Deliberate （v.） – Scarlett
DELIBERATE (V.):
TO CONSIDER THE FACTS, THE LAWS AND/OR OTHER MATTERS, PARTICULARLY BY MEMBERS OF A JURY, A PANEL OF JUDGES OR BY ANY GROUP INCLUDING A LEGISLATURE.
SCARLETT
It’s been two months since I last saw Jameson, and somehow, he still finds his way into my dreams and nearly every thought in between.
Despite every cute lunch date I take with Cole, or every new character’s skin I slip into, I can’t seem to shed the memory of him.
Every night in bed, I close my eyes and slide a hand between my thighs, remembering exactly where his lips touched my skin, exactly how his fingers gripped my hips.
Even yesterday, when Cole pulled me close and kissed me for the first time, all I could think was, Jameson would’ve kissed me a whole lot better than this.
And now, as I stare at my reflection in the dressing table mirror, I can almost see him standing behind me, leaning down to press his lips against the back of my neck.
“You’ll always be mine…Always.”
With a sigh, I peel off my wig and start plucking bobby pins from my hair.
The second I have six months’ worth of savings in the bank, I’m booking an appointment with a hypnotist and asking them to erase every last trace of Jameson Tate from my mind.
Knockkkk! Knockkk! Knockkkk!
“Come in!” I call toward the door. “I left my costume in the corner for you.”
“Um…I’m not here for a costume.”
I glance over as a guy in a UPS uniform steps inside, carrying a massive bouquet of long-stemmed roses.
“Are you Scarlett Winters?”
“Maybe.” I turn around to face him. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Well, uh, if you are, I have some very beautiful flowers for you.”
A smile immediately pulls at my lips, and I reach for the bouquet before a thought stops me cold.
Wait a minute.
“Who sent them?”
“Does that really matter, lady?” He gives me a look. “They were flown in overnight from Colombia. Whoever sent them must really like you.”
My smile fades.
“Who sent them?” I repeat, keeping my voice firm.
“Ugh, women.” He rolls his eyes and tugs the tag free. “It just says, From the man you still belong to. P.S. You promised your pussy would always belong to me.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks.
Of course.
“I’m refusing delivery.” I shake my head. “You can send them back.”
“Or…” He glances at the bouquet. “How about I step outside, come back in a few minutes, and tell you they’re from someone else?”
I give him a blank stare.
“Fine.” He sighs. “Can I give them to my girlfriend, then? I’m pretty sure she’d appreciate five hundred dollars’ worth of roses.”
“I hope she does.” I force a smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Can you at least sign for them on my keypad?”
“No.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat, unwilling to give Jameson even the slightest reason to believe I accepted them. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I don’t know you or what this guy did,” he says, taking a step back, “but it seems like he’s genuinely trying to make up for it.”
“He knows exactly what he has to do to make things right.” I look at the roses one last time. “He just doesn’t want to do it, so even a hundred bouquets wouldn’t be enough.”
“Okay, then…” He shrugs. “Well, I guess you’re just an ungrateful cunt.”
He slams the door on his way out.
I’m tempted to chase him down and give him a piece of my mind, but I force myself to stay put and focus on pulling the remaining bobby pins from my hair instead.
Seconds later, a fist pounds against my door again.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Okay, you know what?” I bite back a groan and push myself out of the chair.
“You’re one hundred percent right about not knowing me because—”
I swing open the door, fully prepared to tell him exactly where he can shove Jameson’s flowers, but the rest of my sentence dies in my throat.
My mother is standing on the other side.
“Am I catching you at a bad time, Scarlett?” she asks.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
All I can do is stare at her.
She looks nothing like the woman I’ve known my entire life.
There’s no designer summer dress hugging her figure, no perfectly tailored custom suit. Instead, an oversized gray T-shirt swallows her thin frame, and her jeans have one too many slashes in them—almost like she added a few herself.
There isn’t a trace of makeup on her face, either.
“Are you going to invite me into your dressing room, Scarlett?”
“No.” I finally find my voice. “What do you want?”
“Excuse me?” She takes a step back. “That’s no way to talk to your mother.”
“It wouldn’t be if you were a good one.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What do you want?”
And how the hell did you find me?
She lets out a quiet sigh, and I start counting backward from ten.
The second I reach zero, I’m shutting this door and pretending she was never standing on the other side of it.
“I came here to apologize to you,” she says. “I’m very sorry.”
“Apology unaccepted. Anything else?”
“Scarlett…”
“How did you find me?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “I didn’t tell anyone about my plans.”
“I would really appreciate it if you gave me an hour of your time.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I don’t trust you not to slap me the second I say something you don’t like. Or worse, run straight to my father and tell him.”
Her face flushes red, and she takes a tentative step closer.
“I should’ve never done that, Scarlett. I’m so sorry.” Her voice softens. “I still haven’t forgiven myself.”
“That makes two of us.”
An ache blooms in my chest as she closes the remaining distance between us and reaches up, gently pressing her palm against my healed skin.
“I love you, Scarlett,” she says. “I know I haven’t always shown it, and you don’t have to believe me right now, but I’d like to spend whatever time I have left making things right with you.”
Her hand trembles slightly against my cheek.
“I’ve obviously failed with your brothers,” she says, her voice cracking, “and now I’ve failed with your father, too. But…I need to make amends with you. Even if you hate me. Even if you turn me away for years.” She pauses. “I’m going to keep trying.”
Slowly, she lowers her hand and takes a step back.
“I booked a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel for the next eleven months—or until you leave this city.” She swallows. “It’s only a few blocks from here, and I have standing brunch and dinner reservations at noon and six every day. If you ever want to stop by, I’ll be there.”
I don’t know what to say.
For once, she doesn’t seem to expect me to.
She takes one last look at me.
“You look very beautiful,” she whispers. “And your dinner monologue was quite entertaining.”
Then she turns and walks away.
I close the door and lean against it, my heart sinking a little more with every second that passes.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
I don’t even make it to seven.
Before I know it, I’m grabbing my purse and jacket and rushing back into the hallway.
“Wait!”
She stops halfway down the hall and turns around.
“Give me two minutes,” I say. “I’ll come with you.”