Chapter 1
Ella
Sitting in the back of an Uber, I think about my life and hate the path it’s taken. It hasn’t been a good road, but it’s up to me to make it better. The driver attempts to make conversation. “So, you work at Billy’s Burgers?” It’s obvious since I’m wearing a smelly, greasy Billy’s Burgers shirt.
“Yeah.” I shouldn’t be rude. It’s not his fault I’m miserable. I pull my hair tie out of my hair and rub my scalp gently before tying my dark brown hair back up into a messy bun.
“Doesn’t sound like a good place to work.” He sympathetically frowns, making me feel less awkward.
“It’s not, but it’s money,” I add. It’s a super crappy hole in the wall burger stand with less than sanitary conditions, and I’m pretty sure a manager on the nightshift sells drugs out of the back of the building. He disappears out back every couple hours, and he’s not smoking or looking high on anything, so that’s got to be the reason. Either way, it’s sketchy as hell and I hate it. Maybe I’ll quit and find another place.
“I get it. This is my second job. I have to pay for college, and I don’t want to be drowning in debt.” He turns onto the long road that leads to some of the most expensive homes in the city. “You live over here?”
I know exactly what he’s thinking. Why would someone living in this area have to work at a fast-food restaurant? Not everything is as it seems, but I can’t say that I’m a servant in my own home.
“Yes, but you know how it is…they want to teach me a lesson about hard work,” I lie. It’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Eight years ago, my father remarried. She’s kind of a wicked stepmother who acts sweet and kind to your face and then threatens to smother you while you sleep. It has been three years since my father killed himself, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him and wonder why he did it. He’d started to witness their abuse and neglect when it came to me, and they even fought about it when he wasn’t working nonstop, so why would he leave me alone?
Sometimes I wonder if he was murdered, but I’ve got no proof except my stepmother’s greed as a motive. Everything according to the investigators led to a suicide except the fact that there wasn’t a note. He and I had plans for the following weekend, so none of it made sense to me.
After a long day at my fast-food job, I still have to go to my second job at the local Walmart.
“Well, don’t work too hard and take care,” he says. I give him money and close the door. The large mansion in front of me would be a pleasure to own if my stepfamily hadn’t existed. Honestly, I don’t believe my father would have purchased such an ostentatious place if it weren’t for my stepmother. He had simpler tastes despite his wealth.
God, I miss him.
A feeling of stress and fatigue weighs on me as I slide the key into the lock and turn it gingerly. If I didn’t have to stop at home first, I wouldn’t, but I smell like old grease and need to shower and change. Cringing as the door creaks open, I quietly sneak in and close it gently behind me.
If my stepfamily realizes I’m home, the demands will begin. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible—and I’m not just talking about today. I need to get away from them and unfortunately, running away is my only recourse.
Two days ago, I graduated from high school without fanfare. Going to college is out of the question at the moment. Although I received paychecks, saving money has been nearly impossible. My stepmother would take a majority of my money as payment for living in my father’s home. Now that I’m an adult, they demand more money per paycheck.
I’ve finally reached my breaking point. I’d rather be homeless than live with them ever again. After I get off my shift, I’m packing all I can carry and I’m leaving.
I manage to make it to my small room without any of them coming to look for me. It won’t last long, but hopefully they’re too busy to bother me. I find my work clothes and then kick off my shoes, and next is my greasy, smelly shirt.
As I kick off my pants, my small bedroom is invaded by my stepsisters. They storm in so quickly that I don’t have time to slip my clothes back on. Instead, I use my hands to cover up that I’m in my worn-out bra and panties.
“Why are my clothes not folded, Ella?” Ana shouts, tossing her wicker basket of clothes at me, hitting me square in the face. Holy cow, this woman has lost her mind. Reaching up, I touch my cheek and feel the sting of the small abrasion that the stupid basket made. I’m about to launch myself at her, but I remember my plan. Getting out of here is more important than dealing with these women ever again.
“Why are my dresses not hanging in color order?” Demi adds, launching an empty wooden hanger in my direction, but her terrible aim sends it through the one window in my room, shattering the glass over my bed.
“Mom, Ella broke the window,” Ana hollers like a banshee. Great. Now I’m going to lose the rest of the money I have to fix it even though it’s not my fault.
“You’re in so much trouble,” Demi sneers, venom practically seeping from her teeth like the evil snake she is.
I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who broke my damn window,” I argue, which I know isn’t going to do me any good because they don’t like me defending myself at all.
“It’s our house and our windows. You should have done your chores, you lazy whore.”
“I had to work early this morning, unlike you,” I remind them. No one else works. They live off my father’s life insurance and the money he left behind to help care for me, although I’ve never seen a penny of that money.
“And you couldn’t have done it last night?” my stepmother says from the bedroom door. I turn to look at the older woman with her cold, elegant appearance, dressed as if she was a millionaire. She has a look of loathing on her overly made-up face.
I feel my throat tightening and my eyes begin to tear up, but if they see me cry, things will only get worse. I haven’t cried in a long time, and I won’t be that weak. “Why are you standing in your underwear? Were you flashing the neighbor across the street?”
How dare she! I’m so tired of all of them, and I let it slip out of my mouth. “No. I was changing when your slags you call daughters barged in my room.”
“Bitch,” Anna screams, charging at me. Her hands slam into my chest, sending me backward and falling onto the bed with my head hitting the wooden windowpane and my arm digging into a shard of glass. I scream when the large piece pierces my arm. Standing up and away from them, I pull out the glass, squirting blood everywhere. Quickly, I wrap my arm in the nearest shirt and then make my way out the door, snatching my bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door.
Without a backward glance, I run out of the house before they finish what they started.
I’m sprinting out of the house so fast that I accidentally run into the street. Mrs. Godley, my next-door neighbor, nearly hits me with her car. The brakes screech and my hand hits the hood. She jumps out and runs around to see if I’m okay. “Oh, my dear. I’m sorry. Let me get you to the hospital.” She helps me into her car and drives. “What are you doing running into the street in your bathrobe?”