by R. A. Smyth
Trying to be civil and not get us off on the wrong foot right away, I open my mouth to tell him I’ve no intention of messing with his business plans, but instead out blurts, “Look, I didn't ask to come here, I'm more than happy to go home -” I blurt.
Oops.
That was not what I meant to say at all. Guess I never really was one to bow down and take other people’s shit.
Slamming his hand on the table, cheeks reddening in anger, Robert interrupts me, snarling as the beast inside him rises to the surface, showing me his true self. “Did you not just listen to a damn word I said, girl?! You will do as you are told. You are only here because I was nice enough to rescue you from that cesspit you called a home. While you live under my roof you will wear what you are told to wear, talk when you are told to talk, and behave as you are told to behave. Nothing should come out of that mouth of yours other than ‘Yes sir’. Do you hear me?”
I just about manage to get “Yes, sir” spat out through my gritted teeth. Is this guy for fucking real? If I was unsure before, it is 100% clear now that this is no long-lost, loving, father-daughter reunion. Why am I even here? It sure as hell isn’t because he just found out he had a daughter and wants to get to know her.
I won’t deny his anger has a shiver of fear running up my spine, but there is no way in hell I’m going to blindly follow his rules and do as he orders. He thinks he can intimidate me, scare me into obedience, but he has no idea who I am, what I have faced. That cesspit I grew up in hardened me, made me strong, a survivor, a fighter. I have lived through the capricious nature that was my mother’s emotions, survived the grabby hands of the strangers she brought home, endured a whole existence alone, without anyone to lean on. I can easily adapt to handle an egocentric, arrogant asshat.
This whole introduction has confirmed, though, that this man has no interest in getting to know me, in building a relationship with me, as he had claimed to Nicole. His assurances were nothing but empty words.
So why then am I here?
He must have his own agenda, some reason for why he brought me here.
I will have to look out for myself, have my own back, if I want to survive this house, this town. I’ll obey his rules, for now. It won’t do me any good to anger him unnecessarily and it’s not as though I have many choices. No, for now I’ll play along, get an education, save some money and bide my time until I’m eighteen. Then I’m getting the hell out of here.
Appeased by my obedience, Robert smiles at me. Not a nice smile, it’s a cruel slash across his face, as though he has no idea how to actually smile, like his muscles have never been used for such a mundane purpose.
Moving on, he gets back to what he was saying before he blew a gasket. “You are enrolled in Crescentwood Prep school. The semester started a few weeks ago so you shouldn’t be that far behind and I expect no issues when it comes to catching up. Remember that when you are at school you represent this family. I will be keeping an eye on you to ensure you acclimate without issue. Understood?”
Forcing out a final “Yes, sir”, my father nods and returns to the paperwork on his desk, effectively dismissing me. Not wanting to subject myself to his presence any further, I hurriedly get up and leave the room.
Thomas is waiting for me at the end of the hall. “Let me take you on a quick tour of the rest of the house, then I’ll show you to your room and let you get some rest.”
Following behind him, taking in my surroundings, my new home, I pick up on the details that I missed on my first inspection of the house. This time, I notice there is nothing personal on display - No photographs or anything to tell you about who occupies this house, the people that live here. Everything is so impersonal, almost as though it's staged.
Leading me back to the front of the house where I first arrived, Thomas starts the tour. “This is the entrance foyer, miss. You can meet your driver here in the mornings. The stairs lead up to the sleeping quarters. I’ve already pointed out to you the theatre room, so I’ll show you where the kitchen is, then we can move on to the library and swimming pool and I’ll point out the ballroom on our way past, however, it is only used for special occasions.”
As Thomas leads me down endless corridors, I realise I’m going to need a map to navigate this maze of a mansion.
Once finished showing me around the ground floor, Thomas leads me upstairs to the bedrooms. Once we have ascended the stairs, Thomas points to the suite of rooms on my left and informs me they are my father’s rooms and I am not to go down that side of the house under any circumstances.
Instead, we turn right at the top of the stairs, by-passing several closed doors, which Thomas explains are spare bedrooms, before we stop in front of a door at the end of the hall, right at the back of the building, far away from the stairs and the rest of the house.
Thomas opens the door and ushers me into the room. “This is your room, miss. I hope everything is to your liking.” Giving me a polite smile, he dips his head before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself, leaving me alone for the first time since I got off the airplane.
Turning to take in the room, I can’t believe the sight before me. This room is the size of one entire floor of my house back home. It has been tastefully decorated, with the walls painted in pale blue and grey and there is a huge king size bed with a simple grey and white duvet cover taking up a large portion of the room. To the side of the bed is a set of French patio doors made entirely of glass, enabling me to see the beautifully manicured gardens below and the surrounding forest beyond the property’s walls. There is a guard rail on the outside of the doors so they can be opened to allow fresh air into the room. A small seating area with a TV angled so you can see it from both the sofa and the bed is set up in front of the doors, with a desk off to the side. In the corner of the room is a small reading nook with a comfy-looking armchair and reading lamp.
