Princess °° Freddie Highmore [dd/lg]

chapter twenty-five:

--- C H A P T E R
T W E N T Y - F I V E ---

It's been a couple of weeks since I'd heard from Freddie. After our curt ending to our date, or outing as he'd prefer to call it, I have been keeping myself at bay by doing schoolwork and sitting in my room watching Heartland on Netflix. However, it's a completely different story when I fall asleep. I dream of Freddie's dark eyes luring me in, his lips trailing kisses from my mouth down to my neck and his large hands holding out my cardigan as he blindfolds me from seeing what he'd do next. When I wake up, panting,  I can't help but wonder if he has these dreams too. If he dreams of me as much as I dream of him.

I am currently in my room, listening to The Fray when I hear my phone cut into a call. I look down at the caller ID and roll my eyes. As I tie my hair back into a loose ponytail, I grab the device and bring it to my ear.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice evident that I didn't want to talk. However, that didn't seem to matter.

"Hey, Amanda!" It was my foster mother, the one who only wanted a paycheck. She sounded chipper, which confused me. "Do you think you can come by the house this afternoon?" she asked.

I bit down on my lower lip, unsure of what to say. Although I still have some items from my childhood inside my old bedroom, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back there. I worked hard to get out of that house, I wasn't willing to go there again. However, I knew how manipulative my foster mother could be, and I knew if I didn't say yes to her request, she'd guilt trip me somehow.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Uhm, sure," I replied. "if you don't mind me asking, why?"

"I need to talk to you," she said simply. I can hear her taking a sip of her wine glass and then put it down. "in person, that is. I'll see you at 4:30."

With that, the line went dead.

°°

    I didn't particularly like my foster parents. Aside from the abuse, their snobby demeanor drove me over the edge. I despised their large house, furniture and everything else in between. The drive up to their immaculate house was surprisingly smooth, but the memories from my childhood had me at a mental standstill.

Why, after all these years, did my so-called mother want to see me? Why did she want back at her house? Does she want to treat me like shit? So many questions were swarming around in my mind, and I had no answers for  them. 

Pulling up into the driveway, I felt my body begin to tremble in anxiousness. I looked straight ahead at the painted numbers lounging on the side of the house, and the question of why I was here was the only clear, clean-cut voice in my head. The memories of being kicked, punched, told I was nothing but a loser flashed in my mind.

  Just as I was about to turn off my car, I see my foster dad -- whose name was Bill -- come around the corner of the front door. His thinning, faded brown hair was now resting on the top of his head, and his once youthful face appeared to be aging beyond his years. He waved at me, which caused me to automatically flinch at the sight of his hand raised.

I quickly cover up my motion with a fake smile. Bill comes over to my driver's side window, motioning me to roll down the window.

Once it was rolled all the way down, I hear his gravelly voice greet me with a smile. "Welcome home, Am." He says, as if he's called me that all throughout my childhood.

I gulp, not sure as to what to say next. Instead, I just nod. "It's good to be home." I lie.

Bill turns on his heel as he walks to the front door. Waving me over, he shouts, "Your mom is waiting for you in the kitchen!"

I sigh. I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my purse. As I shut and lock my car door, I silently pray to God that He gives me the answers I need to get this whole thing over with.

°°

     I step inside the foyer to be greeted by my foster parents' large Bull Mastiff, Chuck. He is tame but the one thing I'm not fond of is his slobber. I scratch underneath his chin, scratch his ears, then slowly make my way into the kitchen on the left side of me.

   The kitchen is as immaculate as it was when I lived here all those years ago. I see my mom tossing a salad with her prongs and she greets me with a genuine smile. I couldn't help but wonder if she was drunk or stoned or had gone mad. She never smiled at me unless she was drunk and getting her way in discipline.

   "Hi, Amanda!" she pulls me into a hug. "It's good to see you!"

   I froze, but nonetheless reluctantly hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too." I pull my head away from her and look into her green eyes timidly. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

   "Before I begin," she says, "there's someone I'd like you to meet." She grabs my hand gently and guides me into the dining room.

  "Amanda," she continues. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Highmore, our real-estate agent!"

My heart stops as I make eye contact with Freddie. His blue-gray eyes stare at me intently, causing me to feel fulfilled yet empty at the same time.

He smirks at me as his hands are clasped together in front of his torso.

   "Hello, Amanda."

°°°