Daily Writing Prompts discussion

I think we had a mix-up with the mods again, so here's today's prompt:
"Use the sentence, 'My father always...' somewhere in your writing."
Have fun, and happy writing!

I wrote something and no one should be surprised that it turned out much longer than I intended😐

It’s called: “Too Late For Regrets.”

My father always said I was trouble… I don’t think he realized how right he was.
***

I wasn’t meant for private schools or nice schoolboys. I knew that, but my parents? Not so much.
They wanted a kind daughter who did what she was told. They wanted an obedient child who wouldn’t complain. They wanted their daughter to be a blonde Barbie doll who would marry the richest Ken she could find.
Too bad they got stuck with me instead.
It’s not that I can’t fit in, it’s that I won’t. Which just infuriates my parents. They hate that I would choose to spend my days in clubs that I’m far to young to be in or with people they call delinquents rather than pretend to be one of those bleach-blonde sheep.
In fact, I was supposed to attend my father’s party celebrating his promotion at the firm. All his coworkers and their oh-so-conveniently single sons will be on the guest list.
Mother is playing matchmaker while father is the esteemed host. The man of the hour.
I smile to myself, the thoughts swirling around in my head contrasting clearly with the words pouring from my mouth.
“Oh yes mother,” I preen to Amelia, the woman who gave birth to me, as she continues to lecture me on the proper conduct of a woman in such a high position as myself- my ‘high position’ being my father’s only child. “I promise to act accordingly and charm all the young suitors you and father have gathered for my benefit.” I look into her icy eyes with my wide blue ones, my hand absentmindedly picking at the flowers embroidered on my duvet cover.
She looks at me skeptically and lets out a little: “hmmm.”
“What?!” I feign hurt with my hand clutching at my imaginary pearls, my lips pouting, and my brows furrowing. “I can be charming.”
She sighs, hands me a frilly monstrosity, and leaves me to prepare.
Silly Amelia, won’t you ever learn?
I chuck the dress over my shoulder with a laugh and stand from my bed. I cross the plush carpet to my closet and pull out a black fishnet-like long sleeved top and black cutoffs from the very back of my closet where Amelia wouldn’t find them. I bend down, retrieving black books from the floor of my closet.
I check the clock on my nightstand, 9:40 pm. The party starts in twenty minutes.
I change out of my pajamas and pull on a shirt that’s so tiny it’s more like a bra, I layer the fishnet top over it and tug on the shorts and boots after.
I stand before my full length mirror, lining my eyes in black, my lips in a dark red, and braiding my chestnut hair over my shoulder so that the died-red ends are on full display.
Amelia almost had a heart attack when I died them. She tried to cut my hair twice, but after she almost lost an ear to that particular endeavor, she gave it up and settled for twisting my jar into a bun and hiding the red. They can’t judge her for something they can’t see.
And lucky for my mother, they won’t see any of me.
I unlatch the window and slip onto the slanting roof below, I carefully inch my way to the edge. Gripping the ledge with my hands, I lower myself off the roof in the dying sunlight and dangle by my fingers before releasing and gently dropping down the two story fall to land in a crouch.
I land as quiet as a cat from a fall that I’ve practiced hundreds of times—and six years of competitive gymnastics helps with not breaking anything vital.
I look back at the imposing house as I stretch out my legs, I can see the sleek black cars pulling up the long drive, mother will be coming to fetch me soon. Time to go.
I turn on my heel, and walk straight into something firm, large, and terrifyingly human.
“Well that was quite the entrance.” Laughs the man that I slammed face-first into not even a moment ago. I scramble back and look up at the annoyingly tall bundle of solid muscle. He looks to be about twenty-four, far too old to be a potential suitor in my mother’s eyes, and the scar on his left cheek doesn’t help. He’s wearing a suit more expensive than my father’s Ferrari over his lean frame, and the smirk painted on his lips fifteens the hard line of his jaw.
“What can I say?” I grin, trying to still the pounding of my heart. “I’ve always been one for theatrics.”
“I can see that, but you do know there’s a perfectly functional door, don’t you?” Yes, yes I do, but the door would get me caught.
“Doors are expected.” I shrug, eyeing the mostly faded sunlight illuminating his chin-length brown hair.
“And expected is bad?” He guesses, his green eyes flashing in a way that sends a familiar tingly feeling down my arms.
“Expected is boring.” I flash him my most dazzling smile and attempt to slip past him, only for him to trail after me.
I march through the woods, picking up my pace when I notice him barely a few steps behind me.
“The party’s that way.” I call behind me, getting closer and closer to the bright lights of the city just beyond these woods.
“And?”
“And you’re a guest, aren’t you?” I stop, turning to eye his wholly black suit that’s conspicuously lacking a tie.
“My brother is,” he informs me. “I’m just the chaperone.”
“Then shouldn’t you be up there, chaperoning?” I raise my brow, daring him to turn back.
“Maybe,” he nods. “Though shouldn’t the guest of honor be up there?” He eyes my outfit, the red in my hair, the black around my eyes, the dark color on my lips. He knows who I am, and he didn’t stop me from leaving.
“My father is the guest of honor.” I turn away from him, starting back down the hill. “I’m just trouble.”
“Good thing I happen to like a little trouble.” I glare at him from my peripheral vision.
“You’re too old for me.” Take the hint, and go away.
“You’ll be eighteen in a month.” He points out.
“How did you know that?” Is Amelia giving my soon-to-be age out to strangers now too?
“I did my research.”
“On me?”
“Obviously. Couldn’t have my little brother potentially marry a woman I know nothing about now could I?”
“Marry?! I never agreed to marry anyone.” I push through the last line of trees and step out onto the road that leads to downtown.
“Your mother says otherwise.”
“My mother doesn’t have a say in that. Besides, I don’t even know your brother. I don’t even know who you are!”
“You can call me Apollo.” He laughs as we make it to the hubbub of buildings and clubs.
“Apollo? Seriously? Is that actually your name or are you just making stuff up now?”
“Rude.” He sniffs.
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes. “You’re still like twenty-five.”
“Twenty-three.” He corrects.
“That still makes me jailbait to you.”
“You’ll be an adult in fifteen days.” He deadpans.
“Yeah, that still makes me practically jailbait.” I cross the street and settle into a long line of people waiting get into a large club that stretches past the curb.
“And you,” he croons in my ear. “Are still assuming that I intend to do anything to you that might get me in that kind of trouble.” I think I just might hate him. I glare at him just as his hand closes around my wrist and he pulls me out of line, escorting me right to the bouncer.
“Hey!” I hiss. “I’m going to lose my place in line!”
“Brutus.” He completely ignores me, instead addressing the bouncer.
“Sir.” Nods the buff guy in front of the door right before he steps aside to allow us in.
“How did you do that?” I murmur, my mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“My family owns this club.” He smirks, leading me up the stairs.
“Interesting.” I mutter, but my words are lost in the pounding music and bright lights of the club.

