Scarlett x daughter one-shots

Adopted pt.1

This story deals with mentions of abuse. Please read responsibly.

Reader gets adopted by Scarlett after bumping into her.

Reader is any teen age. 

THIS IS NOT READ OVER, OKAY? 

:::

YOUR POV:

My eyes snap open, a muffled sob coming out as I try to control my breathing.

One.

Two.

Three.

I crawl out of bed, ignoring the cold rubbing against my skin. I move across the floor, without making a sound. You know what they say, practice makes perfect... or whatever. I open the door, only leaving a small click when she closes it.

"Dad?" I cringe, seeing my dad on the couch. Drunk. "Maybe that's enough."

"Shut up."

Rolling my eyes, I walk into the living room. Father stands up, slamming the glass bottle onto the coffee table. He paces unevenly, stumbling.

"I'm making breakfast, do you want some?" I ask, yawning.

"Maybe," father grumbles.

"Okay," I reply, moving into the kitchen.

Despite being in separate rooms, I embarrassingly jump at the smallest sounds being made next door.

//

I pause near the doorway, inspecting the chipped wood. I'll have to be careful not to get any splinters.

"Foods ready," I call out.

Father comes in a few moments later and he stares in disgust at the scrambled eggs sitting at his plate.

"This is it?" he slurs. 

Ugh. Fiddling fiddlesticks.

 He must've continued drinking after I had left.

Well you make it if you think you're so good, I think.

Dad stands up, pushing the chair back with the force. He stalks over to the compost bin, scrapes the food of and stares at me, mockingly.

Oh god.

I'm probably scowling, my face bright red as a tomato. Like redder than those sunburnt tourists in the desert. I cross my arms and—

I snap with the anger only people my age could possess.

Ugh, hormones.

"I hate you!" I scream. "If you think you're so good, why don't you do it yourself! Huh? You could actually do something other than drinking all the time!"

A hand whips out and I cry in alarm. I stumble backward, falling into the counter. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out. My hand reaches blindly behind me for anything I can use to defend myself.

Oops.

I knock down a spare plate filled with scrambled eggs and it crashes onto the floor.

Clumsy.

"Damn it! Now, look what you did! " dad spats, releasing his tight grip on my throat.

I cower, gasping for air. Inching away from my father, I make a run for it. Vaguely hearing the angry shouts of the doctor as I thunder up the stairs and slamming my door shut.

The shouts. They're too loud. Too angry. Too—

It taunts me and I escape through my bedroom window and topple onto the ground.

Ouch.

It hurt more than I remembers.

//

The market is only open on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I'm lucky that it's a Saturday. I can buy something to eat for lunch and for supper so I wouldn't have to face my father.

It's not as quiet as it usually is.

The noise from the market can be heard from a few streets over.

There's probably a celebration going on of some sort.

I wander into the crowded roads and looks around for a booth to buy from. I should have enough money. Unless I'm stupid and counted my money wrong. My right pocket (the one with the zipper) is filled with change I had gathered from vending machines, sidewalks, payphones, you name it.

"Hello," I greet, walking up to a booth. "May I have the dumplings, a bottle of water, and the beef stir fry, please?"

"Yep," the vendor says, grinning. "That'll be twelve fifty-six."

Jesus.

That's more than I expected.

No biggie though. I'll just go busking next week with my ukulele for an hour or two.

"Sorry," I cringe as I hand the vendor my bill payed in change.

I receive her meal a few minutes later and I hold it, expertly. Huh. Maybe I should become a waiter. I'd get a lot of tips. I think I'm pretty.

I weave through the crowd, managing to not bump into anyone—

Oh.

I gasp as I bump into a woman.

"No," I cry out, pitifully. "Not my stir fry."

"Sorry, dear," the woman says. She's chuckling. Kind of.

I narrows my eyes in offense. "It's fine."

"No, no, here," the woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a crisp ten-dollar bill. "It's my fault."

"Really," I assure, awkwardly. "It's fine Ms..."

"Scarlett," the woman supplies.

"Really, it's fine. Plus, if you're going to give me money, the stir fry was only five dollars."

"Well— I mean— it was my fault so here," Scarlett says, handing me the bill.

Thank goodness.

At least both of us are awkward.

"Thank you," I say, genuinely. "I'll see you around?"

"New York's big," Scarlett says. She pauses. "But hopefu—"

Wha—

I cringe.

Oops.

I hope she knows I walked away because I thought she was done talking.

Man, the life of a socially-awkward teen.

:::

A/N:

HAH! TAKE THAT YOU STUPID HOMEWORK! THOUGHT I COULDN'T GET A LONG CHAPTER OUT, THIS WEEK? Fallin' into you is NOT abandoned. I just don't have any chapters written. This is a draft from one of my unpublished books, I just modified it using my phone because my computer's still with my mom. As always, requests are open.