Ceo my little

that's what my grandfather says. She used to be loving and caring, and she also had a dream. She dreamed of leaving her hometown and living big with the boy she loved. Well, this boy went on to live his dream without her, leaving her pregnant and alone. My mother didn't handle it well. She drank and tried to find love in all the wrong places. She loved the bottle more than I did and drowned not only in the alcohol but in the water when she drove her crashed car over the bridge and into the creek.

Our town was small, but the landscape was so vast that no one found it until the next morning, cold and dead. I was four years old and I remember waking up alone and freezing in our trailer. Somehow I arrived at my grandfather's trailer, which was half a mile from ours, barefoot and hungry. I didn't mourn my mother. I didn't even know her, she was just the woman who said she loved me, but she never showed it to me. Here I was, seven years later, and everything I left behind was catching up to me. Good thing I was fantastic at running away from my problems, except it was kind of hard to run in Jimmy Choo heels. Being so used to the city lights and the constant comings and goings of people, I forgot how things worked in a small town. There was no taxi service after ten. But it wasn't like I wanted anyone to see me. Here I was walking to my grandfather's trailer and dragging my Louis V, not caring that the leather was damaged. All these materialistic things that proved I was no longer trailer trash were just dead weight. I dropped my shoes halfway to my grandfather. My blistered feet were probably bleeding, and I couldn't help but think that this was the best karma, giving me the fate I had so desperately tried to ward off. Why don't I have a car? Oh yes, because Ashton took care of me. He provided everything, ensuring I wanted for nothing. The penthouse was his. I helped clean up and paid some bills. I nodded, not wanting to think about all the things he liked to take care of. If there was a silver lining to this mess, it would be my fat bank account. Damn, Ashton. I couldn't think about him without bile rising in my throat. I let him sweep me off my feet for a lie. He was supposed to scare me into walking alone in the dark, but this was familiar, a little too familiar. The smell of pine was as comforting as it was suffocating, reminding me of better things left in the past. The country roads were just as I remembered them, lonely, dark and beautiful. The tall green trees and pines added a touch of magic to the city while the darkness served as a cloak. I didn't need to be seen yet. I stopped and looked at the water as I passed the bridge where my mother drowned. “Was it worth wasting yourself in alcohol? Was it worth losing everything running away from your demons?” There was no answer, and there never would be. I never understood my mother. How could a woman who named her daughter Freya after the Norse goddess of love care so little about herself? My feet were blistered, my luggage unpacked when I arrived at the faded old trailer. I was barely holding it in. History was repeating itself. I was lost and heartbroken when I arrived here when I was four. Now, at twenty-five, I could say the same. I was in a blanket of darkness with nothing but stars to shine upon me when my grandfather opened the door. “Welcome home, my sweet girl.” And for the first time since leaving San Francisco, I cried because the 'perfect' life I had built for myself turned out to be a lie. Chapter Two Freya Fifteen years old God, I was freezing. That's what happened when I heard Rusty and ran away in the middle of the night so we could go to a bonfire. We never got to the bonfire because Rusty's truck broke down. The truck was as old as my grandpa's Chevy, and that was saying something since grandpa's Chevy was a dinosaur. Still, Rusty liked to boast that his truck had personality, and if by personality he wanted him to get laid since the back of his truck saw more ass than Heavenly, the stripper club that was a few miles away. , so yes, your truck was bursting with personality. Still, Rusty and I were best friends. We grew up together, both of us being only children. Our grandparents had been friends since the Vietnam War. At one point, Rusty's grandmother hoped we'd get married and have kids, the whole thing, but that would never happen. Not because I didn't find Rusty attractive, he was very handsome, shaggy brown hair, warm eyes, soft gazes, but underneath it all was the player persona. We were always fighting, getting on each other's nerves every two days. More importantly, it would never work because we were practically brothers. “You know what, Rusty? I go home. This truck won't start today, maybe not even tomorrow. Rest in peace, Bow.” I patted the old truck as Rusty looked at me. Bow was short for Rainbow since the truck was so faded and had 1 different colored parts. Bow also represented 'bed on wheels' you know, because the truck had personality. “You know what, Gabs? Your negativity is really hurting your feelings. Just watch, the one-day Bow is going to be a classic, and you're going to beg me to take you places so you can be seen in beauty like this.” I rolled my eyes. It wasn't likely, but I wouldn't insult him anymore then. Sometimes Rusty can get so impatient and dramatic. It was better to let him have the last word than to argue with him about nonsense. Since I wasn't really going to abandon Rusty, I went and sat down on the cold grass. We were stuck on country roads, and people rarely came that way, it was the trees and darkness that scared some people. For others, it was the old bridge. Some swore they had seen my mother's ghost nearby. This was funny, since the only unfinished business the woman left behind was a bottle of Jack hidden under the sink, because she sure didn't remember me. 1 bed on wheels in English "Your grandfather will kill me if he finds out I escaped with you," said Rusty, bending over Bow's hood. "You're probably right." I didn't do anything to try to convince you otherwise. It wasn't Grandpa who hated Rusty, he just didn't trust him since he found out he could make a girl leave her panties with nice words and his smile, and the fact that Rusty was a freshman and I was a freshman didn't have my grandpa jumping. of joy. I would be so dead if I didn't get home and go back inside. “Man, I think I'm starting to get cold. My fingers are cold and look blue.” "That's just stupid moonshine," he replied. Just when I was going to give up and leave him alone so I could go home, not caring about my grandfather's disappointment or his punishment, the lights blinded me, making my stomach drop. I held my breath, afraid it was another faded truck, but thank God it wasn't my grandfather. It was an old Mercedes, but just because it was old didn't mean it didn't look new. I knew this car. Everyone knew that car. It was one of the Mr. Dunnetts. My stomach sank. This was not good. Most Dunnetts were petty and selfish. There was Prescott, the oldest Dunnett. He was currently a veteran, prostitute and certified. Then Maxmilian, who was junior, sporty and a bit nerdy. Her sister, Juliet, was in second year and her friends didn't like me. This will be interesting. Rusty seemed to have come to the same conclusion as me, standing protectively in front of me as the car stopped right in front of us, blinding us to who was behind the wheel. "Do you guys need an