4: To Face A Life So Lavish

"Oh, shit..." I swore under my breath as I felt my heart sink deep inside my chest, falling further and further with each passing second. Talking to myself was like second nature, which I blamed on my only child syndrome. That was a thought that fronted only for the sake of distracting me from the far more distressing matter.

As much as it pained me to admit it, I needed to text Sam immediately. There was no way I was going to face something like that alone, and I had no one else to talk to about it without getting Sam in more unfathomable levels of trouble. I had yet to even learn what Sam did to warrant such a response from the druggies, but I wasn't sure that I even wanted to find out. Especially after seeing the crazed look in that man's eyes. I shivered at the mere memory of it.

I quickly began typing a message.

Me:

There's a suspicious af car in front of my house.

I was standing in front of the window, where the blinds were closed tightly for fear of being seen. Despite not recognizing the car, I knew instantly what it likely was, since the vibe it exuded was just inherently ominous, and I had never once seen it in the neighborhood before. And why was it parked so close to my house? Nothing about that eased the tension in my stomach. I felt a little queasy the longer I thought about it.

What was I supposed to do? Just be a sitting duck and wait for them to barge into my house just to do god knows what? I wasn't the skinniest person on the planet, but I wasn't by any means strong either. I was perfectly in the middle, which wasn't helped by all the junk food I was always eating. I would probably die just from the idea of physical exertion to any degree. Let alone actually having to apply myself.

All I knew was that a man told me he would be watching me, and the very next day there was a creepy car in front of my house. Which I noticed about fourteen minutes ago, and had been glancing at, pacing around, and then glancing at it again ever since the initial revelation. Because what else was I supposed to do? Was there a criteria for a situation like mine? If yes, then I would have loved a manual.

Finally remembering the message I sent, I quickly turned my phone on to search for a reply. I was relieved to find one.

Druggie Douche:

Is it a black van with tinted windows and a dent on one side?

Scrambling to make sure, even though I already knew the answer to that, I subtly lifted the corner of the blinds just enough to squint at the vehicle. Surely enough, it was exactly as he described it. I had to take a second to regulate my breathing and stop my hands from shaking so that I could type an answer.

Me:

I feel like I don't tell you how much I detest you enough.

Druggie Douche:

And I to you. Do you have access to a car?

Me:

My mom's car.

Druggie Douche:

Are you home alone rn?

Me:

Unfortunately.

Druggie Douche:

I think it'd probably be best if you came to my house then.

A few seconds passed before he sent another message.

Druggie Douche:

I gagged while typing that.

It was utterly depressing that I even had to resort to relying on the person I hated most. But what else was I supposed to do? My dad left early that morning to coach his little league practice, and my mom always carpooled to work. I only glanced out of my window to see what the weather was like, and that was when I spotted the mysterious van.

I was instantly suspicious, because I was beyond paranoid ever since being threatened. The mere thought of being watched made me feel vulnerable, but it was made infinitely worse by the fact that it was actually coming true.

That was when I fell into a full-blown panic, trying to decide what to do. Should I go against Sam and call the police? But something was stopping me from just doing the logical thing, and that somehow bothered me even more. A nagging voice at the back of my mind told me to hold out until Sam was able to figure out a different plan. Which didn't make sense, because I normally wanted nothing more than to get him into trouble. Maybe it was because things were just too serious this time.

Me:

I'm gagging rn too. Can you send me your address?

It didn't take long for Sam to do as I asked, and I was forced to do something other than pace around anxiously.

Not knowing what I was going to need, I just made sure to grab my charger. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck at Sam's house without a phone to keep me distracted from the fact that I was in the enemy's territory.

Then I stood in front of the door for a few minutes, trying to hype myself up for having to leave the false safety of my home. It was daunting to step outside and risk those men attempting to stop me as I went to my mom's car. But I knew that they could very well try to break in too, nothing was stopping them from that.

So I took in a deep breath and opened the front door.

It was a warm day, but the sky was coated in a thin layer of clouds. The breeze rustled my shirt as I tried to appear as calm as possible while locking the door on my way out. Then I made sure to try to walk the same as always, because I didn't know what else to do. What if they picked up on my anxiety and that made them angry?

The keys nearly fell from my hands as I tried to not panic too much. It was pretty obvious, though. As soon as the car was unlocked, I was practically throwing myself into the driver's seat and locking it once more.

My eyes flitted to the back window, where I could still see the van just sitting there. I was unable to tell if there was anyone inside, or what they could have been doing. I knew that it was probably better if I didn't see their faces, because it would only cause me to freak out more.

