"It was self-defense," I said, voice and face hard.  "Everyone has a right to defend themselves."  I said this the same way I'd said it a hundred times before, with stony resolve.  I was used to defending what Dante had done.  I'd never stop defending it, because I knew he'd done it for me.

He smiled again.  "I apologize.  I was out of line there.  I didn't mean to upset you.  I was actually just trying to help you.  I saw that creep bothering you and thought I should intervene.  Jethro was bothering you, wasn't he?"

I nodded, thinking it was ironic that this piece of work saw Jethro as the creep, but I begrudgingly said, "Thank you," because Jethro had been bothering me.   

"Anytime, Scarlett.  You know I'm always here if you need me.  Always."   

I didn't like the sound of that one bit.  I tried to move past him, but he stepped in my way.  "Listen, you may not see it now, but I thought I should warn you: Dante is dangerous.  Dangerous to others, dangerous to you."

I just stared at him, wondering what his intention was.  By his face and voice, he seemed genuinely worried for me, but with him, I didn't trust it. 

And his intention really didn't matter.  Nothing on earth could make me afraid of Dante.  He would die before he'd hurt me.  He would die to keep me from being hurt.  By anyone.  This I knew.

"You think he defended you, I get it.  You think it was, what?  Manslaughter?  Self-defense if you're being completely naive?  But it was more, I promise you.  He went into the woods looking for a man, and that man ended up dead.  What is that, if not intent?" 

I started shaking my head.  He was wrong.  I knew it for a fact.  I'd looked into Dante's eyes while he told me what really happened.  He'd gone looking for my attacker, intending to bring him to the police, since the police were doing nothing, but when he'd found him, the man had pulled a knife and attacked.  They'd fought, Dante had tried to take the knife away, but instead, much to his horror, he'd ended up stabbing the man.  He'd tried his best to get help, but my attacker had bled out before he could get the proper medical attention. 

Dante had told me the story in painstaking detail and with utter sincerity, and I believed him unconditionally, even if I was one of few. 

"If he loses his temper again, how can you know it won't be you that ends up on the wrong end of it?" 

"He's taking anger management courses," I told Harris, not because I thought Dante really needed them, but because it seemed like something Harris should hear. 

"You're not listening, Scarlett, or else you're not hearing me, but I want you to know that if you ever need me, I'm just a phone call away.  You can come to me for anything." 

His words felt insinuating to me, they always did, but I just nodded and moved past him.  At least he wouldn't be bothering me anymore, not more than the random coincidence.  My case was closed, thank God. 

Harris let me leave, and I went straight to checkout.  There was only one lane open, and I had the terrible luck of being directly behind Jethro. 

He sent me a greasy smile as he paid for his beer and cigarettes with his EBT card.

Of course this was not allowed, but when you're a small town's biggest drug dealer, things like that tend to just go your way. 

I glared at his back when he left.  I sincerely hoped I never had to set eyes on him again.     

Meeting Jethro had bothered me.  It was disheartening and disturbing to realize that even I believed he was my biological dad.  Before I'd always just been able to shrug off any relation altogether the rare times that it came up, because the idea had been as abstract as it was distasteful.  I didn't want this man to be my dad and so he wasn't. 

But not anymore.  After that, I carried the weight of belonging to even more white trash heritage than I already claimed.  It was a blow to my ego that I hadn't needed, to say the least.  Not a day in my life had gone by when I hadn't known and been reminded that I was trash.  More proof was just picking at a wound that was already bloody. 

One other thing did come out of meeting him, though.  A lesson.  Or at least, a reminder:  I was not a Durant.  Gram had accepted me into her heart, into her home.  She fed me, clothed me.  She provided me with everything I needed and more, from my phone to my haircuts. 

She'd even tried to buy me a car, but I'd drawn the line there.

No, I'm not crazy.  I just couldn't do it, couldn't defend taking such an extravagant gift, not without earning it.  She had three extra cars.  When I needed one, she always generously allowed me to borrow one.  It was enough for me. 

And as much as I wanted to tell all of the people that looked down on me to go fuck themselves, I did care how it looked, how I looked when it came to Gram and her kindness toward me.

If the world thought I was taking advantage of that, then hell, maybe I was, and so I tried my best not to.

So meeting Jethro Davis wasn't all bad.  It made me realize that I needed to start earning my keep. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

~Pablo Neruda

PRESENT

SCARLETT

Filming was not going how I'd expected.  It was a rollercoaster.  All ups and downs, nothing in between. 

A part of me hated it, and a part of me found it stimulating.  At least I wasn't bored.