The Fence || h. s.

20 || No Cherries?

A/N: i think you know what this picture means 👆

"Calm down," my mother begs. "It won't do us any good if he sees that you let him get into your head." 

"But he did get into my head, Mum," I sigh. "My life has been a bloody nightmare since he published those pictures. I can't go out, I can't check my phone without freaking out, I can't even fucking breathe!" 

"I know, okay… I know," she repeats with a pointed stare. 

Yes, my mother has gone through her fair share of scandals back in the day, mostly during her rebellious phase before she had married Dad, but this isn't even remotely the same. Back then, there was no social media. The addition of the Internet makes it so much harder to avoid the media scrutiny. 

"Mum, I just- this has to end," I groan. 

"And it will. Soon. I promise," she swears. "But you need to stay strong or else your father will get angry. Look at me!" she grabs my chin, tilting my face to the side. "What would your grandmother always say whenever she read something nasty in the papers?" 

A corner of my mouth twitches in a smile. "That we are badass women who don't ever let a man put us down." 

"And?" she prompts with a smirk. 

"That they're only good as long as their-" I move my pointer finger up and down, "is still fully functioning." 

We both burst out laughing just as the door slides open, revealing my father with his usual stone-cold demeanour set firmly in place. He walks out onto the terrace stiffly, his expression quickly morphing into a scowl as soon as he sees us smiling. 

"Have I missed something funny?" he asks snippily. 

"No," my mother chirps, smoothing down her dress which I know is the little quirk she does whenever she gets nervous. "Have they arrived yet?" 

"They just called. They'll be here in five minutes," he informs me, ignoring my mother entirely. "Go wait upstairs in the office."

I give him a short nod and walk past him, freezing in my step when I realise Mum isn't behind me. "You're not coming?" 

It's hard to tell where this newfound need to have her around comes from, but I suppose I'd take anyone over the devil incarnate, even said devil's wife. 

"She's not needed there," Dad mutters, sliding past his soon to be ex-wife without another word. She lets out a frustrated sigh, and even a blind man could tell that her perfectly manicured nails are just itching to claw my father's eyes out. As usual, I'm impressed by her ability to compose herself in literal seconds. 

"It will be over soon. Just let your father and his lawyer deal with it," she murmurs only for me to hear. 

Dad's eyes are still burning into the side of my face, so I reluctantly follow him up the stairs and into his office. I've always hated this room; mostly because it serves for a reminder of the realities of our shitty life. Anywhere you look, there are movie posters—also those I starred in—as well as diplomas, awards, and other shit to stroke my father's massive ego. 

"He will try to rile you up," Dad speaks up after closing the door with a soft click. "No matter what, do not speak." 

"Okay." 

"If everything goes well, it could be over as soon as today. Then we will discuss how to proceed after, with the statements and such," he continues. 

"Yeah, okay." 

He exhales heavily at my obvious dismissal, dragging his chair closer to where I'm seated. "Can you stop with the attitude?" 

"If I talk back, you get angry. When I'm quiet and obedient, you think I'm being rude. Nothing I do will ever make you happy," I retort dejectedly, leaning back into the expensive leather seat. "I'm really tired. Please let's just get this over with."