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Focusing my attention back on the mirror, I tilt my head to the side and try to see what he sees, but all I see is my sister’s face and my eyes.
Today is the first step in our plan to get revenge on my parents. The others decided that we needed to present a united front, to tell the world that my sister and I are a package deal, that whatever rift there might have been between us has been healed. But I don’t know if we’re acting or if we’re actually okay. The idea that she could forgive me for everything I’ve done to her seems bizarre, no matter how many times she says she doesn’t hate me.
None of this feels real, and the thought that this is all some elaborate plot, that Izabella hates me and that Hawthorn is just pretending, tortures me. Because I don’t deserve forgiveness, and no one could ever want just me without the inheritance. The only thing that makes sense is that everything that’s happened in the last few days is just them enacting their own revenge on me.
The idea circles through my mind on a loop, playing over and over so loudly that I lift my hands to my ears and cover them, desperate to quiet my mind. Closing my eyes, I beg for silence, but all I manage to do is turn down the volume on my doubts and worries.
Unable to look at myself in the mirror again, I spin around and open my eyes. Looking to my right, I spot a single glimmer of hope. A plastic cup full of green juice is sitting on the counter. Just like yesterday, Hawthorn ordered it for me, handing it to me without judgment.
He wouldn’t do that if this was all just a cruel joke. He wouldn’t wrap me in his arms while we slept or support me through every meltdown I have.
Everything that’s happening could all just be pretend, but I hope it’s not. I hope my sister doesn’t hate me enough to plan all this. I hope that it’s possible for Hawthorn to want to be with me, even though I’m worthless. I hope that they all really do want to help me get revenge on my parents.
Hope. It’s fickle and fleeting, but I cling to it, holding on to it so tightly and begging it to be real, hoping that maybe I’m not beyond redemption, that everything that’s happening is real, that he’s mine and I’m his.
Stepping into the bedroom, I find Hawthorn fully dressed in his school uniform, lounging across the bed, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watches me.
“Did I tell you how much I like you in that skirt?” he asks me with a salacious smirk.
The moment I hear his voice, my mind goes blissfully quiet.
“Bend over for me, Princess, show me what color panties I’m going to be carrying in my pocket all day.”
A smile curls my lips as heat fills my cheeks, embarrassed at the reminder that he stole my panties after he fucked me the other day.
“Fuck, you’re fucking adorable. Thirty minutes ago, you were riding my fingers with my thumb in your ass, now you’re blushing because I asked what color panties you had on.” He chuckles, jumping off the bed and closing the distance between us. “Morning, Princess,” he whispers against my lips, kissing me hard and fast, claiming me furiously, then pulling away far too soon. “Let me feed you, then we need to get to Gulliver’s, we’re all going to go together in the limo this morning.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am, and I already made you something to eat, so we need to hurry,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me from the room before I have a chance to argue.
My stomach roils at the thought of eating. I don’t regret the food Hawthorn helped me eat yesterday, but despite him chasing away my mom’s voice in my head, old habits die hard, and I’m more than aware that I went dramatically over my calorie allowance.
This morning in the shower, I’d made a plan just to not eat for a few days to balance out the deficit, but there’s no way I can admit that to him.
“Hawthorn, I can’t…” I start to tell him, but he silences me with his lips, lifting me off the floor and placing me down onto one of the stools.
“Fresh fruit, Greek yogurt, and granola,” he says, ignoring my protest and placing a delicious-looking bowl of healthy food in front of me.
Lowering himself onto the stool next to me, he pulls an identical bowl over to him and then looks at me expectantly.
“I…” I start.
“How many calories did you eat yesterday?” he asks me quickly.
“Two thousand five hundred,” I immediately reply.
“What would have happened if your mom found out you’d gone over your nine hundred fucking calories?” he snarls.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to keep the truth locked inside.
“Answer me, Penelope.”
Shaking my head again, I turn away, not wanting to see the disapproval on his face.
“Do you know what would happen now if you decided all you wanted to eat for the rest of your life was coffee and ice cream?” he demands.
Slowly, turning to look at him, I shake my head.
