A Bad Boy in my life

Thirty five

I don't hate you
No, I couldn't if I wanted to
I just hate all the hurt that you put me through
And that I blame myself for letting you
Did you know I already knew?

Wrong Direction — Hailee Steinfeld

"I already told you, Mom," I began, my tone determined. "I noticed a book on Mr. Stirling's shelf during the last time I cleaned his office. It caught my attention, and I'd like to ask if he would be willing to lend it to me."

My mother raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised. "Since when are you interested in books, Margo?"

I took a moment to compose myself before responding. "Well, I saw this particular book, and it sparked my curiosity. I couldn't ask about borrowing it at the time because I was in a rush, but now I want to take the opportunity. That's why I wanted to handle that task today."

"But I wanted you to help Margaret with lunch; her wrist is still not fully recovered," my mother insisted.

I sighed, trying to emphasize my point. "Margaret can manage just fine with one wrist, while my kitchen skills are far from impressive. As the housekeeper, you can surely find someone else to assist her. Cleaning Mr. Stirling's office is something I genuinely want to do today."

After a brief pause, my mother relented. "Alright, alright! Get the necessary supplies from Dory. But remember, if Mr. Stirling declines your request, don't push it."

Nodding in gratitude, I turned to leave the dining room.

However, just as I was about to make my exit, my mother called me back, concern evident in her voice. "Margo, is everything okay with you?"

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "Yes," I responded, but the uneasiness in my voice betrayed my true feelings. "Why do you ask?"

Her gaze softened, and she took a step closer. "You've been acting differently since you returned from the trip. I heard you crying in your room last night. Is something troubling you?"

Memories flooded my mind, emotions swirling within me. Yes, I had cried in my room. The weight of Maxon's presence, the echoes of broken promises, and the haunting sensations of our past encounters overwhelmed me. Yet, it wasn't something I was ready to share, specially with her.

"It's nothing, Mom," I replied, attempting to downplay the significance of my emotions. "Just some moments of nostalgia for home."

She furrowed her brow, clearly not fully convinced. "Seattle? I thought you didn't want to go back to your father's house."

With a deep sigh, I admitted, "I thought the same, and I thought you wanted to send me away."

Shock registered on her face. "No, Margo, I never wanted that."

"It seemed that way," I responded, my voice laced with a mix of hurt and frustration.

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry for giving you that impression. I've been worried about seeing you involved with the son of our employers."

Her words held a hint of concern, but they also carried a sense of understanding. Meeting her gaze, I acknowledged her intentions. "You were right about everything you said. I see that now. But for now, let's put this conversation on hold. I need to proceed with my task."

With those final words, I turned away and continued on my way, determined to face whatever awaited me in Mr. Stirling's office.

***