Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning

I hate shoes.

Seriously, I do! They're uncomfortable, unreliable, and depending on whether you get open toed or closed, they're either slipping around your foot and falling off or they're confined inside a muggy sock. Don't even get me started on high heels. They're only made for women! Why is that you may ask? My theory is that they keep you from running, jumping, walking, and make you cringe so much that you're forced to just clench your teeth to bare the pain. That's why high society women are always smiling and standing still - they're wearing 6 inch stilettos.

At least, that's what I'm thinking as I stand here wearing said stilettos, not really paying attention to the gray-haired man with the monocle in front of me. What was he talking about again?

Oh my god how long have I been standing here? It feels like forever. The enormous ballroom that I'm standing in feels like it's actually closing in on me as I stand in this tiny little circle of people, all wearing tons of jewelry, thick fabrics, and fur of all things even though I'm pretty sure it's like 100 bazillion degrees in here.

There are two couples in our little circle, one older and one probably our age, though I wouldn't know since I'm not bothering to listen. The older couple is old enough to be my grandparents. The woman looks a bit younger than her husband, though I'm pretty sure that's from plastic surgery because her face lift is so obvious. I'm also guessing that her smile is due to said facelift, because it looks so fake that Barbie would've been given a run for her money. Or, it could just be the shoes she's wearing, as I said before.

Her ears are weighed down by huge diamond earrings, her arms are weighed down by a million bangles, and her neck is blinding me so much that I might have to get glasses after this. Her dress is a deep blue skirt suit that looks so thick and uncomfortable with a million layers of blouses and bows underneath. It also has this flowery, tropical pattern that makes me want to throw up on it, just to dim down the color. The other woman looks similar, except her face is youthful, yet it is covered in so much makeup that I can't tell if she's a manakin or not. Her dress is a revealing red number that hugs her curves and might actually be suffocating her. It comes up to her mid-thigh and, if it weren't for the real diamond's on neck and ears and the mink draped around her slim back, she might've been mistaken for a prostitute. Of course, both are wearing 6 inch heels, smiling brightly, standing still, and letting the men next to them talk.

I can't believe I'm among these women.

The only person there that I can stand just a little bit is the man standing next to me: my boyfriend, Greyson Westgate. I look up at him. His dark, chestnut hair is trimmed to perfection, with not a hair out of place as it is casually-not-so-casually swooped to the side. His deep, Caribbean blue eyes are so invested in the conversation he's having, but the corners of them crinkle a little bit as he laughs at something one of the other men said. He has high cheekbones and a defined jawline that make him look older than he is, and also more attractive. Not to mention his pearly whites that only make him look more perfect. The pitch black tuxedo that he's wearing feels pressed to a crisp under my hands, looped through his arm, though I can feel his toned muscles underneath. He looks perfect, with perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect teeth, and a hella perfect body. In fact, he looks like a ken doll. Yeah… a ken doll.

He's rich too! Yup, my perfect, supermodel, ken doll boyfriend is also the son of billionaire Hugo Westgate. Jealous? Don't be.

It's a real Cinderella Story - except I wasn't as smart as that bitch who thought to through her heels off. I happen to be a Six and I happen to be a Boat Tour Guide for his father's island resort. Grey and I have been Best Friends since we were both little. He was a scrawny little 11 year old when I met him, standing on the docks in a stuffy, grey, Armani suit that looked like it was suffocating him because he stood as stiff as a brick with his chest puffed out and his spine straight. His father was talking to my father who worked at the docks that Hugo owned. I thought that the scrawny little 11 in the stuffy suit looked like a snob, so I did what any 10 year old girl with an attitude issue would do: I soaked his designer suit in salt water and made fun of him.

