Stella
With a loud groan, I fall back onto my bed. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.
Twisting my head to the side, I stare out of the window at the quickly descending sun. The summer in London has been incredible—nothing like I was expecting when I told people where I was moving this time.
To everyone on the other side of the pond, all it does in England is rain.
Well, the sunburn on my shoulders is proof that that isn't actually the case.
We've been here almost two months, and other than sitting in the yard, I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually left the house.
I mean, I'm not entirely sure where I'd go if I did, but I'm starting to lose my mind. Like I’m forgetting who I really am.
Dad knows he can trust me, so the fact that he's requested that I don't go anywhere without him tells me that he's deadly serious. So as much as it's killed me, I've stayed put while he's disappeared off to wherever he goes.
I shouldn't complain; of all the houses we've lived in over the years, this is by far one of the nicest. I don't even want to think about just how much it must cost. The only thing I'm missing is space, but then I guess this is London, not Montana.
I blow out a breath as I stare at the burning orange sun that's descending behind the trees at the end of our yard.
My fingers twist in the sheets beneath me with my need to get out. With my need to move… and not just in the basement gym. I need to reconnect with the person I am outside of these four walls that are beginning to feel like a prison.
"Fuck it," I mutter, jumping up and pulling my closet door open.
I find a pair of sneakers and drag them on my feet before heading out of my room.
The house, as always, is in silence. I've got the entire second floor to myself. It's totally over the top and unnecessary, but Dad has always been the same. All the houses we've lived in have been way too big for the two of us and the couple of staff he employs.
I come to a stop at the kitchen door when I hear Angie, our housekeeper, crashing around, probably tidying up from dinner.
I don't want to sneak out. I don't want to be that person. But equally, I don't want her to call Dad the second I turn my back and to have to deal with him knowing that I ignored his wishes.
“Evenin’ Mrs. A,” I announce as I march into the room.
“Is there something you need, honey?” Angie asks softly, standing from where she was loading the dishwasher.
“No, thank you.” Although it soon becomes clear that’s a lie when I stop in front of one specific cupboard and pull it open.
“Estella,” she growls when my hand reappears with my fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of vodka, although I don’t miss the glint in her eye.
“What?” I ask with a smile, hopping up onto the cool marble counter. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do around here.” Her lips part to respond, but no words leave her mouth as I swallow my first shot. It burns all the way down my throat, just like I needed. She knows I’m right. “Any word on when Dad will be home?”
“He said he’d be late.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes and take another shot. “At least here this is almost legal, right?”
“Please don’t drink all of that tonight,” she pleads, eyeing the bottle.
“Oh come on, I know you were a wild child back in the day, Mrs. A.”
“Uh—”
“I’m going to bed with my friend here.” I wiggle the bottle at her cutting off her lie with a sassy smile on my lips.
“Stella, I—”
“Have a good evening, Angie. Night.” I wave her off as I slip out of the room and move toward the stairs in case she’s watching.
Glancing behind me, I double back and head for the rear of the house in the hope that I can slip out without security noticing.