JESSICA
It was Saturday, my favorite day of the week, and I was savoring the quiet and peaceful oasis of my room. I had decided to spend the day indulging in some well-deserved "me time." I rolled out my yoga mat and began to move through a series of rejuvenating poses, letting go of the week's stress.
As I gracefully transitioned from one pose to another, my mind was attuned to the calming rhythm of my breath. Each movement felt like a gentle dance, syncing my body and soul. Just as I was sinking deeper into my practice, a sudden and unexpected noise pierced the tranquility of my sanctuary.
The sound echoed from downstairs, breaking the serene atmosphere I had carefully cultivated. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze mid-pose. Time seemed to halt as I strained my ears, trying to decipher the source of the commotion. Was it the clatter of shattered glass, or perhaps something as simple as a fallen book?
Curiosity urged me to investigate, though caution held me back. My bare feet padded silently across the cool wooden floor as I tiptoed towards the door, acutely aware of the soft creaking beneath my weight. With each step, I listened intently, trying to discern any further clues.
Approaching the door, I paused, my hand hesitating on the doorknob. My heightened senses sharpened as I strained to catch any sign of movement or danger. Slipping out of my room, I knew I had to move cautiously. I tiptoed towards the staircase, my breath held in anticipation.
"Mom?!" I called out, my voice trembling with both fear and concern. The silence that greeted me was unsettling as I stood at the top of the staircase, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, I heard another broken sound, causing my heart to race even faster. Without hesitation, I began to descend the stairs slowly, my eyes darting around, searching for any signs of danger.
As I reached the bottom step, a shiver ran down my spine as I noticed the shattered remnants of a once beautiful vase lying scattered across the floor. The air seemed heavy with tension, making it difficult to breathe. I cautiously made my way towards the living room, following the trail of broken pottery.
I was nervous because, by this time, I knew what was going on. Mommy is on a rampage again, and there's only one reason why she's doing it. I looked at the nearest calendar and saw a date marked in red. I almost cried when I realized today was the death anniversary of my late sister Stella.
Growing up, my older sister, Stella, always seemed to have it all. She was the golden child, the apple of my mother's eye. While I tried to find my place among the shadows, Stella effortlessly commanded attention. She had inherited our mother's stunning looks and confident demeanor, making her the epitome of their shared aspirations.
Obsession is a powerful force, and our mother was undoubtedly consumed by it. She yearned for Stella to mirror her in every way imaginable—to look like her, to dress like her, and to embrace the assertiveness that she had possessed in her youth. Our mother had been a member of the infamous mean girls' clique during her high school years, and she saw no reason why Stella should be any different.
And so Stella grew up pretending to be a bitch, joining the ranks of the popular girls at school who ruled with their cutting remarks and icy stares. This was the image our mother painted for her, molding her into a vessel of her lost youth. It broke our father's heart to see his once-kind daughter transform into someone unrecognizable, but he felt helpless against the tide of my mother's influence.
Despite the reputation she cultivated, I knew the real Stella. Under her caustic attitude and sharp remarks, she possessed a kind heart and a vulnerable soul. She was fiercely protective of me, her younger sister, shielding me from the cruel taunts and heartless bullying that had become an everyday occurrence amid our mother's twisted desires.
But even the strongest among us have a breaking point. The weight of the insults and labels that were hurled at her became too much to bear. The facade Stella had been forced to wear day in and day out had chipped away at her spirit, leaving her vulnerable to the demons of depression that plagued her mind.
One dark and tragic day, unable to bear the relentless barrage of negativity any longer, Stella made the unimaginable choice to take her own life. It was a devastating blow that shattered the foundations of our family, leaving us grasping for answers that would never come.
In the aftermath of her death, the truth began to unravel. Friends and classmates gradually revealed the torment she endured, all in the name of an obsession that had been passed down through generations. Stella had become a pawn in our mother's quest for a mini-me, paying the ultimate price for a distorted ideal of beauty and power.
