my room without my dad realizing I was home.

I opened the door quietly, glad that all the doors were oiled so they didn’t squeak.

My heart was galloping away in my chest as I walked quietly through the mud room.

“D, can you come here?” my dad called from the living room just as I put my foot on the first step of the stairs. I froze.

“Of course he would hear me,” I muttered to myself as I walked slowly towards the living room; towards my doom.

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