troubled | e.d.

four

ethan

"your daughter, huh?" i smirk, leaning against the doorframe of the computer room, one hand on the shoulder strap of my backpack.

richard looks up quickly, startled by my sudden appearance. "you're late."

i ignore him. "is that why you want me to stay away?" i ask in a taunting, sly voice, beginning to walk slowly toward him.

"if you even so look at her, let alone speak to her, your ass is going unrepresented if you so ever have another trial. do i make myself clear?"

"crystal," i whisper, pressing my palms into the wood of the desk, lowering myself to meet his eyes.

he glares at me, and i watch his nostrils flare as he abruptly stands up, pushing away a keyboard and motioning for me to follow him. i do, smirking still.

i have no interest in really ever speaking to that girl, but it's fun to watch him get all riled up.

"i was going to have you simply go out and get a new coffee maker for the office, but just for that little episode," he begins to fumble with a key ring from his pocket. he finds one, unclips it, and hands it to me. "you're now on gardening duty."

i raise an eyebrow, holding the key between two fingers like it has a disease. "gardening duty? no thanks."

"too bad i didn't ask for your permission," he quips back. "that's the key to the shed in the back. trim the trees and bushes, spray some weed killer, and mow the side lawns by the parking lot."

"but—"

"no buts," he interjects firmly. "now go. you're giving me a headache."

i roll my eyes moodily and play with the key in my hand as i push open the glass front door and into the hot sun. stupid georgia summers. i should've stayed in jersey, and maybe i wouldn't be here at all.

but i did it for a good reason.
i have to keep telling myself that.
self defense, ethan. it was self defense.

kind of.

the shed is a wimpy little thing you can probably but from home depot, and i spit out cobwebs and swat away spiders as i make my way through it, climbing over an assortment of gardening tools.

"might as well start with trimming the trees," i mutter, grabbing some hedge clippers hanging from a hook.

i hate this. why do i have to do this?
i was cleared of all charges. but of course the big guy in a suit tells me i need to keep my name intact. my name is fine, thank you very much.

i start with a row of trees by the sidewalk, trimming what i feel is necessary and probably a little more. there's a speaker in my car, so i hook it up to my phone and begin playing a playlist i've had since my freshman year of high school.

i took a gap year after i graduated because i felt like finding myself. didn't know i'd be "finding myself" in a court room, but things happen unexpectedly.

i was always a troublemaker, but never a criminal. the thought makes me swallow a lump in my throat and toss it out of my head.

the sun beams down on me, so eventually i just slip the plain black t shirt over my head and throw it to the side next to the speaker. no one is really even here, anyway.

i'm about done with the six trees when i hear, "hey!"

i look up and towards the window where i heard the voice shout. the brunette leaning out of it gives me a smirk and throws something out the window.

of course. the daughter— tessa.

i roll my eyes before watching the colorful rubber band ball bounce on the sidewalk and land in the bushes on the side.

"go fetch!" she yells, and quickly closes the window.

i can't help but laugh a little, slightly amused at her idea of revenge. hell, that's her ball. does she think it's going to affect me?

i quickly go back to doing my hell job and rushing through the next couple of trees so i can mow and trim the bushes, then be done.

turns out, only a single strip of grass on both sides needs to be mowed, so i do that rather quickly and then get the hedge clippers again. my music is still playing and sweat drips down my forehead as i clip off outreaching branches, forming them into perfect circle bushes.

on the very last one, i see the rubber band ball down at the roots. i pick it up, toss it up in my hand, and put it in my pocket for later.

and at noon when i'm finally told i can leave, i place the ball back on the desk in the office.