On the other side of the room are two doors. Opening one of them I walk into a massive walk-in closet, complete with a dressing table to sit at and do my hair and make-up. There are already clothes and accessories filling most of the space. Rifling through some of them, I notice everything is in my size. That’s not creepy at all.
Not wanting to dwell on that disturbing bit of information, I make my way over to the other door, which opens into a modern bathroom done in black and white tile with spotlights along the ceiling. There is a rainfall shower and a huge deep tub that I could just sink into. Once again there is already a range of shampoos and shower gels in the cupboards for me, and they all smell amazing! Much better than the cheap supermarket crap I’m used to.
Okay, so maybe living here won’t be so bad, especially if I never have to leave my bedroom.
Later that day, after I have unpacked my sparse belongings, I’m sitting trying to work out what to do when there is a knock at my door. Opening it, there is a maid in the doorway.
“Miss, I’ve brought a sandwich up for you, Thomas thought you may be too jet-lagged to come down for dinner.”
At the mention of food, my stomach starts to growl, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since my flight. Thank God for Thomas! He’s right, there was no way I wanted to leave this sanctuary and risk running into my father. Thanking the maid, I take the sandwich over to my desk and dig in.
While I’m munching away on the tastiest sandwich I’ve ever had, I flick through the brochure of this new fancy school I’ll be starting tomorrow. The school looks nothing like my old one. From the pictures in the brochure, the main building is a large gothic-style stone building with a central tower and huge glass windows. It’s the sort of building you would expect to find at universities like Oxford or Cambridge, or I guess that you would find at Ivy League colleges here in the United States. Other pictures show stables, a brand-new Olympic sports stadium, and even a theatre that looks like it belongs on Broadway. The list of clubs and extracurriculars is a mile long and, unfortunately, it is compulsory to partake in at least one of them.
Looking down the list of options, nothing stands out as all that appealing. I've never been a team player, I don’t play a musical instrument and I refuse to do anything that involves getting up on a stage and looking like an idiot. Unfortunately, that narrows the list down quite significantly. Perhaps I'll join the track team. That's an individual sport and while I've never been much of a runner, I am used to physical activity from my previous jobs and walking everywhere, so I can probably run without keeling over and dying. Right?
Once I’ve finished my sandwich, I move over to the walk-in wardrobe to inspect my uniform before I climb into bed for the night. I'm amazed at the quality of the material. I wore a uniform at my old high school so wearing one tomorrow isn't an issue, but I'm used to over-starched shirts and uncomfortable knee-length grey skirts. This uniform is on a whole other league. It's so soft to touch when I run my hand through the pleats in the black skirt, which has a daring red trim. The shirt is also black with short sleeves and a red tie and there is an optional red and black jumper with the initials ‘CWP’ stitched into the right breast, which I can wear over the shirt when it gets colder out.
I notice a pair of black four-inch heels have been set out beside the uniform, clearly intended for me to wear along with a pair of white knee-high socks. Yeah, that’s not happening unless I want to break a leg or have the whole school see my underwear. No thanks. I have the perfect pair of red and black Converse that will go with the uniform and save me from never-ending embarrassment.
With everything sorted, there is nothing left to do but climb into bed and wonder what tomorrow and the rest of my time here will bring me. Hopefully, the kids at school won't be so bad. The only experience I have with any of this is what I've seen in teenage movies and TV shows – God, I hope they aren’t based on reality.
Chapter 5
The blaring of my alarm wakes me up at six a.m. School in America starts at eight o’clock instead of the nine I'm used to. What is wrong with this country? Don't they like to lie in? I would usually only be awake this early if I was working in the café before school started, otherwise you couldn’t expect to see me out of bed before eight a.m. during the week.
It doesn’t help that I barely slept last night with everything that has happened, and everything that’s to come today, going through my mind. I don’t know what to expect, but I have to be prepared for anything.
With one last deep breath, I throw back the covers and climb out of bed and into the enormous shower. I've never had such a relaxing shower, or smelt so damn good, in my entire life, and it works wonders for waking me up. If only it could calm my nerves as well.
Thirty minutes later I'm showered, dried, and standing in front of my mirror in my new uniform. I have to say, the pleated skirt and fitted shirt fit me perfectly. It shows off my long thin legs and curvy hips. Usually, I worry that I'm too thin, thanks to a lifetime of not being able to afford enough food, but it would seem form-fitting clothes is what has been missing from my life.
The only thing is that I look like I belong in some high-end high school porn movie, or at least I would if I had donned the high heels. I’ve never felt so sexualized by a piece of clothing. Is that all the girls here represent – an outdated sex symbol? I’m sure as hell more than just a piece of meat to be gawked over and man-handled.
After doing my makeup, ignoring half of the stuff on my make-up table - I've never worn blusher or highlighter in my life. Heck, most of the time I didn’t have money to spare on any make-up at all, so some basic foundation, mascara, and lipstick is plenty for me – I stuff my feet in my Converse. Feeling like I have my armour in place, I'm ready to face the day.
Leaving the safety of my room, I wander back through the house towards the kitchen, hoping I don’t run into Robert. I don’t want to have to deal with his bullshit this early in the morning.