As I sat alone amidst the wreckage of our shattered lives, I realized that the world had misunderstood my sister. They saw her as the embodiment of cruelty and arrogance, never penetrating the armor she had donned to protect herself. But I knew better. I knew Stella was a good sister, a caring soul who had been tragically caught in the whirlwind of my mother's toxic obsession.
After Stella's tragic passing, the quietude that enveloped our home was suffocating. The air became heavy with the remnants of grief, tainting each breath we took. Mom, devastated by the loss of her daughter, teetered on the edge of madness, consumed by guilt and anger. She blamed Dad, pointing her trembling finger at him for not being the father Stella needed. But deep down, she couldn't accept the fact that she, too, had played a role in how Stella turned out.
And then there was me.
I was the daughter who loved pop-rock music, the girl who idolized Avril Lavigne and dressed up just like her. I boasted an unruly mop of hair, a collection of band t-shirts, and a perpetual scowl etched on my face. I was in a constant battle with conformity, resisting the expectations set upon me. In a family defined by tragedy, I became the embodiment of rebellion and defiance.
Everything changed after what happened to my sister; my mom was not yet over her obsession. One day when I came home from school, I just went straight into the house, expecting my Mom wouldn't notice me, or worse, just ignore me, just like she usually does when Stella is still alive. But to my surprise, my mother called me by my name from upstairs and was acting like she was excited and happy to see me get home from school. She came downstairs in a hurry and hugged me so tight. It took me a couple of seconds before I could respond. I was nervous and didn't know what to do at that time because everything was new to me and mom hadn't given me that much attention before. She could barely look at me or touch me, yet there she was, embracing me out of the blue.
I was happy because I thought she was finally giving me the love and treatment I deserved from her as her daughter. But I was wrong because,e after that, I was forced to be something I was not. She did to me what she did to Stella, and it is hurting and scaring me to death. My mother's insane, and I think she needs therapy!
"M-mom?" I stammered as I saw her standing right in front of the fireplace with a golf club in her right hand. I bet she smashed these broken things scattered around the living room with it.
"Stella!" My heart aches as she calls me by my late sister's name with a wide smile on her face as she lets go of the golf club and approaches me, which makes me step away because I feel scared. She's getting worse!
I stood frozen, an overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside me as my mother's words hung in the air. "Oh, my baby, I thought you were gone!"
It wasn't the first time she had mistaken me for Stella, my older sister, who had left us years ago. Every time this happened, I couldn't help but feel a searing pain in my heart. It was as if my existence was overshadowed as if I were invisible.
I glanced at Mom, her deep blue eyes filled with both relief and anguish. Her hands cupped my face; her touch was warm and familiar. But it wasn't enough to mask the resentment that had begun to fester within me.
"Stella, my poor baby," Mom said with teary eyes and a shaking voice. We were standing in the dimly lit living room, the heavy weight of our loss hanging in the air. The loss of my sister had torn a gaping hole in our hearts, leaving us shattered and vulnerable.
I gazed back at my mother, feeling a mix of sadness and confusion. It was as if a storm was raging within her, emotions swirling and clashing, tearing apart whatever remnants of strength she had left.
"Stella, my poor baby," she repeated, her voice cracking. But this time, something shifted. Suddenly, her expression changed from depressed to mad, flickering like a flame in the darkness. Anguish gave way to anger, and her grip on my face tightened.
"You're not Stella; you're an impostor!" she added her words slashing through the air like a dagger. The force of her accusation pushed me backward, causing me to stumble on the staircase. I caught myself just in time before crashing down the steps, my heart racing with confusion and fear.
"Who are you?! What did you do to my daughter?" she yelled once again, her voice filled with anguish. Tears welled up in my eyes, blending with the unease that had settled deep within me. I never wanted to be in this position. I was just an ordinary girl, thrust into an extraordinary situation against my will.
A shiver ran down my spine as I looked into her face. "Mom! It's me, Jessie!" I yelled back at her as I pointed myself with my finger, but all I saw was disbelief in her eyes.
