Here Comes Trouble

Chapter Sixteen - Void

Selena's POV

Being back at the Estate felt like a daydream. Something so very close to being reality, but still far enough out of reach. Everywhere I looked, something had changed.

The scrapes of my mother's personality that were scattered everywhere, have suddenly disappeared. Not just her pictures—but her Father's urn, the coffee table she picked out, the vintage mirror; it was all gone. Like it evaporated in thin air, like she was never even here. My heart feels like it's been carved out of my chest, as the only connection I had to her is gone.

I want to storm in Father's office and demand an explanation. But I can deduce how that'd go.

I scream myself hoarse, and he'd just watch. Stare ahead blankly, and let me. He wouldn't even blink. No matter how many times I brought her up, he didn't seem to care. He was keen on pretending Barbie Bitch was the only person ever in our lives.

"Selena?" And as if she were summoned, the Witch appears, popping her head into my room. Maybe she knocked, and I've just been too in my head to notice. I send her a death glare, anyway, hoping it might ward off whatever it was she wanted to bother me with.

She blinks harshly, but puts a placid smile on her face. I sigh and turn back to my book, "Is my Dad dying?"

Her scandalized gasp brings a smirk to my face, "Selena Gomez! Now why would you go and say something so awful?"

"Then why are you here?"

She straightens, opening the door a bit wider, "We're having a Charity Dinner tomorrow night-"

"No." I interrupt flatly, lazily turning the page.

"Selena-"

"Why do you keep saying my name?"

"You're going and that's final!"

I reach up and scratch my nose, eyes sliding intently over the words, letting the silence hang in the air for awhile. Once I'm finished with the page, I throw my legs over the side of my bed, and gingerly make my way to the door, "If your husband wants me to attend, he will tell me himself," I yank the door from her grasp, "And that is final." It snaps shut satisfyingly.

—

I'm sitting in the kitchen, listening to music and idly watching the staff pass by, when Father approaches me. I don't have to glance in his direction to know it's him, he's as distinct as they come. Large, looming presence, all sharp shoulders and sharp suits. I've spent my entire life with him, and sometimes he manages to make me feel unwelcome in my own skin.

He pulls out one of my earbuds, with a minimal mount of force, just enough to serve as a warning. He doesn't say anything, just gave me a pointed glare and stormed off into the direction of the formal dining room. I exhaled carefully through my nose, before getting up and following him. My socks padding nearly silent across the old hardwood. I keep my eyes on my phone, carefully wrapping the cord of my headphones around it, mostly as an excuse not to look at him. Arguing with my father has always taken a massive toll on me, and I'm already so goddamn tired.

I abruptly stop, lingering near the archway, as he leans menacingly on the long antique table. Set for a dinner that won't be eaten. "I do not understand you, Selena." He says evenly.

My eyes snap up, wide with shock. It's...not what I was expecting. Clipped tones about responsibility and respect and obligations far outside of your control, maybe. But this almost calm display of restraint, certainly not. It makes my skin crawl, as I reach up and wind my sleeves down over my wrists.

"Welcome to the Club." I say airily, eyes drifting to the slide. His face darkens something irritated, and there. That was what I was looking for.

"I don't punish you for your stunts in the Bieber household. I give you leeway, I treat you like an adult and what do you do—"

"You treat me like an adult?" I interrupt, bewildered and teetering the edge of something scary. I can feel it crackling under my skin, clawing at my chest, desperate to be set free.

I swallow.

His eyes narrow again, mouth set in a straight line. I get it from him, I realize suddenly. The wild rage simpering just out of reach. We are mirrors of each other, stubborn and snarling and not about to be knocked down. "What do you call not giving you repercussions for your inane, idiotic actions? The Bieber's could've pressed charges-"

"On Jace. I didn't punch Justin in the face, he did. Since everyone seems to be unclear on that. And don't pretend your gaggle of simpering blood thirsty sycophants couldn't have gotten you out that particular mess."

"Watch your tone, Selena Marie."

"My tone? No, you haven't seen a tone, yet, Father. I've bit my tongue and played along for weeks now because I was so mad at myself for ruining the only good thing that's ever happened to me, but you know what, fuck you! You've never once in your goddamned life treated me like an adult. You haven't treated me with anything these last few years, other than mistrust and distance!"

"I wonder why! You've been arrested more times than I care to count." He challenged, anger striking down like lighting.

Selena balled her fists at her sides, chest hot and eyes stinging, "don't act like you care what happens to me. You only care about your image with this stupid fucking town, and your stupid fucking investors."

"Do grow up, Selena. Take some personal responsibility."

"All I've ever done is take 'personal responsibility'! You're. Not. Here. Not now, not ever. I've been wandering this gigantic house all by myself, wondering what the hell I did to make you hate me so much, since mom died." My voice carries throughout the vaguely empty hallways and corridors, echo clanging around in my head, unceasingly. "What did I do to make you hate me?" I whisper, tearing my eyes from his, and wrapping my arms around my middle.

It's silent, save for our collective breathing and the sharp beat of my heart.

"Selena..." he mutters, jarringly hurt and bemused. I hear him take a stuttered step in my direction, before I turn and bolt toward the front door. It's- more than I can handle at the moment.

—

"Can you come pick me up?"

———

Yikes. Amiright ladies.

I'm sorry this hasn't been updated in forty years and also that it's so short and sans Bieber, but! Not to worry pals. There shall be more