Anyway, long story short he thought it was funny and ended up taking his suit off and throwing it in the water before coming to jump in with me. We've been friends ever since. Somewhere in that time frame I fell in love with the scrawny little 11 year old and somewhere in that time frame he grew up and got attractive. Who would've guessed. Also, somewhere in there, I decided to kiss him, date him, fall in love with him, and give myself to him wholly. Somewhere in there I became irrevocably his. The little boy that I fell in love with was carefree, funny, weird, and didn't care what stupid society thought about him. The boy that I fell in love with wouldn't drag me to these boring and oddly painful events because he hated them himself. The boy that I fell in love with wouldn't make me come to these events because he felt embarrassed of his world that required women to wear shoes at all times, and he knew that I would hate that. So, that's where he finally starts to irritate me a bit: when he asks me to where heeled shoes.

This has sadly become a predictable procedure. "This" meaning being guilted into coming to these events on the arm of my dear prince charming. He has a procedure for getting me to come here too. He comes to the docks where I work, helps me out a bit with the boats, offers to take me to lunch, and then casually offers to take me shopping for a "special occasion". I've begun to call him on it. Because of that, he's begun to just come to the docks when he knows that I get off of work and takes me straight to the mall. After that, I ask when he's going to pick me up, and if he's timed it right, it'll usually be that night or the following night. I go, suffer through a few hours, complain about my shoes afterwards, and he gives me a foot rub, telling me that he loves me the entire time and that I'm "such a trooper". Then, we finish the night with him telling me that I "did well."

I "did well?"

That's the part that just gets me. Ok, so, I'm meant to just stand around on your arm, smiling like an idiot, and pretending to know what you're talking about? Oh, but of course, I'm not allowed to say anything because only the men actually know what they're talking about. We're meant to stand there and act like we know what you know that we don't know because we're not men that KNOW!

"Delmare, darling, are you alright? You look flushed."

What? I look up quickly.

"Oh! No, um, I mean yes! I'm fine, thank you sir. I'm just a bit hot, that's all. It's getting quite toasty in here," I laugh, fanning myself for affect, and wincing at the high pitched sound of my voice. Yup, I've really worked myself up.

"Well, maybe you should go get some air, darling," Barbie Senior remarks with an air of fake sympathy, tilting her head to one side and jingling the dangling diamonds that are now stretching her earlobes. Ugh.

"Um, no no, It's fine, I'm fine." I feel my face getting even hotter, both from embarrassment at being called out and from irritation at this woman's demeanor. I look at Grey, who is looking at me with a confused expression. His eyebrows pull together for just a second before going on with the conversation.

"As I was saying gentleman-"

Excuse me?

"Sorry," I butt in, laughing a bit and pinching Greyson's arm, "you know what, I do think that I need to step out for a minute. It's just getting too stuffy in here! Whoo! Anyway, umm, I'm just gonna step out for a second," I say, stepping out of the circle and almost bumping into one of the waiters walking around with champagne, "You guys continue your conversation! Please, I'll just be outside."

Choking myself.

I wind my way through the people as fast as I can, occasionally dodging waiters with flukes of champagne and appetizers. Everything's a blur of black tuxes and shiny dresses that all look similar. The golden walls and lights around the ballroom makes everyone glow. It really gives the room an air of pretentiousness that, in and of itself, makes me want to scream. As I walk away, I don't even stop to see Greyson's face, frankly not caring. Did he seriously not even care that I was miserable? Did he not notice? That, I think, would be worse. He's known me long enough to know when I'm miserable, bored, or downright pissed. I can't believe he would just brush me off like that!

The ballroom seems to go on forever as I begin to shove past people, tripping as I do it and stumbling over the obnoxiously long gown that I'm wearing. I hate this stupid thing! It feels like it's constricting on my core and slowly cutting me in half! Finally I get to the balcony doors, almost falling through as my knees give out and my heels win over me. I breathe in the salty air from the sea and stumble over to the balcony railing, overlooking the palm trees and waves down below.

"What is wrong with him?"

