The Billionaire In The Treehouse

Medora

It's been two weeks since I ran from home. My parents already consider me a spinster and took it upon themselves to find me a husband only that the 'husband' they found me is a grumpy widower who also has a sixteen year old daughter who would probably make life hell for me if I end up marrying her father.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. At least that is what I would have thought if I had any sleep at all. I have never really been away from home and now that I am, I figured insomnia is what I have to battle with.

I scanned my unorganized living room and sighed at my own misery. I haven't arranged anywhere other than my bedroom since I moved to Seattle. I glanced at the clock and saw that I had three hours before my shift at the restaurant where I work.

Going from working at my dad's hospital to waiting tables isn't a great start but at least I'd have something to keep myself when I run out of the funds I stole from my dad before escaping.

I chose to meticulously use my time to sort out my living room. I wasn't exactly pleased when I was done but at least that's out of my list of chores. I sucked in my breath and grabbed all of the trash I needed to take out, lifting them to my chest because I'd rather get dirty than take out the trash twice.

To the right of my new home is a massive compound with a long driveway that from my place, I can barely see anything but the roof of the house but there is a large, beautiful treehouse near the gate, its shadow looming over my own.

As annoyingly beautiful as the tree house is, I hate that I have had to sweep tons of leaves in my compound. Summer is wrapping up but this tree still drops at least three bags of leaves everyday. It's aggravating. I dumped the trash on the ground and walked over to the other house with the intention to give whoever spends their whole life in the tree house a piece of my mind.

I don't enjoy the tree or the house on it, why do I have to do manual labor to keep my compound clean?!

I rang the doorbell and the gates opened automatically. I shoved out the voice that was constantly telling me the owners of this house are fucking rich and I should relax. I walked up the spiral staircase that led to the tree house.

On the door way it said 'Go away' Whoever is in here must be as miserable as I am right now. I ignored the sign and knocked on the door, it beeped twice which I took as a sign to come in. When I walked in, rage didn't allow me to take in the tree house, I simply stormed towards a boy who was sitting in front of a tv, playing video games.

"Hey," I yelled.

He didn't respond, he had headphones on so he probably couldn't hear me no matter how much I scream. I tapped his shoulder instead. He pulled off his headphones and turned back.

"I live next door and this tree you live in drops at least three bags of dried leaves into my fucking compound. I know you are rich and you have probably never touched a broom in your life but I'm fucking tired of spending my mornings sweeping up leaves from a tree that is does nothing for me!" I yelled on top of my voice.

The young boy only kept looking at me without uttering a word. Even more irritated, I turned towards the exit and walked out. As I began climbing the stairs down, I heard a loud crash come from inside the treehouse.

I turned around in a shock and rushed back into the tree house. The boy was on the floor, his video game controller on the other side of the room, he was trying to reach something, I followed his hand. It was a fucking electric wheelchair.

Guilt washed over me and I wish I could take back everything I said.

"Ohh my god. I'm so sorry," I rushed to his chair and pushed it closer to him. "Let me help you up," I moved over to him.

"Go away!" He yelled on top of his voice, causing me to flinch.

I immediately backed up from him, water swelling up in my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Get out!" He roared.

I ran out, down the stairs and outside the house. My heart was beating fast, pain surged through me at the thought of the cruel thing I just did. I reached the front of my house and slumped down next to my car, sobbing like a child.

I don't know why I'm crying, maybe because running away from home and the past two weeks of my life has been the hardest or because I just took it out on a crippled boy.

After crying my eyes out, I found myself in the bathroom, taking a shower. I dressed for work and left the house, hoping whoever that kid was will find it in his heart to forgive me.

"Urghhh, you look like a mess," Yellow, my co-worker said just as I made my way past a few tables to the kitchen.

"Tell me about it," I yawned tiredly, joining her behind the counter.

"You, tell me about it," she said, wiping just-washed-dishes. I don't know my way around here properly yet. Yellow is teaching me everything I need to know.

"Yellow, my life is a mess," I palmed my face.

"I know. You ran away from home, you don't get enough sleep and you work at a restaurant despite your MD degree," she listed all the reasons why my life is an actual mess.

"Yes," I groaned. "And I just took it out on some poor crippled boy," I said, pouring myself whiskey.

I don't own the restaurant but Matthew, the owner who also runs an illegal gambling room in the basement, is obsessed with yellow and lets us have any drink and food we want.

"Who? Clyde Miller?" She asked, passing me a plate.

"Clyde who?" I asked, confused.