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The man in question is no other than the hotel tycoon, Mason Channing. Mr. Channing is much older than Ms. Newman, who recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday, according to records uncovered by Six on Your Side’s investigative department.
While some may argue that they’re both consenting adults, it’s what the parents of this young girl had to say to our cameras that has some people upset, including a few investors in Channing’s latest hotel venture.”
WHAT?
What is this?
Some sick joke?
My stomach turns, but it only gets worse. Because the camera cuts to a shot of my mom and dad sitting on the couch in our apartment, which looks even more rundown than before. The furniture is raggedy and sad, a hole in the wall clearly visible behind their heads.
Oh god, why are they on TV?
Talking about me no less?
Neither Nicole or I have spoken to either of my parents since that dramatic day when Mason saved us. Of course, they continued to call, but we shut off our phones, switching numbers. And since then, there’s been nada. It’s for the better, Rhonda and Jim are never good news
And now was no exception.
Because as I watch, my parents smirk on screen.
“Did you ever meet Mr. Channing?” the reporter asks my mother, who is wearing a red turtleneck. They must have spackled Rhonda with make-up, she looks almost healthy, which is far from the truth.
Rhonda nods sadly.
“He would come and pick her up, but we didn’t know it. Carrie never really told us where she was going and we always thought it was with friends,” my mom coos sadly. “You know how teenagers are.”
“Of course,” the reporter nods. But then she leans forward. “Did all this happen before or after your daughter’s eighteenth birthday?”
My heart sinks then. All air leaves my lungs in anticipation of Rhonda’s response. Please Mom, I beg internally. Please tell the truth. Please please please, just this once.
But no such luck. Looking sorrowfully into the camera, Rhonda speaks.
“I don’t think so,” she shakes her head slowly. “We don’t know exactly when the relationship started, so Carrie could have been seventeen or eighteen. Seeing that she’s so vulnerable, probably seventeen.”
The reporter nods sagely, turning to my dad then.
“And Mr. Newman, you said you confronted Mr. Channing, is that right?”
Jim smirks, loving the attention.
“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let a grown man come and steal my baby girl away. I told him he’d lost his mind, but he wasn’t backing down. Mason Channing treated her like a piece of property, and now we don’t even know where he’s taken her,” he says, making puppy dog eyes towards the camera. “You hear me Carrie? You out there sweet thing? Mommy and Daddy love you and miss you.”
This is too much.
“You fucking liar!” I scream at the television as the screen cuts back to the studio. “You’re such liars, making me out as a lost child!”
I can’t bear to watch another second of it, and snap the television off with trembling hands before sinking to the sofa, my face falling into my palms.
In my heart of hearts I honestly thought I could one day forgive my parents. Secretly, I hoped they’d get it together and that we could co-exist peacefully. I was even hoping we might be able to stay with them, since things weren’t working out with Mason.
But clearly not. Clearly Rhonda and Jim are using me to their own advantage again. They were making me out to be the young, sweet naïf swept off her feet by a much older man. Not just that, but they were making Mr. Channing out to be a criminal.
But it was all backwards. I’m a grown woman, and have been for a long time. In fact, I grew up fast because of Rhonda and Jim. Their irresponsible ways, the benders, the eviction notices, had made me into an adult since way before I actually hit legal age. And my parents knew it, they were merely milking the spotlight for all it was worth.
But what could they get out of this?
What was their goal?
I have no money.
Nicole has no money.
Could it be Mason? Were they blackmailing him?
Oh god.
Fingers trembling, I dial the billionaire’s cell. He answers before the first ring even sounds.
“Carrie.”
His voice is flat and devoid of emotion.
“Have you, um….” My voice fades, unable to speak the words.
“Your parents are assholes,” he bites into the phone as my heart sinks.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I struggle to find adequate words to express how I feel. Everything about breaking up is pushed to the wayside. There are more important things now.
“It’s not your fault,” he says in a rasp. “Not your fault at all.”
But I feel like it’s my fault. He’s about to launch a hotel in Paris, and it’s been screwed up by these false allegations tinged with pedophilia and all-around dirtiness. But none of it was dirty. In fact, it was so real that my heart’s breaking now, emotions swirling in a flood of titanic proportions.