I'm just shouting into the distance as I lean over the railing, probably looking like I'm about to throw up. I feel like I want to throw up. I didn't realize how horrible I felt until I got out of that stiff position and breathed real oxygen for a change, not Chanel #5. My head is pounding, my heart is racing, my arms are sore, I feel like I'm going to throw up, and damn do my feet hurt! First and foremost I'm taking off these god-forsaken death traps. As I'm taking off the 6 inch black pumps and tripping over my long, black, silk gown in the process, I hear the door open behind me. Hopping around on one foot while trying to get the stupid shoe off my foot, I'm actually surprised to see who it is. I shouldn't be, but I am. That's sad.

"Hey Grey."
"D, what the hell are you doing," he says, rushing over to me and steading me on my feet, "I know that your feet hurt, but you can't do that here! I need to bring you back in, and I refuse to bring you back in barefoot!"
"Why, no one will know," I whine back, a little irritated that he only came out here to yell at me, "the dress will cover my feet! And honestly Greyson, if I keep wearing these, you will be paying for my hospital bill!"
"Done. Now let's get back in there!"
What? No.

I look at him as if for the first time. He's still holding my elbows as I try to steady myself, but I yank my hands away, staggering back as I do. I can't bare to touch him. He looks at me incredulously. Grey would never say something like that to me… at least, he never has before.

"No."

"Delmare, please, we don't have time for this right now," he sighs, rubbing his hand down his face - his perfectly manicured, soft hand that is meant to go under his $400 dollar, silk, Tom Ford dress gloves. Those are waiting in his $300,000 Rolls-Royce, along with his driver and a bottle of $9,000 Burgundy wine that he was saving till afterwards. I never used to care about this stuff. I knew he was wealthy and that didn't bother me. I didn't care that he had money because it didn't affect who he was. Now, however, it does matter; it matters because now it is affecting who he is. I guess he takes my staring at him as a sign that he can approach, because he starts to walk forward slowly, as if coaxing me into his arms.

"C'mon, Jackson," he gives a little laugh, using the name that he used to call me when we were kids. It's not as cute anymore, or as funny. "Look, I didn't really mean that. I don't want you to break your foot, I really don't."

Good start. Not good enough.

"It's just a stressful night. I'm trying to close a deal for my father and he's really counting on me."

Wow. Ok, so that's a real excuse. Part of me is giving into him, but the other part of me just keeps thinking about all the times that this has happened lately and all the times that he's finished the night with "you did well."

"I know you hate the shoes. I know you hate shoes in general! I just need you to suffer through a little bit more until I close this deal with Mr. Rosier-"

Ah so that's what his name was…

"And I need you to be by my side."

I was starting to give in, but then he said that.

"Why though?"
He looks taken aback, "What?"

"Why do you need me?" I ask as if it's so simple. I don't even know the answer to this question! I'm hoping he says something like, "I need your insight" or "I need your charm" or at the very least "I need your support".

"I just need someone there."

Nope. Wrong answer.
"And see, that's where you went wrong, Greyson," I say, stepping forward and poking him in the chest, "you just need 'someone' there. More specifically, you need a woman. Which, I guess to you nowadays, translates to 'doll'. I'm not your arm candy Greyson! I'm not some barbie doll that you can dress up and bring as an accessory to make you look good! I thought you knew that!"

"I do know that, I do," he says, rushing forward and grabbing my arms, "D I would never think of you as arm candy! In fact, that's the last thing that I think of you as! When I said someone, I just meant that I needed to be supported, and I wanted you there. I still have trouble making these deals for my dad, and you give me confidence."

He looks so earnest and real. His eyes are pleading with me, beggin me to believe him and searching mine for any sign of compassion. He's so close to my face that I can feel his warm breath on my forehead, I mean he's like a foot and a half taller than me. I can't help myself. I completely give into him like the weakling that I am and I collapse into his arms. I'm so pathetic. Bu this is my best friend! This is the love of my life, and if I can't have faith in him, what do I have faith in?

"Greyson, I'm miserable," I mumble into his suit jacket.

