I take a deep breath and paint a smile on my face. These assholes would love a video of the nation’s princess losing her fucking shit to go viral online. I’m not about to give that to them.
“Do you want me to give you a ride home? The garage dropped my car off at lunch,” she asks, but I shake my head.
“No, I’m good. Come on, let’s go face my adoring audience.” My sarcasm is thick, but she looks as devastated about the state of my car as I feel. Fucking assholes, the lot of them.
I’m not sure what they think any of this is going to achieve, but I’m not going anywhere. My only stipulation in the will was a 4.0 GPA from this school and staying with my guardian, so even if they burn my shit to the ground, I’m here to stay.
Indi steps fully out of the door, and I follow her out, pulling my aviators from my bag and sliding them onto my face. I finger wave at those with their cameras out, smiling like I couldn’t give a fuck about the state of my car. Lincoln and company watch me as I head to my car before they climb into Lincoln’s 4x4 and head out of the lot.
Fuck them all.
Fuck every single asshole here that thinks making my life hard is funny.
I get in the car and hook up my phone before blasting “Fuck You” by Don Vedda. I hit the wipers, smearing the paint just enough that I can actually fucking see and peel out of the lot. I clutch the steering wheel so tight my knuckles go white. Yellow paint spills down the rear window as I drive, fueling my rage. Angry tears fall down my face, which just pisses me off more.
I end up stuck in a row of traffic, and the stares from people when they see the car just prickles me further. The car can be fixed, but it’s the sheer fucking audacity of it all. What gives these pricks the right to fuck with me just because I came back to this hellhole?
If they’re not careful, they’re going to push me too far, and they’re not going to like it when I fight back. I don’t fight like these prissy rich bitches. I’m all about getting my hands dirty. Be it blood or actual dirt, I’m not afraid of throwing hands. The one thing about growing up with roadies and a security team… My life was different from all of the people here. Their petty bullshit is just that.
It takes way too long to get home, and just as I’m pulling up to the house, I spot Lincoln leaving his house. Finley and Maverick are with him, and both of them look surprised to see me pulling into my drive. I guess the details of my move hadn’t made it to them yet.
Interesting.
I hit the clicker on my keys, and the gates swing open. It doesn’t take a minute to reach the front of the house, but the yellow paint is dripping all over the drive. I fucking hate people. It’s official.
I need to run. It’s the only way I’m going to destress. Usually I’d use music, but after this fucking day, there isn’t a chance I’m touching an instrument again any time soon.
I grab my bag and head inside, finding Smithy in the kitchen. “Good day, Miss Octavia?”
“Not exactly,” I sigh, and jump up onto one of the stools at the island.
“This calls for a milkshake,” he says, frowning. I’m not sure how he always knows the perfect thing to aid my calm, but in less than three minutes, the thickest, chocolatiest milkshake is in front of me, and he smiles sadly. “Drink up, then tell me all about it.”
I take a sip of the shake. It’s like a mouthful of happy and ecstasy, and the flavors burst over my tongue. I tell him about my car, though I leave out some of the other, more delightful, parts of my day. I’d have hidden the car thing from him if I thought it was possible—he’s already done more than enough for me, he shouldn’t have to deal with shit like this too. But there’s no way he would have missed the damage to the car. He’s not blind.
“I have a man who can fix your car, let me handle that. It might take about a week, but I’m sure we can sort you out a lease in the meantime.” He pats my shoulder gently before getting up and pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call him now. You head upstairs and take a nice long, relaxing bubble bath.”
“I’m thinking about going for a run, but that sounds perfect. I’ll do that later. Thanks, Smithy, you’re the best.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Miss Octavia, and I think a call to Mr. Evans to remind him exactly who funded that new football field is in order. Your father was very generous to that school, and it’s appalling that Mr. Evans forgets who was good to him when he needed it.”
“You don’t need to do that. It’ll just make things worse,” I tell him with a sigh before taking another sip of the heavenly milkshake.
He frowns at me and shakes his head. “Let me go and make a call about your car, the rest we can discuss later.” He leaves the room before I can respond, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which is possibly the worst place I could be.
Fuck this shit, I’m going to run.
* * *
My run through town takes the edge off of the burning anger, but it’s still a fiery pit inside of me. Mac thought I should see a therapist after Dad’s death, but I’ve never really been the kind to sit and talk to a stranger about how I’m feeling. Usually I’d write it out and put it into a song. Dad always said every experience in life is just another plot line, but considering the fact that every time I try to play I end up crying, that isn’t an option right now.
So I run, and I keep running, until I can’t anymore… Then I go a little further. Except this godforsaken town just won’t let me have any peace. If it’s not someone from school staring and pointing, it’s the paparazzi who think I can’t see them, trying to get a picture of me being anything other than the picture of perfection they’ve always made me out to be.
You’d think the death of my dad would excuse me from the paparazzi chaos I’ve experienced since I went on tour with him, but apparently not. I managed to get some privacy when I first came here, but I guess more than one video or photo of the shit from school told the vultures where I ended up.
Wonderful.
By the time I reach the shoreline, my chest burns, but my anger hasn’t subsided in the slightest. If anything, it’s grown. So I push myself onto the sand and keep running. The summer sun beats down on me, and sweat trickles down my back as I run. The burn in my legs intensifies, but I push through.