Men from my past just kept haunting back to me like I had killed them in their sleep.

The next thing I knew, we got inside the limousine and took off. Everything was in a blur. Suddenly, the strong urge to fight back was held hostage at the sight of my father.

"Well, look who's going to be grounded for the whole year," I murmured underneath my breath. Throughout the whole ride, my imagination had gone to great lengths thinking of scary consequences I'd most likely end up in for running away for two years and for not telling anyone a thing.

Will they send me to a reformation camp for troubled girls?
Sign me up on support groups on the weekends?
Get me psychiatric help?

Things were getting awkward at first with all the guilt and everything, but eventually, we both came around, and we found a common ground to talk.

"Aren't you going to say something? Give me a heads-up on my punishment? Got me any form of reprimand?"

"Funny, you should ask. My little daughter just returned back home. Lecturing you isn't the best way to spark some fatherly love," he said dryly.

But I didn't return back home.

Since I left, I've been carrying all this baggage with me; slowing me down. And now that he's beside me, it's come to me that I've missed the company of not just any man, but my father's.

"Your mom is going to be so thrilled when she sees you," he added, patting my shoulders.

I didn't believe him even for a second. Somehow I wanted to be stuck in traffic for as long as possible. I'd go through anything to buy more time before seeing my mother. There were still plenty of things I want to do, and it was quite impossible to work on those things with her bossing me around.

Amidst undergoing through bumper-to-bumper traffic and paparazzi ambushes, we had finally arrived at the most enormous, victorian-inspired, multibillion-dollar mansion on the eastern part of Vichtrone Avenue.

Our extravagant abode was still exactly the same since I had last seen it, only with more things in addition to my mom's collection of antiques from different parts of the world, according to dad.

The guards and servants looked surprised to see me again. I was certain they were whipped by my mother's tantrums and emotional distresses while I was gone. My mother had this tendency of lashing out her pain to other people when she could no longer contain it inside her.

Standing just outside the main door, I took a deep breath. When these doors open, it will have meant defeat to me. And it will have saddened me because the risks I've taken were unbelievable, and all of it will be deemed futile if I ended up living here again, along with reasons I fought so hard to escape from.

As soon as the guards opened the main door, my mother sprung at me in delight. I wasn't expecting her to welcome me with open arms after what I've put her through for two years. But to my surprise, she was relieved to see me. Her eyes were watery and her cheeks were flushed with tomato redness.

"Oh my baby, Avery! I missed you so much!" She hugged me as firmly as she did when I would come home from school every day. Afterward, she showered me with multiple kisses all over my face. The warmth of her hugs and kisses undoubtedly thawed my cold heart to pieces. And I'd hate to say that I missed it as well.

The first thing she did was walk me into my room. And when I first entered inside after two years alone in my house, it was weird to feel nothing special about it. In this very room was a collection of my darkest thoughts and memories when my mind betrayed me countless times.

Excitingly, she showed the new mural she had done for me. There were cherry blossoms, hummingbirds, and at the center were scribbles of overrated feminine aesthetic stereotypes.

"Do you like it? Or is it too girly for your liking?" She asked.

"Wow, mom, it's beautiful, really...but I don't think it really says anything about me."

"Is that so? I'll have it changed by the artist then. I'll make sure to suit it to your liking."

"That's not necessary, mom. It's okay," I said, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"How come?"

"Because I won't be staying here anymore."

"But, Avery —-"

"Let's settle this over dinner, honey," my dad said, barging into the room.

"Okay, then. Very well," she replied.

As dad suggested, we made our way to the dining area for dinner. My mother rang her brass servant bell. Maids in identical uniforms then came running in a jiffy; each bringing a silver platter. We were seated in our usual dining position. In the middle was my father, to his right was my mother, and to his left was I.

Dinner was amazing. It was more than what I could afford out of my own pocket. Everything was grand — from the Italian chandeliers to the table decorations and the elaborate silverware. Not to mention the feeling of going to bed with a full stomach without having to tire myself of the cooking and the dishes.

"On the night of your little escapade, you left a note by the kitchen counter saying you needed to leave to find yourself, and a speech about us being controlling freaks of a parent. Correct?"

"Dad, you don't have to —"

"No, no, it's alright. Let me read it for you."

"Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm writing this letter to tell you the things I couldn't say to you upfront. I want to live my life on my own, without you dictating me what to do all the time, or bribing my teachers to give me the first rank in class, even if I don't deserve it. You pressure me into being this perfect image, but I can't be at my best all the time. I think you're really great parents, but I feel like you treat me like a mechanical doll whose settings you can easily switch. I hope you understand. I'll be sure to come back when I have thought things through.

              I love you.

Love,
Avery"

"What a letter, right?" he said.

"Honey, I know you're young and curious to wander the world and its wonders, but you did not have to leave. We were worried sick about you. It's a good thing we had a private investigator on speed dial," my mother added, looking worriedly at my father.

"Private investigator? That's a low blow, even for you. You couldn't even afford to leave your mighty thrones to find me," I said, trying to stand up and excuse myself.

Something about them taking advantage of their privileges when they're not supposed to pissed me off, and I wanted to leave right away.

"We understand that you are not a child anymore. You are capable of making your own decisions, which is why your father and I are proposing something," she said. Ignoring her lame speech, I picked up a napkin and wiped my mouth.

"Wait! Before you go, you have to hear this. Trust me when I say you're not going to want to miss this," he said, holding my hand. Intrigued, I sat down to my chair and avoided eye contact by taking a drink.

"You will work as a waitress in a restaurant of our choice. If you can provide excellent service and prove to us that you can adjust well in stressful situations, of course, based on the report of your employer, then we will let you go," she said.

