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I told her I was at my father's house, and she arrived shortly after, a fierce look of determination on her face. She hugged me tightly, and I could feel the anger and frustration inside me melting away in her embrace.
We sat on the couch, and I recounted the events of the past few days. How Anthony and I had each gone to speak with my father, and my father had put me on house arrest. How James had been a bastard, risking kids' lives just to get back at Anthony, and how Anthony had to choose between protecting his daughter or being with me and my world.
Becca listened patiently as I ranted, offering words of comfort and support. She understood the depth of my hurt and anger, and she reminded me of all the wonderful things I still had going for me. She offered words of encouragement, and she promised to be there for me in any way she could.
As the night wore on, Becca and I ate comfort food and watched our favorite movies. For a brief moment, I was able to forget the pain and heartache.
The following day, I woke up to the sound of my alarm ringing. I groaned as I reached over to turn it off, feeling the heaviness in my limbs. The events of the previous day had left me feeling drained and defeated. I slowly sat up, rubbing my bleary eyes as I tried to shake off the lethargy in my body and mind.
As I made my way to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying, and my hair was a tangled mess. I sighed, wishing I could just crawl back into bed and sleep for a week.
But I knew I had to get up and face the day. I dragged myself through my morning routine, the motions feeling mechanical and empty. I dressed in a daze, my mind still reeling from the cruel words my father had spoken to me the night before.
I made my way to the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. My father was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He looked up as I entered. His expression was unreadable.
"Morning," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
I nodded in response, not trusting myself to speak. The memory of his words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of my pain and disappointment.
My father cleared his throat, and I flinched, bracing myself for another verbal attack.
"Your house arrest is over now. You may go about your business," he said, his tone dismissive. "Anthony didn't choose you."
The words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my stomach churn with anger and hurt. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that Anthony did love me and that he had no choice but to stay away from us for his and his daughter’s safety. But I knew it would do no good. My father was set in his ways, and nothing I said would change his mind.
Instead, I clenched my jaw and forced myself to walk past him, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back. I wanted to run far away, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of my family’s legacy, but the best I could do at the moment was go to work.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, my steps heavy and leaden. I could feel my father's eyes on me as I walked out, but I refused to look back. I was done with him, done with the toxicity of my father’s world.
As I rode to work, I tried to push the negative thoughts and emotions aside and just focus on the here and now—the sounds and sights of the city around me. The hustle and bustle of the streets, the chatter of pedestrians, the honking of cars. It was a welcome distraction, a reminder that life went on despite my personal struggles.
But even as I immersed myself in the mundane tasks of my job, I couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment and loss that hung on me like an iron blanket. I had thought that Anthony and I had something special, something that could transcend our pasts and our families. But now, it seemed like it had been nothing but a pipe dream.
As the morning wore on, I found myself lost in thought again, my mind wandering to memories of Anthony and the time we had spent together. The way he smiled at me, the feel of his hand in mine, the sound of his voice whispering my name. It was all so vivid, so real.
But at the same time, it felt like a distant dream, something that I could never have again. I knew that it was impossible for the two fathers to protect their daughters and also for Anthony and me to be together. It was a barrier that we could never overcome.
As I sat at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen, my father's words still echoed in my mind, taunting me with their cruelty. I knew I had to push past the hurt and focus on my work, but the weight of my emotions made it nearly impossible to concentrate.
Just as I was about to give up and take a break, Becca burst through the door of my office with a big smile on her face. "Hello, sunshine! I thought we could use a little pick-me-up today," she said, holding up a bag of goodies.
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Becca always had a way of brightening up even the darkest of days.
"What do you have in there?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
She grinned mischievously and pulled out a corset top. "I got us some new clothes for our night out tonight. You should wear this," she said, holding up the garment for me to inspect.
I couldn't help but laugh at her boldness. "Becca, there's a reason I made all the walls of this office glass, to avoid this exact thing you are doing," I said jokingly. However, I was secretly grateful for her attempt to cheer me up.
"I am not your staff," she replied with a smirk, "and besides, it's not like anyone else is around to see us."
I couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine, fine. Let me see what else you've got in there," I said, gesturing for her to continue.
Becca proceeded to pull out an array of dresses, skirts, and tops—each one more daring than the last. As she held them up for me to inspect, I felt a sense of excitement building inside me. It had been a while since we had gone out to the club, and dressing up and letting loose was exactly what I needed.
Becca left, and the anticipation of our night out continued to build up inside me for the rest of the day. Now, as we drove through the bustling city streets, I felt a surge of excitement. Becca had come to pick me up at my apartment, and we had spent the last few hours getting ready at her place. I had never been much of a club-goer, but with Becca by my side, I felt like I could take on the world.
The energy of the city was infectious, and the streets were alive with people moving about their business. The neon lights of the clubs and bars were bright and inviting, and the sounds of music and laughter filled the air. Becca drove like a madwoman, cursing out drivers who dared to get in her way. I couldn't help but laugh at her antics, feeling alive and free.
