Honey Daisy ✭ KTH [м]

ʜᴇ's ᴀ ʀᴇʙᴇʟ

╰ ☆☆☆☆ ╮

2 Days Later

The stairs creaked beneath Molly's feet, wooden floorboards shifting as she slipped down the stairs. She cowered each time she put down weight, afraid of intruding on her father's downtime.

The air was hot and stuffy, and the whiff of whisky floated toward her nostrils. A glow flickering from the television screen illuminated the large front room. The faux animal rugs were dyed with old wine from the many office parties her father once hosted.

She turned her nose up in disgust, her upper lip tensing. There was once a time when her father was a neat freak, always requiring the whole house to be clean and pristine.

Ever since her mother passed away, however, he only cared about cleaning the bottom of the bottle. He always needed Molly around to scrub up his messes since there was no other person to do it for him.

A maid would've originally done it, but not after all the major cutbacks her father had to make. His job was beginning to fail and so was his reputation, so homestead was no longer guaranteeing a permanent happy future.

Now, her father lies in his drunken stupor; a myriad of empty, used scotch glasses surrounding him.

Her red heels, dangling off her painted fingertips, grazed the side of her thigh. She tugged at her matching dress that stuck to her like glue.

She sadly scoured the room, noticing the case files dispersed on the floor. Her father was almost unrecognizable between the couch cushions.

His tie hung from the back of the red elegant, velvet chair seated next to the couch, and his suit jacket lain half on the edge and the floor. The golden trim of the seat that peeked out from beneath the jacket reminded her of a royal throne.

"Damn it, Dad," she muttered, moving her black curls over to one shoulder.

She looked down at the piece of paper in her other hand, re-reading the handwritten lettering, then peeked out the bay window.

The lights along the long driveway gazed back at her in glowing amusement, twinkling in excitement and chagrin.

Her father hadn't even bothered to close the drapes before he embarrassed himself. She always had to be the more thoughtful one of the family.

She crossed her arms, carrying the heels to her chest. "I'm not cleaning up for you this time."

With a turn on her bare foot, she ventured out of the grand entrance of their manor. Toes curling as the pebbles from the winding driveway, she walked naturally, swinging her hips in the late night summer breeze.

The immense shed house on the rim of the property gradually came into view. Willow trees arched overhead while crickets chirped amongst the hidden limbs and logs.