"I know D," he says, resting his hand on top of mine, "I know. But we just have to get through another hour. Then, we can go home and I'll give you a foot rub."

I sigh. It's always the same.

"C'mon," he says, pulling my arm through his, like it had been positioned for the past 3 hours, "time to go back in. They'll be missing us."

You mean they'll be missing you.

I follow, letting him lead me through the crowd and back into battle. My head continues to pound in my ears, my shoulder is starting to get stiff, and oh my god do my feet ache.

Cinderella never had to deal with this kind of shit.

That was about a year ago. That was before he left for college. That was before he called me "just a Six". That was before I broke up with him and said good riddance. Why then do I still miss that spoiled sonuvabitch?

"D."

Why can't I just let him go?

"D!"

What?

"Earth to Delmare!"

I look up from the water that had been hypnotizing me just a second ago and see my best girlfriend, Ash, standing there with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. Her black hair is all pulled up in a messy bun and her caramel skin is covered in sand, hinting that she was just down at the beach. That, and the fact that she has a wet bikini on under her oversized "DAWG" T-shirt. I get up quickly, straightening out my bikini top and guys swim trunks in the process.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just a little dazed is all," I say, running my hands through my long, blonde dreadlocks. They're my trademark, and probably another thing that Greyson thought degraded me in the eyes of his peers…

"D! Snap out of it! You were thinking about Greyson again, weren't you?"\

Ashlyn gives me a patronizing look, which is weird since she's like 5 inches shorter than me. Still, it makes me feel guilty.

"I know, ok, I know," I start to walk past her, "it's just hard to lose someone that you've had by your side forever, and then just pretend like they never existed! I mean, Greyson was the biggest part of my life for the better half of 9 years!"

"Which is sad and pathetic if you think about it," Ashlyn remarks, giving me a look.

"Yes, Ash, I'm aware," I say dryly, not really in the mood to put up with her shit, "I'm just saying that if he slips into my mind every now and then, it's not without reason."

With that, I walk away, towards the sailboat tours and the tourists awaiting my arrival. Even though Greyson left, I still work for his father at thier resort. I mean, I wasn't technically hired, but my father has been working here my whole life, and it's where I was born, it's where I grew up, and it's where I started to get my first paycheck. Seriously, it was the most random thing! I think they decided that if I was going to stick around and help out so much, I might as well get paid for it. So, technically, I've been working here since I was 12, but really I like to say my whole life. I just give Boat and Jet Ski Tours, taking people to exotic places on the reef and teaching them how to scuba dive and stuff like that.

"Look, Del," Ash runs up behind me and match my pace, "I know that you loved him. Hell! I loved the guy too - we were friends! But you can't just let him get to you like this! He's not worth your time or your tears and for someone who calls herself an "independent woman", you're not acting like it."

"Gee, thanks girl," I snort, "I really appreciate the love."

"You know what I mean."

Yeah. I do. I know what she's saying because I've told myself this over and over again for the past year, and even before then! I've always prided myself on not needing to rely on anyone for anything, not even my dad! My entire life and who I am is based on the fact that I've always brushed off guys and people who let others opinions affect how they see themselves. I don't let other people affect who I am or the decisions that I make, and yet, I let this one guy, who I trusted and loved more than I probably should've, tear me down. I let him control me. I let him change me and I let him get inside my head. I never let anyone protect me, ever, and yet, I let Greyson become my protector and he ended up breaking me. If I let one guy, the only guy that I've ever dated or loved wreak me like that, then I'm not who I always thought I was.

I'm torn from my thoughts when I hear the sound of the tourists coming down the docks toward the sailboat that I'm supposed to take them on.

That's right. I have a job to do.

"Hey, I'll talk to you more about this later, ok? I just have to take this one group out and then we can go surf and I'll make you forget that we were even talking about this."

Ash laughs and nods, giving me the ok signal to escape and try to forget about my pain.