So I forced my hands to stop shaking enough to start the car and pull out of the driveway. I continued to check the rearview mirror every few seconds, entirely expecting to see the van at some point. After enough time passed, I was able to lose some of the tension in my taunt shoulders and rub my sweating palms on my jeans.

The longer that I drove, the more I noticed the change in scenery. Everything around me was becoming more and more high-class and well-kept. My heart began to patter in my ears again, and it was annoying because I didn't really know why I was getting nervous. There was no reason to. Sam was an asshole, so why did the idea of going to his house seem so terrifying?

As I passed through a neighborhood that was still in development — all of the houses like mansions, and the barren streets creating a deep feeling of uncanniness to well up in my stomach — I knew that I was almost to his house judging by the address he sent me.

Everyone in town knew that Sam was rich as all hell. It was clear by the car he drove, and the clothes he wore. He didn't brag about his wealth, but that didn't stop it from still being present in his very existence. It was definitely a factor as to why he was so popular in school, everyone wanted to mooch off of him. I didn't know if his closest friends were a part of that group, but the mere thought of it was kind of depressing.

Maybe what was making me nervous was the fact that I would be faced head-on with the immense amount of money Sam had. It was going to be a huge blow to my pride to know that he would always have one-upped me in that regard. It was an annoying thought.

That was when I pulled into a smooth and massive driveway. I checked the address he sent me half a million times to make sure that it was really where he lived.

Yep, it was every bit as expensive as I expected it to be.

The yard was perfectly trimmed, with large bushels of flowers framing the exterior of the house. Or mansion, since the word house didn't seem to be extravagant enough. The outside was painted a pristine white, not a chip to be found. There were multiple balconies standing proud, and Sam's unforgiving Mercedes Benz offering a disapproving side-eye to my mom's second hand Carolla.

Hesitantly, I turned off the engine and forced myself out of the blissful ignorance that was my inexpensive lifestyle. It was going to be hard to force myself to face a life so lavish head-on, but I would endure it for the sake of my own safety.

The pathway leading to the front door was made out of white and black checkered rubber tiles, and the door was wrought iron, with black geometric patterns covering the clouded windows. I lifted my hand to knock, but quickly decided against it once I spotted a doorbell.

I pressed the button, and a piano-like chime could be heard echoing from inside. I stood there like an idiot, wondering if the rich neighbors saw me and wondered why I was dirtying the spotless ground I stood on with my beat sneakers.

Why were the rubber tiles so clean anyway? Didn't anyone ever walk on them?

As the thought pestered my mind, the door was suddenly pulled open and I was forced to meet face-to-face with the worst part of it all.

"What?" Sam muttered when I just stared at him, and I rolled my eyes in response.

Despite having already seen the bulk of his bruises, it was still startling to see the contrast between the way he cleaned himself up versus the fucked up mess that had become his face.

He wore a plain white shirt with a small word written over his heart: dull. It was comical to read it and then refer back to the mangled hell on his face, but I did my best to stifle a laugh. "Nothing. You look like shit."

"Go fuck yourself." Sam was already snapping back, reluctantly stepping aside to let me into his home.

It was about what I anticipated based on how the exterior looked. Everything held the same theme of black and white decorations, a vase of white roses resting on a modern-style accent table. There was a staircase winding upwards to a long hallway that disappeared in both directions. To my right was a room with two sliding doors drawn shut. To my left was a doorway large enough for four people to stand comfortably side by side in, which seemed to lead to a living room.

"You might want to close your mouth. You look like a trout." The sound of his voice caused me to turn my glare to him, and I considered adding to his growing collection of bruises.

"Just how much fucking money do you have?"

"I was expecting a: thank you, oh gracious Sam, for offering me refuge in your home." Sam mimicked my voice, but it did not sound anything like me at all. It was offensive that he even thought it did.

"You couldn't pay me to ever say such a disgusting thing."

"Whatever. The living room is that way." Sam rolled his eyes, pointing to the left.

I started to follow him into the room, but then my feet came to another halt as my eyes danced around the room in shock.

There was a speckled gray and white shag rug on the floor without even an atom of dirt on it, which was mesmerizing given that it was something literally created to be stepped on. The walls were a cold, pale blue. So faint it was almost just an off-white. There was a flat screen television plastered to a wall, so big that it rivaled the wall itself. Shelves framed it on both sides, one dedicated to endless video games and consoles. The other was a home for books and family photos.

A wraparound white leather couch took up the bulk of the room, seemingly never ending. A modern-style coffee table was nearby, made from glass and metal. There were accent tables and lamps, flower vases and an ottoman. And the room was bigger than at least half of my home, if not more. Maybe that was an exaggeration. But only maybe.

