Page 2

"Liberty."

I furrowed my brows, burying my face further under the soft pillow as I avoided the light.

And that voice.

"Liberty it's almost twelve in the afternoon."

I groaned, realizing that hiding under the pillow wouldn't make that voice go away.

It also made me realize I wasn't dreaming.

That's my mother's voice.

I suddenly laid up from my bed, pushing the pillow aside as my burning eyes shot open.

At least until an ache pulsed in my head.

"Fuck," I breathed out, squeezing my eyes shut.

"It's no surprise you're hungover," I heard my mother say.

But all I knew was it was too fucking early for her bullshit.

How is it almost twelve?

It feels like seven in the morning right now.

"Your room is a mess, you have eyeliner smeared under your eyes, and is that a pizza box in your bed?" she asked, critiquing everything as I tried to at least open my fucking eyes.

Did she open the fucking blinds?

No wonder why I was under the pillow.

It's so bright in here without blackout curtains.

"I'm handling your hundredth fuck-up of this year and this is what you're doing with your life?" my mother asked me.

And at this point, it felt like she was having a conversation purely with herself.

"Do you understand the gravity of this situation?" my mother continued to speak even as I rubbed under my eyes with a lazy sigh, "Two men injured, one of them had to get stitches—then there are videos posted about it online, Liberty."

I shake my head, "I know, I get it," I mumble, grabbing the glass of half-drunk water from my nightstand.

"Do you? Because there's also a picture of your apparent friend doing inappropriate things to you in said club," my mother said, yanking the comforter off of my body and immediately making me scoff, "This is it—this is my last goddamn straw with you, Liberty."

I took a small sip of the room-temperature water, "You say this every time," I sighed, already bored of this repetitive lecture.

Although, normally it's over the phone.

As I prefer it to be.

"This time is different, you went too far Liberty and now people are questioning my parenting skills," she said, her dark eyes staring down at me with nothing but irritation.

She wore her usual pantsuit with her caramel hair down, contrasting against her tanned skin.

I got more of my father's genes, his darker skin and jet-black hair.

My mother's features were lighter compared to mine—I really only got her nose and facial structure.

"Now news articles are highlighting the fact that I can't keep my own daughter in line—much less be re-elected as California's governor," my mother said, her tone holding its usual tightness with me.

"I'm a grown adult living in an entirely different state—they all need to get a life," I pointed out, still irritated that this even involves me.

Every single time.

"Coming from someone whose life consists of this," my mother said, motioning around my room, "It's pathetic and disrespectful to how I raised you."

I let out a deep sigh, throwing my head back at the "how I raised you" part—knowing exactly where she was about to take this.

"We gave you everything—the best education, a private neighborhood, quality food, and clothes—I'll never understand how you turned into this low-life person," she said, her words and tone nearly making my ears burn.

"Maybe because my own dad died and you chose your career over me—you chose everything over me—"

"Here we go again with this same old story, Liberty," My mother sighed, shaking her head as she glanced away from me.

And that's when my face burned, feeling so tired of her constantly breezing past my perspective—past my own words and feelings.

It felt like I was yelling and screaming so loud and she was just standing there—straight-faced and never doing anything.

"I'm done with this reckless behavior—you need professional help at this point," she suddenly said, which naturally made my stare snap back to her, "I've already taken the time to find the best hypnotherapist in the area—"

"Oh fuck no—absolutely not," I immediately cut her short, hating even the idea of what she had suggested.

I will not sit on some couch and let my brain be poked at, especially by a therapist.

What the fuck is a hypnotherapist?

Either way, they'll tell me what I already know—that I'm fucked up and making my way through a spiral.

Maybe I'll make it out alive by my thirties.

So long as I don't turn out like my mother.

"This isn't up for debate—you either go or I'm cutting you off financially, Liberty," my mother said, which immediately made me scoff.

I swear my face has never burned so roughly.

Count on my mother to do it.

"You always threaten me with this—every single time you need me to do something," I pointed out, squeezing my hands into fists.

"Because you can never act like an adult and do the right thing when someone asks you," she countered back, her tone fully sarcastic.

"Oh then maybe I'll act like an adult—maybe when someone asks me something about you, I'll start talking," I purposely said, my voice raising much louder around us, "I'll do a lot of talking—I'll do so many interviews about what a terrible fucking mother you are that I won't need any of your money—"

"You're ungrateful, spoiled, and a disappointment to me and your dad—grow up already, Liberty!" she yelled the last part, her voice rattling the walls around us.

I felt irritated tears burn in my eyes, refusing to meet her stare, "I hate you," I gritted, hoping my words would physically hurt her.

"Good because if someone like you didn't hate me, I would question where I went wrong," she shot back, turning away from me as she let out a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.

"Dad would hate to see what you become. He would hate you just as much as—"

"I'm not doing this with you today Liberty," she firmly cut me short, her voice much calmer than before as she still faced away from me, "None of this is up for debate—you either go to therapy or all of this goes away. The luxury apartment, your monthly nail appointments, the Mercedes you had to have—I'll even leave the last semester of school for you to pay yourself."

I squeezed my legs, tightening them as I kicked the covers off the bed—growing so angry by this constant control she had over me.

But I couldn't just let go of the financial stability she gave me.

And she fucking knows that.

But I swear after I get my Computer Science degree, I'll be able to finally provide for myself—even if it's entry-level, the typical starting salary is six figures.

Then I'll never speak to my mother again.

"I'll text the hypnotherapist's information to you along with the appointment details," my mother suddenly said, now grabbing her Birkin from the black armchair over in the corner of my room.

