The Billionaire's Fake Fiance

Chapter Twelve

"Why do you do this to me, mom? Why?" Jean screamed her lungs out, her eyes poignantly set on her mother's plastic face.

Elizabeth Parker. One of the greatest singers and songwriters of the 90's, was now hunched down on the floor, drunk and intoxicated by alcohol and weed, her grey hair falling on her scrunched up face. Jean winced, seeing her mother in such a pitied state. "Mom, keep yourself stable." she whispered seeing the old woman trying to get up and then falling on the floor with a thud.

Jean didn't understand why she came here once a week to check on her mother. Elizabeth didn't care about her, she was a reckless person, an alcoholic and drug addict, and she was a terrible mother. "Jeannnnnn, Jeannieeewww." Elizabeth's speech slurred with rotten drunkness.

Jean could hear her thundering heartbeats. Her heart was ready to pop out of her chest. With that shaky panic colouring her sense, she pulled out a bundle of cash from her purse and kept it on the table. "Here's the money you need. Don't call me again." She gave her drunk mother a nod and then rushed out of the house.

Elizabeth Parker wasn't living in a house. She was living in a dump; a prostitute area in the further suburban side of Texas. The entire neighbourhood looked no less than a slum.

Jean got out of the one-storey, small, beaten-up house and then hailed a cab to her apartment. She had especially taken the day off from Richard to come and see her mother. It was her responsibility as a daughter, no matter what her mother had done with her. The horrifying flashes lighting up in her brain cells gave her entire body a mindless shiver. She couldn't think, anymore.

Keeping her hand on her heart, she took long, calming breaths. She was a good and kind person, and she would show her kindness up until the last moment of her life. She wouldn't be tainted by her mother's maliciousness, she promised herself.

She reached home when it was afternoon. She couldn't believe she had wasted her entire morning on that woman she called her mother. Elizabeth never really called to ask what she was upto, except for asking money; money that she gambled away and then asked for more.

Jean slumped her shoulders and sat on the couch with a thump. Her hands were shaking abnormally, and she dropped her purse on the floor with a resounding clash. "Shit." She muttered, bending down and picking it up, smoothening its edges, dusting off the dust.

Elizabeth Parker had been a sensation in the singing world until the 2000s. After that, however, she began to behave like an abusive bitch that she was. She had started to yell at the journalists, be a constant source of gossip for the paparazzi, had been involved in too many romantic affairs, even with married men. She had tried to commit suicide, she had grown into a pathetic loser, a complete alcoholic and drug addict. By the time she had started doing drugs, her voice had been fully spoiled, her music had been messed up.

And then, the Elizabeth Parker who had grown to be one of most successful vocalists of Hollywood was blacklisted and boycotted by the entire industry due to her obnoxious and whoring ways. And just like that, she had gone to dust. As well as her music. She had run away from home one day and never returned, leaving her twelve-year old daughter, all alone.

Jean wanted to scream out in agony until her lungs gave out. She had been so lonely when her mother had left her, as if having drugs in front of her wasn't enough. This was still nothing, but she couldn't ever forget the things her mother had made her do, or see. She opened her eyes, her vision getting blurry with the tears that had sheathed above her eyeball, creating a thin coat of transparent cloth that made her dizzy.

The doorbell rang. Jean rapidly wiped off her tears that had started to flow down her cheeks. She got up and ran to get the door, wondering who could home at this hour. She opened the door, irritated. "You?"