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22
Carrigan
Four days. That’s how long I sit in my hotel room, trying to figure out what to do; who I am and who I want to be.
Four days without seeing or hearing from Carson.
Four days without feeling whole.
Four days is how long it takes me to stop moping and become irrationally angry. Angry at him for making me think, angry at myself for being so weak that I hadn’t figured this out for myself. But mainly I’m angry at my parents. I’m angry that they were as complicit in everything I did as I was, but that they get to run away and leave me to deal with the consequences alone. I’m angry that they didn’t take me with them and I’m angry that I want to go.
Four days is how long this anger and fury festers inside of me before I start to do something.
Snatching up the hotel telephone I dial down to reception.
“Haywood Hotel, how may I assist you?” the cheerful voice asks.
“Can I have the biggest ice cream sundae you do and a martini, extra dry please?” I ask, smiling manically as I order things that I would never have been allowed if my mom was here.
“Of course, I’ll have room service bring that up to your room, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No thank you.”
“Okay, thank you ma’am.”
Placing the receiver down, I jump up from the bed, suddenly too agitated to sit still for a moment longer. Glancing down at the robe I’m wearing, I frown. How long was I really planning on hiding in this room, basking in my misery? Ripping the robe off, I throw it to the floor and head for the bathroom, letting the hot shower wash all of my pathetic mopiness down the drain. When I emerge, pink skinned, I pull on the outfit I wore home from Carson’s the other night, turning to assess myself in the mirror.
The blouse is my signature pink color, but my mom would hate this outfit, which only makes me love it more. Twisting to the side I take in my reflection, I look like me, only different. My eyes are bright but full of sadness and regret. I don’t want to be this person, this pathetic, weak creature that hides from life.
The time for feeling sorry for myself has passed, my sister forced herself out from the shadows and bloomed in the sunlight, and now she’s happy and in love and free, and I want that too. I broke that will, but I’m still shackled to it by regret, guilt, and loss. I need to move on. Carson was right, he told me I could choose who to be, only he couldn’t make this decision for me, I needed to find my way here on my own.
A knock at the door heralds the arrival of my food and I throw it open and invite the server in, adding a large tip to the bill before closing the door behind him and diving for my ice cream. The cold vanilla coats my mouth, making each taste bud burst to life as I groan around the spoon. Each mouthful tastes like rebellion and happiness and life. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and by the time I’m scaping the last bite from the bottom of the glass I know what I need to do.
It’s time to reclaim my life, forge a new future for myself and stop living in the past. My parents were wrong, I have value and worth beyond that inheritance. If Tally can find happiness, maybe I can find a way to atone for my sins and perhaps seek a little revenge on the way.
* * *
The car service pulls into the St Augustus drive and I pull in a reaffirming breath. Today, for the first time, I want to be here, but that doesn’t make walking the halls of the school any less nerve wracking.
Squeezing my fingers together into fists I try to stop the trembling in my hands. For years St Augustus has been my domain. When I walk down the halls people stop and stare, it used to be because I was on the verge of inheriting a fortune, but today I plan to make them stop and turn for a different reason.
Instead of trying to sneak in without anyone noticing, I’ve timed my entrance so everyone will see me. Today I won’t hide from their penetrating stares, it’s time to reclaim my identity and this is the first step. When the car pulls to a stop a few feet from the entrance steps I pull in a deep breath, lift my chin, and remind myself who I am.
I’m Carrigan Prudence Archibald and I gave up billions of dollars to save myself and my twin sister. I’m not perfect and I’ve done truly awful things, but I won’t cower away from my actions.
The door opens and I only pause for a second before I twist in my seat, dropping my feet to the floor, then I rise to my full height. Lifting my eyes, I smirk at the onlookers whose mouths fall open.
Gone is my poker straight, honey blonde hair, replaced with platinum blonde, textured waves that frame my face in a sexily disheveled way. Gone is the natural, flawless makeup my mom painstakingly taught me how to perfect, replaced with a nude lip and dark eye liner that makes my blue eyes seem twice as big. Gone is the conservative knee length skirt chosen to remind everyone that my virtue is intact, replaced with the mid-thigh version that Carson flipped up while he fucked me over a couch just a few days ago.
Each of my steps is purposeful and full of renewed confidence. I’m still me, only this version I like, this version I chose. This isn’t my parents’ image of me, this is who I’m deciding to be and it feels like with each step I take I shed more of the weight of shame and expectation that’s been holding me hostage.
Today I’m telling the all too familiar eyes on me that I won’t cower, that I’m no longer ashamed. For the first time since I gave up a fortune I feel like me again, and my classmates and everyone else who watches me go knows it too. The other students and their opinions aren’t important anymore. There’s only a handful of people at St Augustus that I want to see and it’s time to find them.
“Carrigan,” my sister says, her mouth falling open for a second before it curves into a wide smile. “I love the new look.”
“Thanks,” I say, lifting my hand to flip the hair that’s fallen into my eyes out of the way.
“Are you okay?” she asks, cautiously.