As I'm walking back to the tourists, waiting behind a rope to hear my instructions, I see a slick black Rolls-Royce pull up alongside the boathouse on the other side of the docks. I'm too far away to see, but the car definitely looks familiar. A figure steps out of the car, wearing what looks like khaki slacks and a light blue polo. I'm too far away to see, but I'm guessing it's just one of the hotel investors coming to check upon the amenities. This happens every so often, it's not a big deal.

I give the tourists the opening speech with a couple of my quippy one liners about drowning that everyone always finds so funny. I let everyone on, give them thier life vests, and leave the rest to Dante, the other tour guide, while I start to actually sail the boat.

There's nothing like salt in your lungs or wind in your hair to make you forget all your problems. I let the sun reflect off the water and warm my tan skin and I let the sea spray wash over my face. My dreads are all tied up behind my had to keep them out of the way, and my eyes are fixed on the horizon, where the water seems to just drop off and the world seems to end. There's something hypnotizing about steering a boat. While handling the ropes and following the wind is an adrenaline rush of it's own, steering the boat gives you a sense of power and serenity that one can only get on the sea.

The time flies as we lead the tourists through the ins-and-outs of scuba diving and show them all the underwater attractions. We let them play and splash around until they've had they're fill of the crystal blue water and the colorful reefs and it's time to bring them back home.

By the time we get back, it's been about two hours, but it's only 3:00 to the afternoon sun is still high. All the tourists filed off the boat in a disorganized fashion and I smile at each one of them as they leave in the customary fashion and they, of course, thank me in return. As we're getting to the end of the line, a group of guys, roughly my age and maybe older, is smirking at me and laughing amongst themselves, giving me little waves as they leave. Ugh. Boys.

As I'm trying to clean up the boat and put away all the equiptment, I feel the boat rock slightly, alerting me to someone else's presence. Turning around, I see one of the guys that was here before, a tall, sandy-blonde haired dude in his wet bathing suit and a towel swung around his neck. He has this his shoulders slumped down a bit and his face is tilted to the side a bit, like he's trying to study me. His hands are grasping the sides of the towel around his neck as he walks towards me slowly, wearing an arrogant smirk that just screams, "I'm an ass!" Oh god...

"Hey, you're not supposed to be on here, the tour is over. Go back to the beach," I say, walking towards him and trying to sound authoritative. Jeez these guys are so annoying! Do they think that it's attractive to creepily stalk a girl on private property?

"No, please," he suddenly speaks up, stopping me in my tracks before I can get past him, "I was just admiring the work that you did on this boat. I was wondering if you gave private lessons."

I gives me another smirk and trails his fingers down my arms and down to my hands. I shiveer and shove him off of me.

"No! I don't! Now, would you please kindly get off this boat before I-"

"Money's not a problem, if that's what you're worried about," he interrupts me, blocking my path again.

Did he seriously just say that?

I give him a sweet smile that hides my fuming anger inside that is ready to wring his arrogant neck and fly his corpse on my sail, and instead I step towards him to calmly guide him towards the dock.

"Wonderful. Now, I'm sure that other boat docks would be delighted to hear you say that! We, however, aren't interested in your money or in your business. This is a privately owned boat dock and I am not given the liberty to use it's boats as I please. So, I'm going to ask you one more time, sir. Please. Get. Off. The boat."

"Ok," he says, finally giving in and stepping onto the dock, "but how about you? Can I buy you dinner one night?"

"No. You can't."

Another voice comes from behind Sandy-Hair and I have to step up to the dock to see who it is.

No. It can't be.

Greyson Westgate, standing there in all of his glory is glaring at Sandy with a look that would make the Rock want to curl up and die. His hands are casually resting in his khaki slack and his blue polo is perfectly form fitting around his muscular chest and arms, and matches the Caribbean Blue of his eyes. A golden Rolex watch glints off of his arm and Armani sunglasses rest atop his beautiful, slicked back dark hair. His lips are set in a straight line as he stares down Sandy, as if daring him to question.