"You're acting as if this is a different dimension." Sam was watching me, but I couldn't tell exactly what emotion was driving his thoughts.

"Because it is. You do realize that most people don't have even half as much money as this room alone is worth, right?" I quirked a brow.

"It might be hard to believe, but I'm not stupid."

"You did decide to sign away your life to sell some drugs, so I wouldn't rule it out." I walked past him and sat down on the couch. My whole body sunk into the comfortable surface, and I wondered if I could take the whole thing home with me.

"I explained it to you already, I didn't have a choice." He was frowning.

I smiled innocently. "Doesn't change a damn thing."

He was clearly swallowing down the want to wring my neck, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. That was when I decided to take out my phone and scroll through twitter and Instagram. Neither of which I ever posted on, but I used it occasionally for entertainment or to support Millie. She liked to post aesthetic pictures of herself, and occasionally me. It was important that I paid close attention to her account, because it horrified me to think that she could post ugly pictures of me at any moment without me even knowing.

To be fair, the only times I ever yelled at her for that was when she genuinely liked a picture of me that I simply didn't.

As I was scrolling through the homepage of Instagram, I happened across Millie's latest post. It was a picture of us both on Friday night. Right before everything fell apart.

Then Sam suddenly spoke up. "When exactly are your parents going to be home?"

"Probably around five." I shrugged. Sometimes they came straight home. Sometimes they didn't. That was when a question of my own popped into my mind. "Where are your parents, anyway?"

Sam returned my shrug. "My dad is at work, and my mom is probably with him."

"What do you mean probably?"

"They're always busy. It's hard to keep track." Despite the fact that I expected him to be a little bit upset while admitting something like that, he seemed to be just fine judging by his relaxed state.

I brushed off his answer, and went back to focusing on my phone. For what felt like an eternity, I just continued to scroll through random feeds and articles, reading way too many twitter arguments for my own sanity. I was in the middle of a massive thread exposing someone that I didn't even know, with there being no real evidence or substance to their claims, when I leaned against the arm rest and pulled my legs onto the couch beside me.

Then next thing I knew, the entire world fell away as I was captured in the darkness of a faraway dreamscape. My body seemed to just melt into the unbelievably expensive furniture until I became one with it.

My brain was fuzzy when I tried to gather my thoughts, wondering where I was or why I was sleeping. The automatic thought was that I was in my bed. It caused me to ease my stirring and try to give myself to sleep once more.

But then I realized what woke me up. The feeling of being watched. In fact, I was entirely convinced that someone must have been looking at me. And the idea of that quickly made me open my eyes.

What I saw was a face not too far from mine, peering down at me.

I didn't know what to do at first, just trying to brush off my sleep-stupid brain as I processed who exactly I was looking at. Then I realized where I was and how I got there.

It was Sam looking at me, crouched down beside the couch as his hand rested gently on my arm. I frowned instantly, sitting up and putting plenty of space between us. "What the hell are you doing?" My heart beat against my ribcage as I tried my hardest to school my emotions.

"I was waking you up." Sam stood, not quite meeting my gaze. "I was saying your name, didn't you hear me?"

No, I did not. But I just swallowed down the embarrassment of everything as best I could. It was bad enough that I fell asleep, but it was made even worse by the way he was looking at me when I woke up. "Well I'm up now."

"I see that." Sam seemed to push his own embarrassment to the side as he cleared his throat and forced his relaxed smirk back onto his face. "Did the princess get her beauty sleep?"

"Screw you." I muttered, patting the couch for my phone. However, nothing seemed to come up and my body filled with even more panic.

"Calm yourself." Sam laughed, pointing to the coffee table. "It fell off a little while ago so I put it there for you. Aren't I the nicest person alive?"

"You're certainly the most delusional." I gratefully grabbed my phone and looked it over just to make sure that there wasn't a scratch on it. There wasn't, thank god.

"Well it's five o'clock. Figured you'd probably want to head home."

"Yeah, I will." I stood up and ran a hand through my messy hair — I never brushed or combed it, so it wasn't any worse than usual. As I headed for the front door, he spoke from behind me.

"Still no thank you?"

"Like I said, you're absolutely delusional."

Then I left, going straight for my mom's car and turning it on. My gaze briefly landed on Sam's mansion one more time, wondering what it was like to grow up in a place like that. Then I swallowed down the annoying curiosity and began to drive home.

All I could do was hope that the van would be gone when I returned.

•O•O•