I successfully find my way to the kitchen without any wrong turns. Yay me! Small wins and all that. Finding myself alone, I have the time to take it in properly. The kitchen is a beautiful, large, open-plan room with whitewashed cabinets and a large island in the middle of the room. Off to the side, in front of a set of patio doors that open out into the back garden, is a cute breakfast nook where I can imagine happy family meals of pancakes and laughter. Not this family, but other, normal, loving families.
Turning my attention back to my need for coffee this morning, I hunt through the cupboards until I find a to-go mug so I can drink it on the way to school. There is a fancy coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen but one look at it, with its numerous buttons and functions, tells me I won’t be able to work out how to use it in the next five minutes before I have to leave. Turning to search the cupboards for some instant coffee, I notice some steeping in a pot and pour myself a cup of that. Adding a decent amount of milk, I take my coffee and head towards the foyer and out the front door where there is a car already waiting for me.
The driver from yesterday - I should really learn his name if he's going to be driving me to and from school every day - is sitting in the driver’s seat of a different car than the one I arrived in yesterday. Today’s car is a huge black 4×4 type thing. I think it’s a Chevrolet, but I don’t know much about the different makes and models of American cars. The car is massive though. It looks like something I imagine state officials ride around in, accompanied by their many bodyguards. Definitely a bit much for little ol’ me.
"Morning," I say to the driver as I climb into the backseat, giving him a welcoming smile, not only to be polite but knowing that I can do with all the help I can get in this new reality I’ve found myself in. If I can get Thomas and the driver to warm up to me and help me out a little, it could come in handy at some point.
Showing me his sunny disposition, the driver chooses to ignore me, starting the car and heading down the driveway. Yeah, I didn’t think it would be that easy with him but I’m a persistent person, I’ll wear him down, eventually. Either that or I’ll piss him off so immensely he drives me deep into the forest, murders me, and buries my body where no one will ever find it.
◆◆◆
Twenty minutes later, we drive through the gates of the school, pulling up in a parking area outside the main building that makes up the front of the school that was showcased all over the brochure in my room. The building is even more impressive in real life, and a lot more intimidating.
Looking around, I can see several incredibly expensive cars sitting in the parking lot. I only recognise a few of the car decals, namely the Ferraris and Lamborghinis, but it’s clear that there are many other one of a kind supercars present.
Boys and girls are standing in groups around the cars, sitting on the school steps and nearby benches. They look nothing like the kids from my old school. Everywhere I look, I can see money oozing out of the pores of these kids. From their designer school bags and shoes, to the diamond earrings and tennis bracelets, and the perfectly styled hair and professionally done make-up, everything screams money. I can already tell I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb. I have nothing in common with these people, there is no way I can fit in with them, regardless of what my father might want me to do.
Some of the students nearby look my way as I climb out of the car and head towards the main building. I can feel people’s eyes on the back of my head and hear them gossiping to each other as I walk by. I wouldn't say I'm a self-conscious person, but I feel very self-aware right now. Wrangling my nerves under control, I take a deep breath and give myself a mental pep talk not to show these rich assholes any signs of weakness. Holding my head high, I stride up the steps and into the building towards the office, outwardly emanating as much confidence as I can muster.
The inside of the building is as gorgeous as the outside. They have maintained much of what I imagine is the original architecture, with lots of wood everywhere and slate floors. The entrance hall is two stories high, with a stained-glass window in the roof allowing coloured light to filter down and reflect off the walls. It’s stunning.
Seeing a sign indicating that the school office is down a hallway on the right, I head in that direction. I step through a door into a smaller room with windows along the right wall offering a view of the car park and the students who are still milling around outside, enjoying their last minutes of freedom before the bell rings.
Opposite the door is a large desk with several secretaries working away on their computers or talking on the phone. Seats are lining the left wall and at the far end is a door with a plaque on it stating it is the Headmaster's office.
“May I help you?” a woman behind the desk asks, directing my attention back to the secretaries hard at work.
“Yeah, hi, I’m Sophie Prescott, I’m new.”
“Ok, let me check our system and get your schedule for you.”
She taps away on her computer for several moments before frowning and turning her gaze back to me. “There is no Sophie Prescott in our system. Is it possible you were enrolled under a different name?”
I mentally roll my eyes as realisation dawns on me, “Try Sophie Montgomery”.
Typing in the new surname, “Ah yes, Sophie Montgomery. Your father enrolled you last week. We don’t usually allow late admissions, but given your circumstances, and a generous donation made by your father, exceptions were made. I am sorry for your loss, I can’t imagine what you and your father are going through right now - to lose a wife and a mother. Send your father my regards”.
“Emm, yeah thanks, will do.”
What is this woman going on about? She made it sound like Robert pretended to the school that his wife died, as though we had all been one big happy family before now.
I just know something more is going on with my father. I’ve spent my whole life learning to see through my mothers’ manipulations and lies; to read someone’s emotions with a single look. My father is a cold, manipulative narcissist who is hiding who he really is. I need to find out why, especially since whatever he’s up to has something to do with me.
