Scarlett x daughter one-shots

Adopted pt. 3

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

Part 3 of Adopted

Reader gets adopted by Scarlett after bumping into her.

Reader is any age in her teens.

THIS IS NOT READ OVER!

:::

YOUR POV:

The Scarlett woman seems extremely familiar. Ever since our last interaction in Manhattan, she wouldn't get out of my head. Not in a crush way. I would never date her. 

Well.

Maybe I would... she is kind of  hot. Okay, really hot. But she's like twice my age.

It's like I've seen her face somewhere... I just don't know where.

If I really wanted to, I could just take a bus to her house like a creepy stalker, ask her where she's from, and come back home to be yelled at by dad. Maybe I shouldn't do that.

I lay on the floor. It feels really nice on a hot day.

Shit.

Emma's birthday party is today! Double shit. I don't have a present for her. Triple shit. It's in an hour.

I bolt up from the ground, throw on a grey sweater and black leggings, and run to the window. I land gracefully on the ground. You should be proud of me. I'm getting better at this.

Wait.

I forgot my money. Technically, it's the money from the people I pickpocketed but nobody needs to know that.

Taking small steps, I open the front door, muttering a quick prayer, hoping it wouldn't creak. Obviously, since I have the worst luck in existence, it does. 

Closing the door, I walk towards the stairs, my heart thundering. Hopefully, dad didn't hear it. I can hear him closing in behind me.

Well, there goes me going to Emma's birthday party.

I go up the stairs, hurriedly. 

TW: 

"Dad, please," I beg, hearing him following me. He doesn't answer. I turn around.

"We were happy," he whispers, "we were happy. WE WERE FUCKING HAPPY, COULDN'T YOU SEE?" his voice breaks off, "and then you came. Your innocent face. We were happy, still," he corners me near the stairs, "we were happy, until you wanted that stupid toy for Christmas." Dad swallows, "do you blame yourself?"

I blink.

"Do you blame yourself? 'Cause I blame you. You doomed us all," his hands flash out, and before I can even think, he pushes me.

I topple backwards, falling onto my back. My head bounces on the steps as I topple down the stairs. I land awkwardly, a scream of pain coming out of my throat. I curl into a ball, trying to stop the pain. My head's fuzzy. I can't think straight. 

Footsteps are coming down the stairs. I force my eyes open. I reach for the wall, trying to stand up. My vision is blurry. I can feel bruises forming all around my body.

"Please," I gasp out. "Please. My head—I think I have a concussion."

"You think?" Dad kneels down, cradling my head in his hands. For once, I think he's going to help me. "Why don't I make it so you know  you have a concussion?"