Read Online Pretty and Reckless by Charity Ferrell - Free Book Online Page A

challenging.
    “Oliver couldn’t even find a good excuse to argue with. He wanted to explain himself, convince me to believe his lies, but I told him to take me home, which he didn’t want to do. So he pinned me to the wall instead. When I tried to leave, he attacked me.” I’d fought back, using every fingernail, bone, and power in my body.
    I decided to leave out the part where he’d been on ecstasy. Weston would’ve assumed I was doing it with him.
    “Have you talked to him since the incident?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of me.
    “I saw him last night” I held up my hand to stop him when he gave me a look. “And I told him to leave me alone. He’s called a few times, but I haven’t been answering. Fuck that asshole.”
    “What did your dad say when he saw your face?”
    “That it’s my fault.”
    “What?” He asked, unable to hold in the shock. He was just getting a taste of the filthy secrets on my plate.
    “According to my father, I attacked him because that’s what Saint Oliver told him. He can’t believe me because I’m a lying whore.”
    “Why would you attack him?”
    I flicked my hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. It never matters.”
    “It does goddamned matter, Elise. You come to me, and you tell me the truth. I want to know everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. You tell me your story. I want your happy chapters, I want your embarrassing chapters, and I want the dark, filthy chapters that you have under locks. I want the whole story, and you’re going to give it to me. I’m relentless, but I will help you.” I gulped, and looked down at my lap. How the hell was I supposed to reply to that?  
    “There’s some things I’m not ready for,” I whispered.
    “I know and I’ll wait,” he told me, his voice sincere. “Let’s go into your family. Where’s your mom?”
    “She’s dead. I never really knew her.”
    “How did she die?”
    “Who knows. ”
    “Care to elaborate?”
    “I’ve never been told the real cause. I’ve heard she took a shotgun to her mouth and blew her brains out. I’ve heard she overdosed on every drug possible. I’ve heard she ran off with some junkie guy and he murdered her. My dad is the most creative storyteller in the world. But for some reason, he can’t stick to one.” If he drank Jack, it was one story. If it was rum, it was another. His story depended on the liquid in his glass.
    “How old were you when she died?”
    “Four, or five, maybe.”
    “Do you remember anything about her?”
    I wished I did. I’d racked my brain, pleading to myself to conjure any memory of her, but I always came up short. I’d lie in bed and make up my own stories. She’d be there for me. She’d save me, the sweet little girl playing with her dolls in the devil’s lair, and take me away from him. But I’d given up that hope a long time ago.
    “She used to braid my hair,” I said, revealing the one vague memory I had of her.
    He gestured to my hair, tied up in a loose braid and falling on my shoulder. “Is that why you keep it that way?”
    “I guess.”
    “With your mom gone, you were raised by your dad?” I nodded. “Tell me about him.”
    “Malicious. Controlling. Evil.”
    “And why do you think your dad is all of those things?”
    I shrugged.   “Because he is. I’m twenty years old and useless. I have no control of my own life. Anytime I’ve brought up getting a job, he tells me a woman this pretty doesn’t need to work. He thinks work corrupts women, and if I thought about getting one, he’d throw me out of my apartment. I got my own place a year ago and it’s right across the hall from him. Anytime I’ve stepped out of line, he sent me to Sun Gate, even if I was clean, so I’d know who was in control.”
    “Have you ever told him you want to go out on your own?” I nodded. “And?”
    “He tells me no. He tells me I’ll end up just like her. A dead whore.”
    “Has he always been this way?”
    “For as long as I