Rose's War With The Opposite Gender

Rose's War With The Opposite Gender- Chapter 2: The Incident

2 months ago was the nerve racking day we had to accept he was gone. That we had to bury him. Dad's funeral was the most extravagant ever. 800 people attended to celebrate the beautiful and courageous life of Mark Dawson, of the bravest soldier, the most reliable friend, the most loving husband and the most caring father in history. The 800 was made of soldiers, friends, family, neighbours and acquaintances. My father was quite popular and close with many people. Business associates and celebrities my Mom worked with also attended. Even though they had not known Dad, they had heard many things about his beautiful and courageous story, as well as his loving and caring nature. His death had devastated everyone.

I crawled into the car. My mom got into the driver's seat of the hired vehicle. There was no emotion on her face. She was trying to be strong for me, but knowing my mother, once she's alone she'll have a breakdown. Mom saw me staring and managed a timid smile, but that didn't fool me. Her eyes were dark, like they had been ever since we received the news that had changed our lives completely from Tyler. The smile in her eyes were gone, and wouldn't be seen again in the foreseeable future.

"The luggage is in the rear," she whispered in her velvety voice so quietly that I had to strain my ears to hear. We were leaving. I was furious about leaving because leaving meant leaving Dad's corpse, and leaving everyone I love. Mom and I had made an agreement that I could move back to cold England for university but I had to come back without her as her job would hold her back. For those of you who are confused, this is what happened:

"There's too many memories here, Rose," she had complained two days after Dad's death. "Too many reminders of him. Every room I go to, I sense his presence. I close my eyes and see him flipping pancakes in the kitchen, him slouching on the sofa in the living room, him telling stories in the dining room, him singing in the shower and also him sprawled across the bed in my bedroom. And you know what Rose? I can't stand it. I know it's selfish, but I wish he'd never gone to Afghanistan. Those helpless people there could die for all I care, it doesn't make a fucking difference to me! He's all that matters. I hate him for being so selfless! So we're leaving from England. I already found a place in LA. It's suitable because most of my clients live there and if a case comes up, I don't need to fly over and leave you unsupervised. Pack your stuff, the flights on the 7th of October."

That was the problem with Macy Dawson. She ran away from everything bad. But so did I. There was no way I was going to miss this chance to escape. And to America as well! I'd always wanted to go there. It was like killing two birds with one stone.

"Alright," I whispered to Macy. "What are we waiting for? Drive!" I commanded her. And with that the sleek hired BMW went out of the driveway of our house and started heading to the airport.

"I hate Heathrow!" I yelled in frustrated anger. Every time we visited, the large airport was so crowded and it pissed me off, big time. Mom glanced at me with a knowing look before looking back to her Vogue magazine, gazing adoringly at the pretty clothes. I slumped onto my three large suitcases and put my headphones on. I put on Say Something, which suited my mood perfectly. After 10 minutes, I told my mom I was going to buy some crisps. I chose some yummy Skips and tropical juice to wash it down. Tropical juice was Dad's favourite.

"Oi, watch where you're going! You ruined my shirt!" snapped a gruff American male voice. I gulped, anxiously. I had spilled half of my juice (there goes £1) onto an unsuspecting person's shirt. It was a Lacoste shirt, definitely expensive and new. Hopefully the guy wouldn't demand for me to pay for a new one. My family may have a lot of money, but we didn't afford that much so we could just throw it around like it was nothing. I looked at the damage (damn it was bad) before glancing up at the angry person.

The guy was my age, 17, and had fair hair, fair skin, and fair eyes. In short, everything about him was angelically fair. He had chiselled cheeks and a nice nose. If it weren't for him scowling furiously and giving me the death state, he would've looked handsome.

"I am so sorry!" I apologized profusely. Please don't make me pay, please don't make me pay. Rich Boy scowled even more, if that was even possible. Someone was having a bad day.

"Sorry isn't going to pay for my shirt, is it, Juice Girl? You're lucky I have the money." He glanced at my short black dress in distain, probably calculating how much the generic brand clothing cost. What a cocky son of a bitch!

"Yeah cos I was really concerned of how much money you have in your bank account, Rich Boy," I hissed rudely and sarcastically in a scathing tone. Money wasn't everything. I immediately regretted it.

"You listen to me, bitch! I have enough money to buy or sell you! So don't mess with me!" He hissed, prodding his finger onto my small nose. How dare he? I may have been a bit disrespectful but that didn't give him the right to call me a female dog! Heck, even a female dog was more polite and nicer than him!

I seriously hated this arrogant guy with all my heart. I didn't have the strength to argue with him about money. I just attended my Dad's funeral! But I could hear my Dad screaming for me to fight back and stand up to this jerk. He never let people walk over him. He was Mark Bailey Dawson after all, the one who never backs down and fights for what was right (him going to brutal war just proved that). I planned on being just like that. I was his daughter, his only child, his heir to the throne and I had to make him proud

"Well the slave trade era is long gone, Rich Boy. So why don't you use the money you have to change that cocky and stupid attitude of yours?" I said this all in a sweet voice, smiling. Rich Boy's light blue eyes widened in shock and anger. I had a feeling he was going to flip his lid, maybe punch me. I had to distract him and disappear. Then I did the most stupid thing ever- I spilled the rest of my cold juice on top his soft looking hair, wiped some of the liquid off his smooth cheeks and licked it and yelling "Delish!" before running away. He yelped in surprise, and started cursing at me loudly in his deep voice. I turned round to see people staring at him like he had grown a second head and smirked in glee.

That's what you get when you mess with Mark Dawson's daughter.

A/N: Hey! What do you think of the story so far? Comment what you think! Tell your friends about the story, vote and maybe follow? *raises eyebrows up and down* I am determined not to give up on this book like Marks which I gave up on. I've already wrote the next chapter- I just have to edit a few stuff then tada!