Not Easy

Sienna

Cherry has terminal cancer. Yeah — that sentence had been stuck with me since Alex dropped me off. It lodged in my head the moment she said it, so casually, as if she'd already accepted her fate. It hurt to look at them both, knowing one of them was counting her days.

I didn't know why it hurt so much — a woman I'd only met today, and already the idea of her dying felt like a physical ache. The doctor hadn't given a timeframe. A year, two, a few months — anything was possible. I didn't know how Thomas would cope; from what I'd seen, he loved her so much—  it made my chest ache.

Watching them that day, despite the tragedy, filled a gaping hole inside me. It was painful and oddly beautiful to see love still exist so fiercely in this stupid world full of shallow people.

The night passed like that — tossing, turning, replaying why Alex was there. Why was he in my thoughts, in my life all of a sudden? And why wasn't I doing everything I could to push him away? Morning came with a bleary-eyed notification: an email from my agency.

The exhibition would be on August 10th — only ten days from today.

Then another notification: a text from my ex, Ryatt. The man was a walking headache.

"Why doesn't he just go and fuck himself?" I muttered, hiding the notification without opening it. I swung my legs out of bed, freshened up, feeling oddly lighter, and went downstairs for breakfast.

"Good morning, Dad." I hugged him from behind as he sat, leafing through documents and sipping coffee. "What are you working on so early?"

"Good morning, princess." He ruffled my hair, smiling. "Just some office shit I couldn't finish last night because your mother threw a tantrum."

"Tantrum?" Mom appeared with plates, planting them before us and giving Dad a pointed look. "I threw a tantrum? You were the one watching stupid reels instead of giving me attention, and for calling that out I'm the one throwing tantrums?"

"Sorry, baby." Instead of arguing, Dad reached for apology like he always did, sliding his hand around her waist. "I did give you attention afterwards, didn't I?" He gave her a look; she blushed.

I bit into my sandwich and wrinkled my nose. "Find a room, you two."

"Oh we will." Dad chuckled, kissing Mom's shoulder. She snapped away, red as a tomato.

"Jacob! How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Don't do this in front of Sienna, be a little decent like other parents—" I finished for Mom in her usual tone. "As if he ever listens." I grabbed my glass of orange juice. "Calm down — I'm immune to it now. I can turn a blind eye."

"See?" Dad smiled, finding his way back to reason. "Now come here—"

Before he could pull her close, Mom slapped his hand away. "Get away and have your breakfast! You'll be late."

"God, Evelyn." He rolled his eyes. "You are unbelievable."

I tuned their antics out and ate, because I was starving, until Dad interrupted.

"By the way, Sienna. Ryatt called me about you." He chewed, making both Mom and me freeze. "Did you two fight? He hardly calls — he's always been too afraid of me." He glanced at me.

Discomfort slid down my spine and I shifted in my seat. "Well..."

"What is it?" His voice went sharp with suspicion; Dad was like that — observant to the point of seeing through you. You couldn't lie to him unless you were very, very skilled. Mom and I were not.

Mom gave me a tiny nod. Dad cocked his eyebrow.

Finally I let it out. "I broke up with him because he cheated — with Kelly."

Dad stared, unblinking, then looked at Mom as if seeking confirmation. When Mom stayed silent he leaned back, jaw hard, hand tightening around the pen. "When did you...find out?"

I'd hoped he wouldn't ask. Not because it didn't hurt — because I knew he'd be furious.

We didn't answer at first; then he asked again. "When did you find out, Sienna?"

He hardly ever used my full name. When he did, it meant trouble. I drew a breath, eyes stinging. "On...my birthday."

He slammed his hand on the table, grabbed his coat. "He'll be in the news, now."

Oh no.

"Dad...no." Before I could stand, he was already at the door. Mom moved faster — she grabbed his arm, horrified. "Jacob, no! We can't do this."

"Yes, we can — or specifically, I can." His lips were a thin line. "That asshole dared to stoop that low. He should deal with the outcome."

I lunged for Dad, grabbing his other arm. "No, Dad. You can't do this," I rushed. "He cheated on me, I dumped him—chapter closed. We can't make a scandal out of it. No."

"If you're worried about the news, I'll keep it covered—don't worry." He tried to go again, but Mom and I clung to him. I'd never seen him this furious before; it scared me. With his past media presence, we couldn't risk a scene.

"No, Dad! Please listen." I squeezed my eyes shut and held on like my life depended on it. "I don't want this, okay? I don't want any of us—least of all me—tangled with him again. He's a piece of shit and he belongs where he is. I don't want our hands dirty. I want to forget him. Please, don't do this. Don't waste yourself on him. Let me move on—on my terms. Can we just be normal?"

They exchanged a look I couldn't read, then Dad softened. He reached up and cupped my face; his eyes were unexpectedly sad.

Of course that made me hate Ryatt ten times more.

"Okay." His voice was small. "I will not do anything." He pulled me into a hug. His warmth wrapped around me and, for a breath, the weight of the heartbreak eased.

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered, burying my face in his chest. Hot tears slipped free.

Mom smoothed my hair. "It's okay, baby. You can cry—holding it in only makes it worse."

"I don't want to," I lied, and a sob escaped anyway.

Dad held me tighter and let me cry without questions, his silence a kind of shelter. Still, a thought flickered through me — if Ryatt ever crossed him, even in a nightmare, he'd be dead meat.

***

It was weird that I still liked watching Cinderella. Even weirder that Dad still enjoyed it with me.

He and Mom had left a few hours earlier, giving me time to paint. The three of us had been lying on my bed before they left—tossing, turning, rotting in the sheets—we did that often. It didn't feel strange to me at all.

After they left I painted, partly finished one canvas, rinsed my brushes, and then boredom settled in like a thick blanket.

I didn't know what to do.

As if the universe wanted to spite me, my phone buzzed.

Alexander.

"So the exhibit is on the tenth of August, right?"

My brows drew together. How did he know?

"Stalking me again, Grayson?" I texted.

"Kind of."

"Well then—fuck off."

"Sure—only if you...let me fuck you."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I could almost see his smug smile through the screen. It was absurd.

"Never happening."

"Happening. Very, very soon."

What was wrong with him? Was he insane?

I threw my phone to the other side of the bed and clutched a squishy pillow to my chest, trying to shove the thoughts away. He was a devil—how else could one man stir such reckless ideas in my head?

That "very soon" made something inside me tremble.

A minute later my phone buzzed again. I groaned and reached for it. A video call. From Alex.

I meant to hit decline. My thumb betrayed me—slid, and instead of red, I tapped green.

Well. Fuck me.

Because what unfolded on my screen the next second—

Fuck it.