The clock ticked.
Eleven more minutes. Eleven more minutes, and she could go home. To her cozy apartment, in her warm bed, and a mug of hot cocoa.
Beatrice was counting down the seconds as she mindlessly scrolled through her emails.
Student queries, meeting updates, conference updates The usual.
Suddenly, her phone started buzzing in her pocket.
She frowned. Who was calling this late in the afternoon?
"Hello?" her voice cut through the quiet of her office.
"Bea?"
"I told you so many times to stop calling me at this time. I'm on cam-"
"Oh hush. You haven't been home in a while, and I miss you."
Beatrice sighed. Her mother was always like this.
"...I'll stop by after work." she finally said begrudgingly.
She could almost hear the smile on her face as she replied. "Great! I'll let your father know."
"Yeah whatever. Not like that old man cares." she mumbled, going through her spam folder.
"Come on, Bea. You know he-"
"I'm busy now, I'll talk to you later." She abruptly hung up, throwing her phone back in her bag.
The woman took a deep breath, and collected herself.
Growing up, she learned quickly not to expect much from her father. Affection was a currency he never spent, no matter how badly she wanted it.
Years later, nothing had shifted. In her late twenties, Nicholas Collins was still the same presence without warmth, close enough to hurt, too distant to care.
She stared into the void for a minute, already dreading seeing his face. But her mother would be upset if she delayed any longer. After all, she hadn't seen her for a month.
Beatrice sighed for the hundredth time that day, and decided to wrap up her work. Her parents' place was a bit far, so she needed to catch the bus.
She scooped her bag off the floor, and picked up her phone once again, walking out of the office.
It wasn't so late, so she saw some students still roaming the campus grounds, enjoying each other's company and coffee.
Just like she once did.
The bus stop wasn't far, a comfortable walking distance. Usually, she would head downtown to her flat, but this time, she stayed on the bus for a while longer, passing the stops she would usually get off at.
City lights blurred by as the afternoon grew late, the sun hanging low over the sky. Beatrice walked the busy streets of New York, trying to find a cab.
One cabbie finally noticed her. A nauseating yellow taxi stopped in front of her.
"Heya, missy. Where to?"
"Scarsdale."
He whistled, "That's a bit far, but no probs. Hop on, beautiful."
She paused, contemplating.
Screw it.
She got on, too tired to look for more options.
The interior was just as disgusting as the exterior. Gum of various colors was stuck to the floor and the bottom of the seat. The seat was squeaky, the springs peaking out from the edges.
She narrowly avoided a suspiciously green fluff growing on the cab door.
Why am I doing this again?
To make the situation worse, the driver was constantly trying to hit on her.
"So, miss, what do you do?"
"..."
"O…kay… uh, what's- your name then?"
"..."
No response again. The driver, as dense as a rock, chuckled to himself. "Playing hard to get, huh? Okay fine, at least give me your number, cutie."
"I am a married woman with four kids."
"..."
That managed to shut him up for a while. The rest of the ride went by in silence.
In about thirty, the lush front lawns of mansions and wealthy estates of the Town of Scarsdale swam into view. Magnificent architecture and lavish lifestyles, but refreshingly green. Simply looking at the scenery here felt nice, unlike the city. Even breathing is difficult there.
"There is fine," she pointed to a curb.
The driver nodded wordlessly, and stopped the cab in front of the sidewalk as Beatrice stepped out. Among the fancy limos and sports cars, the taxi looked uglier than necessary.
She paid the driver and quickly walked away from the taxi, refusing to associate with such an unsightly thing.
After strolling around for a bit, she decided it had gotten late enough. She recalled her parent's address, and walked into the familiar Street 17.
The Collins Mansion was spread over an unnecessarily large area. The front yard was wide, boasting an eight-feet deep pool and numerous, neatly trimmed bushes adorned with various fragrant flowers.
The smell of roses was nostalgic, yet a feeling of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.
A woman screaming, a strange metallic scent mingling with roses, red pooled on the stairs.
She quickly shook her head hard, gripping her bag's handle hard.
Snap out of it, Beatrice Collins. You are not eight anymore.
She steeled herself, and pushed open the wrought iron gates.
A few cars were parked neatly in the open garage, but she noticed one that was out of the ordinary.
A dark red Aston Martin. She frowned.
"We have guests?"
As she walked up to the front doors, a few maids recognized her instantly and opened the doors for her. Some, however, squinted at her face.
The newbies, probably.
Beatrice stood in the empty Main Hall for a moment, taking in the sight of her former residence. A pale gold chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a grand staircase stretched all the way up to the second floor.
Laughter echoed. Judging from how deep the voice was, it was definitely her father. The source seemed to be the living room, so she quietly approached the open sitting area.
"Yes, she should be- Ah! There you are!" Her mother noticed her instantly, hopping up from the couch and strangling her into a hug.
"Bea! What took you so long?" she scolded, "You're half an hour late!"
"Sorry, who are-"
"Oh, um, we have guests today." the mother quickly let go of her daughter, "How about you sit down for a bit and…"
She trailed off. Her daughter's eyes were wide, her jaw dropped.
She followed her gaze, to the man sitting on the couch opposite her husband.
Large, pale hands attempted to cover an embarrassed face, an icy blond head looking away.
"Wh-... what is he doing here?!"