Eleanor Furness hates being rich. She despises the lavish, old mansions, the materialistic lifestyle, the pompous attitudes, and the careless nature of it all. Even more than that, she hates her father, who was the sole reason she was brought up in...
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The ticking of the clock was exceptionably annoying. I had half a mind of picking it up off the shelf and smashing it. However, given the spectacle of myself that I made back there in the Pierce's dining room with my spur-of-the-moment tirade, I had already garnered enough attention for one evening.
The other half of my mind was focused on something much more troubling than the constant ticking from the mantel clock, which only served as a fatal and almost comical reminder of the cruel joke that was life; that time was an eternal march towards death that no one could beat, not even my father. And with each tick I imagined his body sinking further into the ground alongside my mother.
The right side of my ear was impervious from the mechanical ticking on the shelf, blocked by the dialing tones from my cell phone. I waited anxiously for the other line to pick up while I paced around the somewhat kooky and eerie bedroom I had hid away in for tonight. I couldn't tell if I wanted her to pick up or not. Either outcome, I'd still be left alone with that damn ticking noise, and the trace of my wickedness spreading to every reflective surface in the room till I was a prisoner of my own demise. Nan was right to be disappointed in me.
The line clicked. The dialing in my ear stopped and I became all too aware of the clock again, so stepped into the bathroom. My eyes stayed glued to the towels hanging on the wall, avoiding the bathroom mirror.
The woman on the other end of the line was quiet, yet I could hear her soft breathing. It had been awhile since I heard it last, and immediately I wanted to drop all previous instigations and call out to my sister like the little girl I once was. But my absentminded glace I spared to the mirror's reflection discouraged the desire. I'm too old for that now.
"Elly?" She sounded surprised.
"Hi Sandi." I said timidly.
"Uh... hey? Any reason you're calling me?"
I don't blame her for being confused, hell, I am too. I just wanted answers.
"Yeah, I just wanted to... well, someone mentioned to me something about Dad and I like, I just wanted to hear it from you."
From the static echo I heard her sigh. I could just imagine her rolling her eyes and tapping her foot irritably. "Who told you?"
The sharpness of her voice was like a slap in the face. Not only did she understand what I mean, confirming that my Dad was sick, but she jumped straight into business, already ready to squash whoever squeaked. My grief and despair was eclipsed by a stronger, more manageable feeling.
"Why the fuck does it matter Sandi?"
She scoffed. "It matters because no one was supposed to know yet."
"You know." I sniped back.
She laughed. "Yeah, and I'm his daughter."
I resided the sting. "Yeah, and that just makes me...?"
