Starlet Scarlett

Chapter 11 - '...and you're banging the dead guy's son.'

"Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?"

-Nicholas Sparks

The second I see his face across the room I know I've made the complete opposite of the right decision. Before he sees me I stop walking and stand stalk-still, deciding what to do. I went over this moment in my head at least thirty times last night but I never accounted for the fact that I may completely freeze when it actually comes down to it.

Just as I'm about to flee the scene, he looks up and spots me, his face showing a puzzled but relieved expression. "Scarlett." His voice is raised so that I can hear him above the voices of the other people around us. I smile slightly but a blush creeps on to my cheeks, which draws the subtle upturn of my lips into a sudden frown.

I've made the wrong choice.

With my eyebrows furrowed and my mind whirring, I turn on my heel and walk back out of the room. I hear him calling behind me but I do my best to speed up and ignore him, trying to not notice the stares I'm receiving from various people around me. As I'm turning the corner on the sidewalk a hand grasps my arm and stops me from walking.

"Scarlett, where are you going?" he asks. I look into Levi's eyes and smile sadly at him.

"Home."

*

My mom greets me home with a concerned yet relieved look on her face. I was only gone a few days, meaning it's actually spring break when I get back. I consider ringing up the girls and finding a party to go to, but I have to do something else first. I excuse myself to unpack my things, then race upstairs, retrieving my phone from my handbag as I run. I slam shut the door to my room then speedily dial Cameron's number. It rings a couple times before he picks up.

"Hi-"

"Cameron, oh my god-"

"-you've reached the number of Cameron Daniels..."

I hang up and rest my phone gently again my lips as I think. It rang twice, meaning he wasn't out of cell range or anything. His phone wasn't off. He hung up. He declined my call.

The fucking bastard.

I consider calling again but instantly decide against it. I'm not desperate. I'm not the one who's chasing after him. It should be the other fucking way around. I flick onto my contacts and dial Charlie's number.

"Chai? Hey, it's me. Yeah, no I just got back. Go pick up Jess, we're going out. No, dress like dark, sophisticated and hot. Like you're going to a funeral and you're banging the dead guy's son, 'kay? I'll see you in twenty." When I hang up I speedily get changed into the shortest black dress I can find in my closet and tug on a pair of black stiletto ankle boots. I leave my hair curly around my face and apply darker makeup to my eyes. By the time I'm finished, my anger levels have risen a considerable amount and Charlie texts me to let me know they're outside. I grab my bag which I take to parties, which contains my backup phone, a bottle of vodka, some condoms and fifty dollars.

You know, because if I'm going to be having drunk sex, I want to at least make sure I'm not catching any rancid diseases from the dodgy guys I'm doing it with. Hey, I want to make sure I'm being a safe slut.

Who cares, I'm young, I'm hot, I'm famous and my parents are filthy rich. I can do what I want.

I creep out of my bedroom and onto the landing, trying to keep my footsteps to a minimum on the laminate flooring. I'm almost at the top of the stairs when I hear the patter of bare footsteps running up behind me. "Scarwett!" I twist around and a sad smile coats my face.

"Hey Harper," I say, scooping her up into a hug.

"I hearwd you walking to tha stay-urs," she gurgles and I smile.