"This is fucking unnecessary—all I do is party like every other normal twenty-one-year-old," I pointed out, now standing from my bed as my feet met the soft black area rug.

"Tell that to the twenty-thousand dollar settlement I had to offer to both of those boys—one you almost killed, might I add," my mother said as she slid her Birkin on her arm, walking toward my closed bedroom door.

Which meant her team was definitely waiting on the other side for her.

And they most likely heard our entire conversation.

"Wait, Kaia is still in jail," I suddenly said as I followed behind my mother, now remembering what I promised my best friend, "I told her I would bail her out—and get the charges dropped."

"Well, that's up to you to figure out," my mother said as she opened the bedroom door.

And there stood the usual team of people, dressed down in suits with the typical earpieces and serious expressions.

I hated them.

They never did anything to me, but something about them just irritated me.

"I'll do the stupid therapy sessions—just get her out of there," I said, watching my mother walk over to the door of my apartment with some of her team in front of her and the rest following behind her.

"You have no room to negotiate Liberty—you're already doing the therapy sessions," my mother said as they opened the door for her.

"Yes, but it's my fault she's in there and—"

I let out a frustrated yell that vibrated in my chest, watching them close the door before I could finish my sentence.

Which made even more angry tears burn in my eyes, wanting to hit and kick everything around me.

I hate her so much.

I swear I truly hate her.

A deep sigh fell from my lips as I quickly wiped my tears away—trying my best to calm down.

I walked over to my kitchen and opened one of the sleek black cabinets, grabbing the bottle of Patron.

Yes, I'm taking a tequila shot before I've even eaten anything.

But my mother will do it.

She always does.

I didn't even bother grabbing a shot glass, lifting the bottle to my lips, and taking a long sip.

My eyes instinctively squeezed closed as a burning sensation ran down my throat and into my empty stomach where it settled.

Then I felt better.

I felt looser.

I set the bottle down, determining that I would need to figure out this Kaia situation.

I could bail her out myself easily.

But the charges.

Those I wouldn't be able to drop.

I sighed, backing away from my kitchen to go shower and wash off last night's makeup.

I made sure to put the tequila bottle back up first and then put the shot glasses from last night in the sink.

I also grabbed my purse from the dining room table along with all the jewelry I had taken off last night when I was booked and never put back on.

Once I was back in my room, I carefully put my jewelry away and hung the vintage black Dior purse with my others in my closet.

Then I grabbed the pizza box from my bed and threw that out in the trash can in the kitchen.

I also picked up all the clothes flung all over my closet when I was busy picking out an outfit last night—hanging the different pieces of clothes back up.

I then walked into my room, pulling the black sheets off my bed along with the furry cheetah print comforter.

I also grabbed my dab pen before I accidentally washed it with everything.

And once my bedding was in the washer, I focused on my messy bathroom sink, cleaning up my makeup and hair products.

Then I could finally strip out of last night's outfit, turning on the glass shower to the hottest setting.

As I waited for it to grow with steam, I used makeup remover to take off my smeared makeup from last night.

After that, I got in the shower, thoroughly washing my face with my cleanser first.

Then I washed my hair with sweet shampoo and conditioner, grabbing my bath net for my body.

Once I was done, I turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing my microfiber towel for my hair and then one of the black towels to wrap around my body.

I felt somewhat better as I dried off, putting on my usual shea butter lotion and spraying on scentless antiperspirant under my arms.

After brushing out my damp hair, I headed over to my closet, deciding to wear something much more casual today.

A baby pink tank top with a matching jacket and sweatpants.

Very cute and comfy.

Once I did my skincare and used my Dyson to blow out my hair—today's look felt complete.

I just slid on a pair of Nike's and grabbed my keys, quickly heading out of my apartment and down to the parking garage.

Where the Mercedes my mother previously referred to sat.

I unlocked it and quickly slid into the fresh leather interior, starting the car and buckling my seatbelt.

Then I slowly pulled away from my parking spot and drove out of the parking garage, heading to the police station.

The drive was barely ten minutes to the nearby police station, and I already had my card out to pay for bail.

I just couldn't get the charges dropped quite yet, but that's something I'm still going to try to convince my mother about.

"It's fine, Libby, really," Kaia said, sitting in the passenger seat of my Mercedes as I pulled into the drive-thru of Jack in the Box.

"No, because she's being the biggest bitch on the west fucking coast," I said, slowly halting behind the car in line, "Like you got the charges sticking up for me—or us, the least she could do is drop them. It's not even hard for her to," I pointed out, knowing all she had to do was make one simple phone call.

Or even have her assistant make the call.

"The charges aren't that bad," Kaia said as I pulled up more when the car in front of me inched forward.

"You're just saying that because you want to fuck her, Ki," I said, shaking my head at her.

"No, it's still fuck her—in both ways," Kaia emphasized, smirking slightly as she leaned her head against the door with her stare on me, "I just don't want you going through all of this trouble for me knowing that you're already on thin ice with her."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm always on thin ice with her," I said, laughing insincerely.

"But never thin enough for her to make you go to therapy," Kaia pointed out, raising a brow at me.

I waved her off, "She's not serious about it," I said, pulling up more in the lengthy drive-thru line, "She's too focused on herself to actually go through with it," I added, knowing she would get back to California and be too focused with work to actually circle back to all of this.

She just needed something more drastic to threaten me with.

"If you say so," Kaia sighed, glancing over at the illuminated menu when I finally pulled up to the speaker.

"I do say so—and I'll try to have those charges dropped by the end of the week," I determined, rolling my window down so we could order our food.