You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 41

I enter the house quietly, glancing around the darkened living room, looking for any sign of life. I realized as I approached the house that the light is actually coming from the kitchen, the little lamp that sits on our table that my dad uses sometimes when he pays bills and has trouble reading the fine print. I don’t remember leaving that light on when I left this morning, but maybe my dad did because it’s awfully quiet in here.

Thank God he’s not home.

Shutting the door, I turn the lock and am about to switch on the lamp when I hear my father’s voice break through the silence.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I flick on the lamp, shocked when I see my father sitting in his recliner, his head tilted to the right, his intense gaze locked on me. He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clutched together, his expression stormy. I remain rooted to the spot where I stand, clutching my backpack strap so tight my fingers start to ache.

“Um—”

“Were you with that boy? Arch Lancaster?”

Here’s my chance. I told Arch I didn’t like lying to my dad and I meant it.

“Yes.” I lift my chin, trying to look strong, though I feel like I could crumble completely apart inside.

A ragged sigh leaves him and he leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as if he’s asking for help from God. I don’t know what to say. Or how to act. I’d give anything to take a hot shower and wash my troubled feelings away, but I know he’s not going to let me go without an explanation or a lecture. Most likely both.

“You had sex with him, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question.

“I—”

“Don’t bother denying it. Look at you.” The disgust in his voice is obvious.

I clamp my lips shut, fighting the humiliation that spreads all over my skin. The guilt. I’m eighteen and it’s normal to be a teenager who has sex with her boyfriend, which I’m pretty sure is what Arch is to me now. We haven’t made anything official yet, but I know in my heart, it’s true.

It is.

“You really believe you’re in love with him?” he asks, when I still haven’t said anything.

I stare at my father, ready to answer yes, despite knowing that will upset him even more when he interrupts me yet again.

“Be careful if you say yes, sweetheart. Because if you do, I’m going to do everything I can to convince you to stay away from him,” he spits out.

“Why?” I ask incredulously, hating how confused I feel. How can my father make this seem so wrong when being with Arch feels so incredibly right?

“He’s reckless. Foolish. Selfish. A taker, Daisy Mae. That’s all he’ll do—take and take and take until you’ve got nothing left to give and then he’ll move on to someone else and forget all about you. Look what he’s already done! He got you suspended. You don’t ever get in trouble, Daisy, and now you’re getting suspended and sneaking around behind my back. Lying to me. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I flinch at his cruel words. His opinion of Arch—even of me—is so awful and I don’t know what Arch ever did to him to make him feel that way.

“You’re being unfair,” I tell him. “I’ve never had anyone in my life but you since Mom died, and now I finally find someone I care about—someone who cares about me, and you’re telling me I’m not allowed to go out with him? I’m eighteen years old! It’s okay if I have a boyfriend.”

“You can have boyfriends. You can choose any kid at Lancaster Prep, but you had to go and choose that one? The richest one? Frankly, Arch Lancaster is an asshole, sweetheart. He doesn’t have any feelings. None of the Lancasters do.”

“That’s not true,” I start to tell him, but he’s not listening to me.

“That boy doesn’t know what he has in you. You’re just like your mother. Special. Bright. Brighter than sunshine. You light up every room that you walk in, just like she did, and I knew it from the start. I cherished her from the very first time I met her. I knew she was special.”

I think of how terrible Arch was to me when we first met. He didn’t think I was special and he definitely didn’t cherish me. If I were ever to tell my father that, he would just use it as evidence against Arch.

“No one is special to him. Arch is the center of his own universe. And when he’s through with you, he’ll just discard you like trash and diminish your brightness, Daisy. Do you want that? Is that what you want for your life? Because you deserve so much more.” He slumps against the chair, as if he’s exhausted by his own speech.

“You don’t even know him and you’re already judging him. Can’t you just let me have something for myself for once?” With a childish huff, I march out of the living room and head for the kitchen, hating how ridiculous he’s being.

He’s treating me like a child. As if I can’t make my own decisions. He’s coddled me for far too long and I’m over it.

“You’re my daughter and if you’re living under my roof, you will do as I say!” he screams after me.

Ignoring his outburst, I flick on the kitchen light, desperate to get something to drink to ease my dry throat when I pause, staring at what’s sitting on the table next to the lit lamp. I didn’t even notice when I first walked into the room but now it’s all I can see.

