“What I’m going to do?” I repeat numbly.
“Well, you’re almost eighteen,” she says. “Maybe you could explain the situation to the school and ask to work something out.”
Oh my God.Why would I ever expect anything else? Of course, she’s not going to help me.
“So I’m just on my own then?” I ask in disbelief.
“Stella, I can hardly take care of myself,” she huffs. “You know I haven’t worked since I got pregnant with you.”
Even now, she chooses to throw that in my face. She’s always been quick to remind me that I ruined her career, but at a time like this, when I need her the most, she tries to make me feel guilty for my existence.
“What are you going to do then?” I ask.
“I’m going to stay in New York for a while until I figure that out.”
“With Luis?” I narrow my eyes.
“It’s none of your concern who I’ll be with.”
“So that’s just it. You came here to tell me I’m basically on my own and to figure it out?”
“If you’d like someone to blame, you can thank your father for this mess,” she retorts. “I hope he enjoys his time in prison when they catch him because I’m done with him, and I think you should be too.”
“There has to be a mistake,” I insist.
“There is no mistake. Now, if you can’t figure that out, then why don’t you go speak with the school office when you return. I’m sure they can confirm your father’s check bounced. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and he chose to abandon us.”
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as I try to wrap my head around what she’s telling me. I don’t want it to be true, but deep in my heart, I know that it probably is. It’s not like there haven’t been signs. The stress on my father’s face. The long hours in the city. The pressure to keep up the lifestyle my mother so desperately demanded. It all adds up to one thing, and what my mother’s telling me isn’t so farfetched when I piece it together. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to hear.
“So just like that. Dad is gone, and you’re leaving too, and I’m on my own.”
“I’m sorry.” My mother’s voice cracks, and for a split second, I think she will reconsider. At least until she opens her mouth again. “For now, that’s the only option we have. We both have to figure out how to make our own way now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SEBASTIAN
GLANCING AT MY WATCH,I check the time and note that I still have twenty minutes before Stella is due in my office. I consider what I asked her to write, and I find that I’m anxious to read her thoughts on the subject. As I’m discovering, there’s a thin line between animosity and obsession when it comes to Stella. I’m having difficulty separating the two.
I see so much of myself at that age in her. An eagerness to please. Dedication and drive. She obviously doesn’t get the attention she requires from her parents, so she seeks it out through other authority figures. Namely, me. At least, that’s what I like to believe. Contemplating the possibility that she might be just as eager with any of her other teachers makes me feel homicidal.
Would it make you feel better if you punished me, Mr. Carter?
She has no idea how much I want to punish her. How many times over the past two weeks I’ve already hate fucked her in my mind. How I’ve imagined her crawling on her knees for me. Ass in the air. Mouth open. I would corrupt her in every possible way if morality wasn’t an issue. But how moral can I really be if I’m intent on breaking her down regardless?
A knock on my door startles me, and I glance over my shoulder as I finish stuffing papers into the briefcase on the table. Nobody ever comes to my house on campus, so I can’t imagine who it could be. Unless Stella got the locations mixed up. Perhaps she’s intentionally trying to tempt me beyond my control by meeting with me in the sanctuary of my home. But it isn’t Stella on the other side of the door when I open it. Beyond reason, I stand there, numb, as my eyes roam the length of my father’s frame.
“Sebastian.” He greets me with the same detached manner he’s always possessed. The militant expression on his face is unchanged, even after five long years. “May I come in?”
The request is a mere formality. Being the man that my father is, he doesn’t wait for a response. He pushes his way inside and makes himself at home at the kitchen table. For a minute, I can’t move. I can’t even blink as I study him. And as usual, it takes me longer than it should to find my voice where he’s concerned.
“What are you doing here?”
He unbuttons his blazer and shrugs. “You haven’t responded to my calls or letters. This is the next logical step.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Well, I have plenty to say to you.” His voice booms through the small space. “So shut the goddamned door and pour us a drink.”