"And who are you to say," Sandy says, finally finding the courage, "who are you to say if she goes out with me or not?"

"Her boyfriend. I'm also the owner of this hotel, and if you don't stop harassing her, I'll have you thrown out on your ass before you even know what's happening in that tiny, dip-shit brain of yours. Now, can you please leave the docks, and my girlfriend, alone and go back to the beach like she asked."

Sandy just stared for a minute at my ex who seemed larger than life and nodded slowly, before dipping his head and walking back towards the beach.

I was speechless.

This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be back. He couldn't have just done that. This guy who looked like he belonged on a yacht in Monte Carlo could not possibly be my Greyson.

"Hey, Jackson."

And yet, it was.

"Don't call me that," I say, moving past him and keeping my head down as I do so, "you lost all rights to that name a while ago, back when you called me a 'just a Six'. You can call me Delmare now."

"I'll call you what I want to call you!"

And just like that, I realised that this truly wasn't the same boy that I knew growing up. All traces of him were gone, lost to money and power and the allure of the Two's world. I turned around to face him, to see him heaving, his face hard. He looked like he was trying to stay firm.

"I'm sorry. Just, look, Delmare," he sighed before walking towards me slowly again, his hands going back in his pockets, "I'm sorry that we have to meet like this. I'm sorry that I hurt you and that we grew apart. I'm sorry that I ruined what was quite possibly the best relationship I've ever had. Not just that, but I'm sorry I lost you altogether. The thing is, we have to put that aside right now, because I'm your boss and I control you and -"

"Excuse me?"

He controls me?

"No! That not what I meant, I just, ugh," He sighs, rubbing his hand down his face like he always used to do when he got frustrated, "I have to fire you."

My mind goes blank for a second. I can't think. I don't know what to think. All i can do is stare at the apologetic eyes that Greyson is breaking me with. Well, the eyes that he used to break me with. Now, I feel nothing.

"I'm sorry, D, but my dad is tearing down the boat docks and building a sea animal petting zoo in the shallows - for the kids! The Boat Tours just aren't bringing in enough money, and I'm sorry to do this, but we have to let you go."

Nothing. I feel nothing for this monster.

"I've already told your dad. He's in the boat house right now."

You are nothing.

"I'm sorry D," He straightens up and clears his throat, shading his eyes with the sunglasses, "But this is the way it has to be. Goodbye, Delmare Jackson."
And just like that, he walks all the back to his pitch black Rolls-Royce and purrs away, into whatever world he's now living in, leaving me stranded with nothing. Nothing but anger that is, anger and pain. He stole everything from me. He stole my heart, my soul, my independence, my happiness, and now my life. That's what this job is, my life. I live for these boats and the dreams they hold. He stole that from me - from my family. It's all my and my dad have.

For that, I will loathe him forever.

He took away what I used to believe in most of all: love. He took away everything I believed in and replaced it with anger and resent. He took away my life, who I was, and left nothing.

Nothing.

Hello Beautifuls!

So, my names is Leah, for those of you who don't know me, and I was extremely bored on this snowday that I have, and I decided to write a story based around a character that I wrote for an SYOC. This is not normally something that I do, but I just felt like writing a run-of-the-mill, fluffy, dribble, selection story.

If you liked it, wonderful! Tell me in the reviews and in follows and maybe I'll continue. If not, oh well. It's fine. I do hope you like it though because I really enjoyed writing it! Delmare's a fun girl and I hope we can get a little bit more into her darker side and her past if you like the story and I continue.

Also (just gonna do a little marketing here) if you like this story, go check out the other sorry that I wrote, For Loyalty to the Crown. It's an SYOC and it is actually full, but please read it still! I'm getting around to posting the 2nd chapter and I promise it will get into some fun drama *cue evil laugh*

Anyway, Please review/follow/favorite! BYEEEEEE