Torn in Two

Prolouge (Picture of Ellie)

You know how, in Sitcoms, there's always a way out for the characters. There's a conflict, little bit of a twist, BOOM! Way out, everyone's happy, parents are back together, boy wizard defeats the little plot while chipping away at the bigger plot. Woohoo. Well welcome to my life. This is not a sitcom.

And I knew it too. I knew something was going to happen. Call it a gut feeling or me psychic, but history repeats itself. Who doesn't know that? And so, based on history, my life was about to take a spiral plunge into the toilet of sucky lives. And I was going to go with it. It's never my fault though. It's always my parents' fault. They're the ones who insist on doing nice things and then ruining them with pure parent stupidity. Sometimes I think I'm practically raising myself. Take the fifth grade, for instance, when this bad luck happening all started. My dad tried to make up for missing my piano recital- not that I cared; my teacher was a bitch- and so he bought me a chinchilla. The pet store owner was a friend of his and, in order to help him out, she gave him the softest, fluffiest, most cuddly chinchilla they ever had. Ten days later, my dad got hammered at a barbeque, took a dare to fry steaks while hammered, didn't realize my chinchilla was on the same table as the plate of steaks and served me a plate of Chinchilla a la mode. Or you could take seventh grade, the first year I was allowed to go to a school dance with a date and without parents. The minute Billy Henderson heard I was finally allowed to go, he asked me. I was thrilled. The cutest boy in seventh grade, asking me! He claimed he had a massive crush on me, but I found out it was because I had never shown any interest in him at all. Massive crush, my ass. That's not even the worst part of it. My mom slipped on the stairs, two steps down, and landed herself in the hospital, with me for company. I didn't go to the dance, but I did hear how Billy had told Tristin Marx he'd had a massive crush on her and how they'd made out behind the bleachers until they got caught. Apparently Tristin never showed any interest in him at all either.

So of course, following the same pattern of big news being dropped, oh, every three years or so, they dropped the bomb during the summer before my senior year.

We sat on our screened back porch, eating hamburgers to celebrate my brother's big accomplishment. It has to be big to celebrate with him; if we celebrated his little accomplishments, we'd have burgers way too often. I hadn't paid too much attention to what they were saying; my mind was solely focusing on how they never celebrated my achievements as much. Or at least, my mom didn't. My brother, James, did, and so did my dad, but never my mom. I'll admit, our relationship was somewhat strained, what with me being caught with just teensy little baby's dropper full of alcohol. Give or take, maybe... Five glasses? My dad laughed it off, saying how he used to do drugs before I even thought about taking the alcohol. My mom stormed away yelling about how I was tarnishing the family and I better shape up before-, but then she stopped all of a sudden, and sulked away. I ignored it at the time, but now it seemed silly. Before what? We didn't have secrets like the other families did. Hence my dad telling me how he did drugs.

Anyway, they passed a ton of meaningful glances, and I, too absorbed in my thoughts, barely caught a quick we-need-to-tell-her-soon look. But that little glimpse was all I needed. Angry because nobody celebrated me, hurt because Mom didn't want to tell me what she wanted to say ("Not now, Ellie! Go away!"), and now pissed off because they were hiding something, I stood up, scraping my chair back. A little part of my mind chattered at me, trying to push positive thoughts into my mind. What if it's a good surprise? It chattered on and on, trying to calm me down, but I was past calming down. I was livid, and saw red for the first time in my life. It felt nice somehow, like the red was the adrenaline I could count on in case of a fight. Seeing red made me realize how scary I was being, but I was unable to stop it. Once you see red, you never come out.

"What?!" I yelled. "What do you guys want to say?!" I was so mad I didn't even notice how James was keeping to himself, quietly eating his food.

My parents both stiffened, my mom glancing at me in surprise. After a few minutes of me breathing heavily, James eating, and them exchanging looks, my mom sighed. "Bruce. It's only right. She needs to know."

My dad nodded once and briefly met my eyes before turning his attention to his plate. Men. So food oriented. My mom cleared her throat, almost choking on it, and whispered, "Ellie... You're adopted. And...You have an arranged marriage."

I gaped at her in shock, my mouth open and teeth flapping. "I'm sorry, what?" I said, my voice edging towards hysteria. "Who's getting married?"

My mom lowered her head in shame and said in a small voice, "You are."

James looked at her sharply, a troubled expression on his face. Clearly, he didn't think it was the right time to say anything. Stupid prick. Him and his dumb achievements.

I turned on him, snarling. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting you're little celebration fest? Go right ahead, I'm almost done."

I spun around to face my mom. "I'm adopted? Gee, thanks for mentioning it. I'm getting married? Also, thank you for mentioning it. Who am I marrying? And if you say anything less than Ashton Kutcher, I'm going to have to shoot you."

She sniffed and muttered something I didn't catch.

"Come again?" I said evenly.

"James," she muttered. "You're marrying James."

I didn't have to look at him to picture his equally shocked mouth. I figured that his expression would be like that. Whose wouldn't?

I ran. I ran into the house, into my room, slammed the door hard enough to cause a tsunami, locked it, and then I ran into my closet, snatching my iPod and stuffed monkey before I slammed that door. I crawled into my hole, the hole only I knew about. It was about the size of six medium cubbies and had a little door, like a dumbwaiter. I guess it was a sort of safe like thing, because it had a lock. Good. Two locks were a million too little. It had a little electrical outlet, which meant my iPod could recharge, and I had stocked it with little bits of non-perishable food and some water. I had a little bucket in my closet if my bathroom was unavailable and I had pillows and blankets in my closet. I had my bookshelf in here, filled to the brim with the latest in all books and movies, several flashlights and battery packs. I was prepared for any natural disaster and had the comfort of a dumbwaiter-like safe. I could live my life fully, from here. My closet held my life. I didn't trust my mother to not clean my room, so everything valuable went in here. My laptop, even. I wouldn't have to see that traitor's face for weeks. Months, if I rationed my food well.

I plugged in and opened a book. Ten minutes later, I realized I was too restless to read or listen to music, so I snuggled in with my monkey and popped in The Notebook. Realizing that I couldn't avoid everyone forever, I pulled out my Samsung Focus and texted Claire Smitches, my best friend.

<You there?> I typed slowly.

An instant reply greeted me. No surprise there. Claire was notorious for always having her phone on and in use.

<Yeah> she texted back. <Wuts up wit U?>

<Some serious crap girl> I sent and she replied:

<Tell me later okay? At church and Mom's giving me odd looks.>

<Got it.> I typed and then settled for watching the movie alone.

Too bad I didn't have a microwave. I'd have to look into that, I decided, and as the opening credits started, I could almost pretend that life was the same. Almost.

A/N: So I decided that I was NOT happy with how this prologue came out. I had a bit of free time and I redid it, only better. I think I was little... awkward when I wrote it, but now it just flowed. Maybe cause the characters were more developed? Hmm..