Already Gone

Chapter 1

As she stared up at the blank ceiling, Emma wondered why all ceilings were so white. This particular ceiling seemed almost aggressively white, almost too white to function. She sat up with a sigh. The rest of the room was alien to her, so why should the ceiling be any different? 

Emma took in the room around her. The white walls stared back at her, unblinking. She pushed the covers off of her legs and stood up, stretching her arms into the air as she walked over to the door of her closet. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt at random, threw them on, ran a brush through her hair and quickly walked down the stairs, eager to escape the blank room. 

As she shut the door behind her with a click, Emma heaved a sigh of relief. There was something suffocating about that room. Maybe it had something to do with what the room represented, the dreaded choice that she had to make soon. 

"Emma, dear," her mother called from downstairs, "Come down and eat your breakfast."

Emma sighed and began walking down the pristine white stairs, leaning slightly on the railings to support herself. She knew she was a klutz, and socks on marble was a bad combination. She reached the base of the stairs and heard the clicking of heels on the marble floor, looking up at her mother. Dressed in a smart black dress, curls cascading down her back, and sunglasses over her eyes, Emma's mother looked like a supermodel. As always.

"Darling, I have a meeting at 9, so please hurry," she said, planting a kiss on Emma's cheek leaving a smear of red lipstick. 

"Another meeting?" Emma spoke quietly, hoping to avoid conversation, but wanting to be polite. She sat down at the breakfast bar and took a bite of the scrambled eggs on the plate, looking up at the cook, still busily working. 

"Thanks, Marie," she murmured. Marie glanced up and smiled, nodding at Emma.

"Yes, another meeting, always another meeting." Emma's mother spoke quickly, rapidly spitting the words out in hopes that Emma would eat faster. Emma took the hint and shoveled the eggs into her mouth, taking a sip of water to wash them down. She stood up and began walking up to her room, sliding across the polished floor.

"I'll be right back," she called down, "I just need my shoes."

Emma heard an impatient huff from her mother, and sped up her pace. She almost knocked into her older brother as he raced down the stairs. She grinned at him, his hair ruffled and his eyes sleepy.

"Careful down there, Mom's in a hurry," she teased him, knowing her brother wouldn't care.

"Great," he muttered, speeding up his pace. Emma giggled and carried on her trek to her room. She grabbed an old pair of sneakers and brushed her teeth, then raced back downstairs. Her mother was in the same spot she had been a few moments ago, and Tyler was now shoveling down his breakfast. 

"Okay Mom, I'm ready," Emma announced, struggling for breath. "We really need an elevator," she joked, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room, but her mother just rolled her eyes. Emma stood panting as her mother threw Ty a glare. 

"I'll be in the car," she muttered coldly and stalked out, her heels clicking on the shining floor. 

Emma and Tyler exchanged a glance. They both knew that weekly visits to their mother's house were mandatory. When their parents had split, the court had argued to make them stay permanently with their mother, but both Emma and Ty had begged to stay with their father, a kind, scruffy-bearded man with joyful eyes. After considering it, the court had given their father custody of the two, but assigned weekly visits to their mother's house. This was one of them.

The huge mansion belonged to their mother, but it didn't quite feel like home. It was too large, too easy to get lost in. Their father's home, on the other hand, was a small, three bedroom home with a cottage-y feeling, buried in a small town full of kind people. 

Emma sighed, and turned to walk out to the car. She saw her mother sitting stick straight in the front seat of the white convertible, and called back to Ty, "Convertible, I call backseat!"

She jogged away before he could respond, jumping over the open top to the backseat, the leather seats cool on her legs. She looked up at the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, and for once she was glad of her mother's car choices. 

"Emma Bronte, how many times must I ask you to use the door?" Her mother scolded, looking tired before the day even began. Emma muttered an apology as Ty came out the front door, glaring at Emma a he sat in the front seat, also jumping over instead of using the door. 

"You know I hate shotgun," muttered Tyler. It was true. According to Ty, he felt like he was going to fall out, but Emma knew the real reason. Shotgun meant sitting next to their mother as she criticized their every move. Emma heaved a sigh and playfully flicked his ear as her mother gunned the engine and pulled out of the driveway, starting the day.