28) You're father doesn't deserve a shit, Valerie

I knew it wouldn't go well, but instead of giving up I start pacing in front of my roommate's sports car, then lean my hip against the door: the sun even starts to bother me when my skin gets so wet that I'm almost on the verge of sweating as I look at my reflection in the window to see how badly I look right now.

I widen my eyes when I realize that the black line has stained my eyelids to make an angry panda like face and to make those who don't know me believe that I have been crying.

I snort and walk over to the window of the car to repair the damage on my face, but I squint when I can see through the window, noticing that dozens of photos are scattered around the front seat, all so messy that I can't tell them apart, but I understand that they all capture the same subject.

I bring my head closer to be able to look better, so much that the tip of my nose comes into contact with the glass heated by today's heat.

A woman.

I understand that it is a woman when my eyes are drawn to the muffled images of some long hair.

Long and red.

I open my eyes instantly and my heart rises in my throat, so much that I bring a hand to my chest height when my breathing becomes irregular, but before I can confirm my doubts I feel myself grabbed by the arm from behind and I come forced to turn my heels.

I realize it's Ethan when I slam my back into his car, as he positions himself in front of me with an alarmed and pissed off look at the same time:

"I was ..." - I begin to justify myself when I understand that I have really bothered him with my gesture, as if he had something to hide that I cannot know, but as soon as I open my mouth he hurries to interrupt me:

"Mind your fucking business, Valerie." -he tries to stay calm, but his chest goes up and down in front of me, while my lower back begins to cook from the heat emanating from the metal of his car.

He runs his eyes between me and the car behind me, trying to figure out if I've poked my nose into his things, but when he seems to relax and runs his tongue between his lips, I can't help but cross my arms over my chest :

"Said the man who enters my room whenever he wants." - I say ironically, but he is so distracted that he does not pay attention to my tone, merely increasing his grip around my arm and moving to the side to get into the car.

Even if his mood doesn't seem the best, I decide to insist that he come to my father at this very moment:

"Do I have to remind you that you also peeked at my drawings?" - I continue to complain, opening the door with the intention of getting into the car, but not before throwing a quick glance at Ethan, who hurries to collect the photos to hide them inside a giant yellowed envelope.

I close my eyes at his gesture, but I jump when his eyes burn me again as soon as he notices that I take a place next to him.

"Lately I haven't even found my diary." - I suddenly anticipate it in a thin voice, realizing that he can't help but be on the list of those who could have taken it from my bedside table.

His shoulders stiffen instantly, even if he tries to appear indifferent and annoyed, as he looks back in front of him and exits the parking lot, passing right in front of my car, which only now I wonder how I will get back.

"We have to go to my father." - I say without thinking twice, even if his attitude makes me understand that I have absolutely no hope.

When his grimace remains the same I start to believe he is really listening to me, so I continue to insist, this time turning slightly towards him:

"My father wants to be forgiven." - I add to make him understand that this time my father's intentions are strangely good, but I frown when he bursts out laughing at my words.

His laugh is so ironic and full of mischief that it makes me shiver:

"Wants to be forgiven?" - he gives me a quick glance, pointing out that his eyes have become much darker than usual, while his hands are gripping the steering wheel harder:

"That man doesn't deserve a shit, Valerie." - the way he pronounces my name confuses me even more and I wonder where all this anger comes from.

Few people like my dad and I've already agreed that Ethan isn't one of them, but the way he clenches his jaw and hardens his arm muscles almost frightens me.

He must have been very offended by my father's behavior that day, perhaps because he heard something he didn't want to hear.

Something unforgivable.

I take my eyes off his, almost hurt by his way of speaking: he is still my father, although he has never shown it in the course of my thirty years of life.

"What's the address?" - I hear him sigh after a couple of seconds, but the perplexity on my face leaves the place to a surprise expression: by now I have learned that from Ethan I can expect everything and the opposite of everything, as far as he is impulsive and moody.

"Go straight." - I just whisper in a faint voice, without stopping to look out the window not finding the courage to look him in the eye: I don't know whether to be more annoyed by his way of considering my father or by the bad behavior of my father.

If I haven't had many friends in my life it's not just my pride's fault, but also his way of terrifying anyone who tries to get close to me.

With Ethan, on the other hand, I feel that it will be different and only now I do realize that the man by my side is not afraid, but hates my father.

I shake my head when my eyes fall on the castle my father had built before I was born, but like every time I have to return to this house, a feeling of vomit forces me to get out of the car in order not to let Ethan notice my pallor, and fortunately he is so angry with me that he does not want to know about my discomfort.

I take the opportunity to approach the door and ring the bell as soon as Ethan walks by my side, but I notice that his expression is so empty that I fear that lunch with my father will be worse than the dinner we had a couple of days ago.

I tilt my head and look back at the door as soon as I hear it open, but I roll my eyes when the figure of my stepmother appears in front of me, as if there were not enough servants in this house.

He's not one of your whores, calm down woman!

I would like to scream nasty in her face what I have never told her until now, but I don't have time to speak as her eyes land on the figure of Ethan beside me, instantly lighting up as she assumes a more welcoming expression all of a sudden .

As soon as I notice her prostitute attitude and realize that Ethan in her eyes is a prey to be seduced as she does with all the male beings that show up in this mansion, I don't think twice before taking a step sideways and positioning myself between her and Ethan, crossing my arms over my chests and trying not to notice the chest of the man behind me that sticks to my back from the closeness.

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