Having heard the deal, I accidentally spilled the cranberry juice all over my shirt. I was overwhelmed by their offer, and it wasn't an offer I could say no to, considering the circumstances.

"Sounds good to me! You're on. You're not going to regret this," I said.

Excited, I ran straight to my room and made a resumé on my laptop. I picked out some clothes that were still in my closet that I could use for tomorrow. After everything was thoroughly planned, I was ready to prove my parents wrong.

The next morning, my inspiration to live a life on my own terms had pushed me to get out of bed early. The chauffeur had driven me to the address of the restaurant my parents were speaking of.

When I arrived by the area, my impressions were clearly mistaken. It was far from a classy restaurant for me. It was a place I had never been to and most likely never will. However, at this point in my life, I'd dive through deep trenches just to keep myself afloat. 

As I went inside, I saw a short, chubby lady in her forties cleaning up the tables a dirty rag. She looked like she's been there long enough to master the art of working under pressure. Her hair was in a bun, covered with a hairnet, and secured with hairpins. Despite the crowd and the long line of rowdy customers, she was working all-around and all alone.

"Good morning, are you Mrs. Beatrice Simmons?" I asked, tilting my head.

While taking off food stains on the table, she glanced at me quickly when she heard my voice. "Oh, you must be Avery. I was expecting you," she replied, wiping off her sweat with her sleeves.

"Yes, sir! Just a minute!" Beatrice shouted. I tried to give her the resume I prepared the night before but she refused to take it. Instead, she told me to entertain the kid standing in line at the counter, so I wore the apron on the stool and did what I was told.

"Hi. Welcome to Shelly's! How may I serve you?" I spoke with much enthusiasm. Clearly, I wanted to impress Mrs. Simmons. My taste of freedom relied on the report she's going to write.

"Just a regular cheeseburger with a can of Pepsi. No tomatoes," the boy answered, handing over his payment.

"Coming right up!" At first, I felt like I was perfect for the job. I fit into my work demand easily one customer at a time.

Everything went well until Mrs. Simmons asked me to clean the tables next. Almost everyone in the room started talking and yelling at the same time. The pressure started kicking in and it was slowing me down.

I was burnt-out. The noise was too much for me to bear, so I ran into the washroom, thinking I would find peace. It was the only place without a crowd.

But, to my surprise, it was a total nightmare.

The toilet seats were covered in pee and dried vomit on the rims, with chewing gums sticking underneath. Vandals were drawn on the walls. The drains were clogged with hair and small pieces of plastic. There were smudges all over the mirrors.

On the doorknob, there were spots of grease and saliva spits on the edges. A thick layer of accumulated dust and cobwebs covered the bulbs. It was awful in there. I held my breath for as long as I could. To inhale the rancid stench from the sewer beneath me was the last thing I wanted to do.

And so I stood there crying like a wounded child. I was terrified of the outcome of my choices. I began to regret leaving a comfortable life — chamber maids attending to my needs with just a ring of the bell, chauffers driving me to places, designer brands taking over my closets. I didn't have to worry about anything at all, but to simply trust my parents' decisions for me.

Having poured my heart into the worst possible place on the face of the earth, I stepped outside of the horrendous restroom and exhaled all the toxic gases.

As soon as my eyes had dried from all the tears, I saw a vague, rather blurry vision of Nate playing pool with a bunch of rider guys. They looked like they were betting against one another. After he had his turn, he went to the bar and asked for some bourbon.

I didn't realize I was staring at him until some middle-aged delirious man screamed at me; complaining about his order, like a homeless drunk gone rabid. He groped my arms and touched my breasts. He uttered nasty words; undressing me in his mind.

"Get off me! Get off!" I moved my body to escape; shaking in fear of what he might do next. I begged him not to hurt me. And just when I thought I'd die or get smuggled into a different landmass, Nathan swooped in and came to the rescue. He smashed the bottle of bourbon right to the man's head. He pushed him and punched him to the ground; his hands soaked with blood and his fists full of bruises.

The woman I came for — the woman I've come to impress — Mrs. Beatrice Simmons, was in shock of what she had witnessed.

And the worst part is, she blamed me for the brawl that just happened. She didn't bother to ask me what happened nor asked someone to let the man out.

"Listen, sweet face. You don't belong here. Unwanted trouble usually stirs up to the likes of you. I'm sorry but I can't hire you. I'm going to have to tell your parents," she said. She shook her head in disappointment and walked away.

I wanted to chase her and convince her to give me another shot until Nathan grabbed my hand. He was so angry at the man, but angrier at me for being here in the first place.

"What on earth are you doing here? You could've died! If I weren't there, you —"

"It's none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going home now," I said.

Still quivering of fear, I noticed I had forgotten to thank him for saving me. My body had gone out of control from everything that happened today. I was hurt and exhausted most of all.

But very importantly, I came to realize that Mrs. Beatrice Simmons never intended to get to know me, let alone hire me. Victimized by her misogyny and ridiculous mindset, it was obvious that she had no place for justice in her dominion.

"And before you lecture me at my choice to work in this kind of place, I would just like to thank you. You were brave out there."

"How come you always show up when I need you the most?" I added.

"Well, I would say timing is everything, but that sounds too cliché now. But okay, since you asked, I'll tell you my secret. I know this may sound a little cheesy but I set my heart with this silly ringtone that tells me if you're in dire need of my help," he muttered, barely smiling despite the whirring pain in his knuckles.

I chuckled at his terribly cheesy sense of humor. "And what ringtone is that?"

"It goes like lubdub...lubdub...Your girl needs you," he said in a high-pitched puppet voice.