Fall of Angel

Chapter 2

Hello again! :) Thank you for taking your time to continue reading my series :) Chapter 2's cover girl is Jasmine Sanders is Ferrah Knox :D She's so pretty! Enjoy!

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Saturday, a day to party, drink, smoke, get high, and sleep with a guy you might not ever see again. The elite do party, but we are not allowed to risk our reputation for one night of fun. And so, Ferrah, Marcie, and I devised a plan for the new batch of girls; something devious.

After school ended and Marcus dropped me off, I stepped into the white entrance hall of my mansion. “Laura,” I called, my voice echoing off the painting covered wall making it seem as if the house was empty.

Laura, our Russian maid whose real name was unpronounceable, hurried out of the living room with a feather duster in hand. “Yes?” she said perfectly. How could she not have said it without an accent seeing as how she’s had to say the word so many times over.

“Take my bag to my room, prepare my bath,” I said coldly, “and tell me, where is my father?” I asked as I tossed my schoolbag to her.

Catching my bag,“He is in his study, m’lady,” she looked uncomfortable as she said it, giving a little curtsy to retreat.

What are you doing, you fat fart? I thought to myself and began to walk.

Daddy is not handsome, at all. He’s shorter than I am, bald, and he has a cunning mind which I inherited. Poor Mom, she dealt with his affairs badly, but that wasn’t what killed her. Now, to win my affection Daddy grants my every whim. He should be the one dead, not Mom.

As I reach for the knob of Daddy’s closed door, I hear some sad jazz music resonating from the old gramophone. Which is very, very odd…my father hates jazz music…

“Daddy?” I called out as I knocked on his door. The music abruptly stopped after a minute. I heard shuffling noises approach the door. Jumping back I yelped as a sudden ram to the door made it fling towards me but not enough to force open the door. The gold leaved knob turned left, then right, and then it was jiggled before the door finally came open. Daddy stood there in last night’s suit, it was wrinkled worse that a Neapolitan Mastiff’s forehead. His eyes were so bloodshot it made the red wine in his glass look rosy. I tried to hide my disgusted face after Daddy’s burp’s smell reached my nose.

This was so very unlike him; most of the time Daddy acted like a proper gentleman, when he wasn’t busy teasing the maids or his secretary that is. He took a swig from the glass in his hands, chugging the last of the red liquid in a sloppy manner.

“Daddy?” I asked softly, he was starting to scare me with his behavior. The only other time I’d seen his face so empty and drunk was the night Mom died. But then he had been yelling “Lucille! I’m so sorry!!” Which had been very annoying to say the least; it was his own damn fault Mom had smoked herself to death, making her lungs blacker than charcoal.

This Daddy was quiet, almost in a defeated manner, his eyes were lifeless. “Daddy, what’s the matter?” I asked.

He seemed to focus as his eyes slowly swept up to meet my own. He gave me a dreamy smile like he was remembering a happy memory from before. It made his eyes twinkle, “You look so much like your mother…” he mused.

“Daddy,” I said firmly, irked that he would mention her at this moment in his drunken state, “What’s wrong?”

My father sighed; it filled the hallway with his rotten, alcohol ridden breath and motioned for me to enter his study. “You may want to sit down for this…”