Apollo led us to the bar where I quickly left him for the dance floor.
This isn’t my first adventure in this place, and my practiced ease helps me navigate the sea of bodies as I jump and sway to the music.
Songs pass before I feel warm hands on my waist and press myself against a chest that is quickly becoming very familiar.
“You looked lonely out here.” He murmurs in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“I wasn’t.”
“But I was.” His words send my heart pumping, and as I turn into a spin, I notice slight flush on his cheeks.
I force a laugh, attempting to extricate myself from this far too tempting mistake.
“Oh!” I stumble back, and he catches me around the wait. I turn so that I’m facing him.
“I thought you weren’t going to do anything that would get you into this kind of trouble..?” I breathe, our bodies drawing closer.
“I haven’t…yet.” My breath hitches, and suddenly it feels like we’re the only two people in this room.
“Feel like getting out of here?” I whisper, and I can feel his lips rise into a grin.
“Where to Lilia?” I’m not surprised he knows my name, after all, he did his research.

Apollo had a car waiting out front, such a show off.
The drive to our destination was short, and before long I was leading him to one of the most extensive botanical gardens on this side of the country.
It’s usually closed to the public at this time of night, but I am my father’s daughter, and no one says no to a Campbell.
We strolled through the gardens and he draped his jacket over my shoulders when I got cold. I led him to a meadow in the center of the gardens where we plopped down in the grass and laid out on our backs, gazing at the stars with our fingers intertwined.
“It’s so beautiful.” He murmured. I thought he was talking about the stars, but his eyes are on me.
“It’s the one thing I like about being a Campbell.” I admit, my eyes never leaving the sky.
“Yes, privilege does have quite a few benefits.” His voice is soft, and somewhat rough, like he’s holding words back.
We lay in a comfortable silence, the wind rustling my hair and whistling through the trees.
“Apollo.” I begin, breaking the quiet.
“Yes?”
“Who are you?”
“Your future husband.” He smiles.
“Don’t joke,” I scold. “I’m being serious. You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“I’m not joking.” I look at him, and the smile is gone, he doesn’t look like he’s joking.
“But,” I stammer. “We just met.”
“Did we?” His hand comes up to touch my cheek. “Think hard.”
I close my eyes, searching my memories for when we could have met…but how could I forget someone like him?
“Do you remember,” his voice is calm and quiet. “That school you went to as a child? The one with the clovers on the walls?”
Clovers….small green leaves painted by children…
My eyes fly open. I remember.
“You walked me home from school.” I gaze into those eyes that felt so familiar, and I see a young boy in them. One who would bandage my knee when I fell, buy me ice cream when I cried. Draw clovers on my hands and cheeks. Give me piggyback rides when I was sleepy… mom called him my guardian angel, how could I forget?
“Everyday.” He whispers, his face close enough to kiss.
“Everyday.” I echo, remembering the few times his brother would tag along, and the way they made me feel at home.
“How could I forget?” I cry, my eyes burning.
“You didn’t,” he says, and there’s a slight tremble in his voice. “Not really. It just took a little while to remember.”
“I’m so sorry.” I sit up, wiping at the tears threatening to fall.
“Hey,” he catches my wrists in his hands. “Don’t you remember? It’s too late for regrets.” My eyes widen, because I do remember. I remember all the times he would say that to me when I was sad. It’s too late for regrets, so live in the moment.
I move forward without warning, and my lips find his.
It’s soft, and it tastes like salt….I don’t want it to end, and I don’t want to forget, not ever.
I pull away from the kiss first, and as I gaze into those green eyes of his that look like fields of clovers, I see a future.
And for once, when I imagine marrying someone my parents approve of, it doesn’t seem so terrible.

Aweee, that was so sweet! I loved it!

@Bella

Aw thanks!

The original plan was to make it dark, depressing and just rly rly sad….or possibly a thriller.
But changed my mind in favor of something lighthearted 😌

It was heart warming

Yay!