Her Betrothed Prince CHAPTER 1 by Jennifer Brunner (short novels in english .txt) 📕

Chapter 1
Symphony’s P.O.V.
***

Quickly, I walked up the front stairs, stepping aside just in time for my dad to swing open the door, almost knocking myself over in the process. He glared at me angrily.
“Where were you?” He hissed threw his teeth.
When I didn't answer right away, he yanked me by the hair into the house. I pulled away, painfully, ripping out hair.
“Do not make me repeat myself!” He shook his fist and I saw a few locks of auburn hair dangling threw his fingers. He flung his fingers back, jerking the hairs from in between.
I was still feeling the sting in my scalp. “D-Dad, I was-s just at school. I-I—” I cowered under his gaze. I gulped “I stopped to talk to-to Ms. K-Kipp. She wanted to spe-eak to me about joining the Writing Club.”
He grunted.
I heard voices threw the kitchen door and I knew why my dad kept his voice hushed.
We had guests.
Laughter boomed and I heard a velvet voice say, “It’s crazy!”
My brows knit together and my dad said to me, “This is an important thing. Don’t screw it up.”
Okay... Why did we have guests?
“What is it for? The get together, I mean.”
“You” He sighed slowly, “are getting married in two weeks.”
WHAT?!
“What?” I echoed my thoughts. My eyes were in slits and my voice sounded unfamiliar. “No. Not to some stranger. I refuse to-to—” Thwack!
I stumbled back, clutching my face. Tears stung my eyes. As fast as the slap across the face he swept his foot and knocked it into the back of my knee. Ow! He kicked me in the side. Once, twice, three times. “Daddy stop!” I cried out lowly.
He ignored me. “Get up. Now!” The words boomed in my head but apparently they didn't carry into the kitchen because no one came out to help me.
Get up, get up, get up... I repeated to myself as I slowly did just that.
Once I was up he pushed me towards the head of the stairs. “Get cleaned up. Hurry up.”
I got to my room and closed my door. “Trey you can’t stay over tonight.” I whispered into the door, not even turning around.
“Why?” He kept is voice low, following my lead.
“You just can’t. Mick is in a bad mood and we have guests. Sorry.” I turned around, smiling weekly, my eyes on my feet.
“Oh honey!” He squeaked as he saw my face. I looked up at him and he rushed off my bed and over to me. He was wearing my yellow laced tank top. Yes, he is gay.
“That— that jerk face!” He shouted.
“Shh!” I hissed.
He covered his mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”
“S’okay. Just help me with my face. We have guests downstairs and—”
“Say no more.” He held up his hand and gently pushed me towards my vanity.
As he fixed my face we talked about our friend, Lisa, and how she got suspended for two months and had to do community service for drinking on school property. He didn’t bring up my father, the people (or maybe person) downstairs, or even my breakup with Ian.
I sighed as I thought of how quick my life was changing. It wasn’t even a week ago that I found Ian making out with my ex-best friend Olivia Herrin. Yet, now I’m supposed to get married in two weeks to a guy I didn’t even know.
I sighed heavily and Trey, in the middle of braiding my hair, stopped and looked at me threw the mirror. “What?”
“T, do you ever get the feeling that your life is already planned out for you? I mean, like—I don’t know—a marriage?”
His delicate black eyebrows knitted together. “Er, no....Wait!” He said loudly.
“Symphony?!” Mick yelled. I heard the creak of the stairs as he climbed up them, knowing Trey had about 2.5 seconds to get his butt out of my house.
“Trey!” I hissed lowly. He stood in a hurry and ran to my closet door, swinging it open. “No.” I whispered. He gave me another questioning look as I jerked my head towards the window. “He’ll check. He always does.”
“Humph.” But he made no other protest and was out on the roof, he went around the chimney, climbing onto my garage, and down the vine latter. Damn, he made it all look so easy.
He turned, hearing his name being called from the park behind my house. He waved and was around the corner hiding in the shrubs when my “father” walked in. Ugh.
I had the brush in my hand and as he strode over to me I tried blocking my face, by ducking and cupping my face in both of the creases of my elbow, knowing what he was going to do.
I apparently didn't know, because he came over and snatched the brush from my hand.
I heard the swooshing of the brush and knew he didn’t hesitate a minute when it hit my left ear. If I hadn’t stopped wearing earrings about two minutes ago, my earlobe would be split all the way down until it was dripping wet with crimson red blood and tore down the center.
I should know. It has happened twice before.
I know what you are thinking: Why wear earrings then?
We’ll, I tried to stop after the first time but he made me wear them. I have no clue why.
“What the hell is going on?” He interrupted my train of thought. “You have been up here for over ten minutes. I said for you to ‘hurry up’!” This time when he said the words they slithered out, like a snake.
“I-I’m so sorry—”
“Bull shit!” Wham! Another hit. “You have one minute, precise to the second I leave, until I come back up and make it so you can’t move ever again.” A pause. Then way louder, “Got it?!” he demanded.
I jumped, “Ye-yes.” I stammered over the word. He left, and as fast as I could I put on my cover up, whipping the tears from under my eyes.
I let out a few sobs and put my hand to my ear. It stung like hell. No, stung or sting wasn't the word for it. No words could describe the way my ear felt.
I didn’t try to care, because if I was downstairs bawling my eyes out like a baby, I would end up deaf. Check that and scribble it out—erase it if possible—I would end up dead.

Text: Aug. 2010
Publication Date: 08-09-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
this one goes to me. I think I deserve it... :P