A vase sitting in the middle of the table, filled with roses. From my rose bush. The orange ones my mom liked best.

I blink at the arrangement, shock coursing through my blood, leaving me cold. I stare at the vase, at the roses. They’re going to die now.

They’re going to die. In a vase instead of outside where they belong.

Like a zombie, I turn and slowly walk back into the living room, my heart in my throat, my head pounding. I stare at my father, unable to form words, my heart threatening to fly out of my mouth.

“Daisy, what in the world is wrong with—”

“Why did you cut my roses?” My voice is eerily calm.

He blinks at me, his brows lowering. “What do you mean?”

“The roses, on the table.” I inhale, but it’s not deep enough. I can’t catch my breath and I fight the panic that wants to overtake me. “Did you cut those? Why?”

“I knew that the storm was coming and when I came home for lunch, I clipped some to take to Kathy when I went to her place. And then I forgot them. I’m going to take them to her tomorrow.”

“No.”

“No? You can’t tell me who—”

“NO!”

The scream rasps at my throat, making it hurt, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I can’t feel anything. My head, my heart, my everything…

Numb.

I march back into the kitchen and grab the vase, clutching it in both hands, the water jostling out of the top, it’s so full. I can’t believe he cut my roses. No one ever does. He knows this. He knows how I feel about them and for him to want to take that specific color to stupid Kathy when it was Mom’s favorite, I just…

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe him.

“Daisy, calm down right now!”

I glance over my shoulder to see my father approaching me and I turn toward the sink once more, lifting the vase and throwing it into it with all my might. On impact, the glass shatters everywhere, water splashing in my face, the roses scattering, petals shaking loose. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, over and over, and when my father tries to grab hold of my shoulders, I shake him off.

“Get away from me!”

I fall to the ground sobbing. My vision blurred, my head swimming. “Those were Mom’s flowers. You can’t just give Kathy my mom’s roses. They don’t belong to her! You know how I feel about cutting them!”

“Daisy. Sweetie. I knew the storm was going to bring cold temperatures this week and that your roses wouldn’t live much longer outside, so I thought I’d bring a few inside. I didn’t think you’d mind,” Dad pleads.

“You brought them inside for Kathy, not for me or for you. For her. They’re not yours to cut, Daddy. They’re mine. And they deserve to live. Everything deserves to live.” I’m sitting in the center of my own destruction, rocking back and forth, unable to stop the tears. My stomach hurts and I curl my arms around my middle, clutching myself, my hair hanging in my face, sticking to my cheeks because they’re wet with my tears.

When I reach up to push my hair out of the way, I wipe the tears from my eyes, glancing down at my hands.

My fingers are streaked with blood.

I touch my cheek, wincing when I feel the gash in my flesh. And when I draw my hand away, blood coats my fingers, bright red and thick.

I cut myself. Most likely on the glass from the broken vase when it shattered everywhere. And I don’t even care.

“If this is some sort of distraction to make me forget what you just did with that Lancaster boy, it’s not working,” Dad starts out, but I leap to my feet with a shriek, thrusting my face in his.

“This has nothing to do with Arch and me. It has everything to do with you.” I burst into tears again, the salt getting in the cuts on my face, bringing me pain. Everything hurts. All of it. It feels like a betrayal, what my father did, wanting to give the roses to his new girlfriend. She doesn’t deserve them. He barely knows her. I don’t even know her, not that well.

How dare he do this? I’m probably being completely irrational, but I don’t care.

What he did, how thoughtless he was—it cuts to the bone.

“Me? You’re upset because I cut roses for Kathy?”

“You cut my roses and didn’t ask for permission. You chose the exact color that was Mom’s favorite, and planned on giving them to another woman. You say Arch is thoughtless and careless, but you just proved to me tonight that you’re exactly the same way,” I tell him, surprised by how calm I sound.

How calm I suddenly feel.

I exit the kitchen without another word and Dad lets me go, also remaining silent. I keep my posture rigid, my steps slow as I make my way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and turning the lock before I hit the light switch.

My reflection nearly takes my breath away. I’m a mess. My hair is everywhere, my face bleeding in multiple spots. My eyes are swollen and I close them for a second, hoping it’ll all go away because it’s just a dream.

But when I open my eyes again, I’m still in my bathroom and I’m still a disaster. This isn’t how I thought the night would end.

At all.

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