"Stop calling me Mom! I don't know who you are, and you're not my fucking daughter!" my mother screamed, her words piercing through my soul like daggers. My eyes widened in shock, disbelief washing over me. I tried to respond, to plead with her, but the words caught in my throat as my tears began to fall uncontrollably.
With a trembling voice, I managed to utter, "Mom, please, it's me, Jessie, your daughter... Remember?" But my plea was met with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of my sobs echoing through the room.
My mother's expression twisted into a mixture of confusion and anger. Without warning, she grabbed a golf club from the floor and raised it menacingly in her hand. I knew I had to escape and find safety before it was too late. Without thinking, I sprinted towards my room, my mother hot on my heels, fueled by a strange energy that I had never seen before.
As I reached the sanctuary of my room, I slammed the door shut, my breath ragged and my heart pounding against my chest.
"You killed my fucking daughter, Impostor! I'm going to avenge her!" The sound of my mother's rage reverberated through the house, causing my heart to pound in my chest. I had to act fast before the situation escalated any further. Desperation seeped into my veins as I rummaged through my belongings, searching for a way out.
The golf club struck the wooden door for the umpteenth time, the force of the blows shaking the fragile frame. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision, as I finally located my phone buried under a pile of clothes. My trembling hands fumbled with the device, my fingers slipping on the screen in my haste.
Frantically, I dialed my father's number repeatedly, hoping to flicker with each unsuccessful attempt. The automated message mocked me, taunting me with its incessant reminders of my father's unavailability. Panic clenched my chest, constricting my breath, as I realized I had no lifeline to rescue me from this nightmare.
My mind raced, desperately searching for a solution. The escape seemed futile as the relentless pounding on the door continued. With each thud, the damaged wood cried out, a testament to my mother's anguish and fury.
The air was thick with fear, and my heart pounded in my chest like a desperate plea for help. Desperation drove me to clutch my phone tightly, searching through my contacts for anyone who could come to my aid.
Each swipe of my finger brought hope and disappointment as I scrolled past countless names. Friends, family, acquaintances—all unavailable or too far away to assist me—but then, as if a flicker of light in the darkness, I saw Sophie's name and number. My heart leaped with relief, and I quickly dialed her number, hoping against hope that she would answer.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. But there was only silence on the other end. My anxiety spiked as the call went to voicemail. It felt like a cruel twist of fate as her voicemail played, leaving me with a hollow ache in my chest.
In my panic and frustration, I threw my phone across the room, anger fueling my actions. It crashed against the wall, shattering into pieces. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes—a mixture of anger, fear, and helplessness. The room seemed to close in on me, and I sank to the ground, my trembling hands covering my ears as if trying to drown out the world.
The weight of my situation settled upon me, and the prospect of being alone and vulnerable terrified me. Doubt gnawed at the corners of my mind, whispering ominous possibilities. Would anyone come to save me? Was there truly no escape from this nightmare?
JACKSON
I was on my way to Brooklyn with the rest of the band for another gig, and the atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation. The radio played our latest song, the catchy melody filling the Mustang car and setting the mood for what was supposed to be a memorable night.
As we cruised closer to the Brooklyn Bridge, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. In front of a well-known hotel, an elegant scene unfolded before me. A luxurious car pulled up, and with the assistance of hotel staff, a young woman emerged from it. She exuded confidence, wearing a black-sparkling dress that exquisitely hugged her curves and holding a black purse in her hand. The glint in her eyes portrayed a sense of authority and power.
I couldn't believe my eyes, though. There stood Sophie, the very same young woman who had tormented my younger brother, Miles, and had once called herself a friend to Jessica. Memories of her taunts and cruel behavior flooded my mind. Anger and resentment washed over me, threatening to ruin the otherwise joyous atmosphere in the car.
Suddenly, a familiar figure caught my attention. A man in his forties, impeccably dressed in expensive casual attire, stepped out of a luxurious car that gleamed in the sunlight. His confident demeanor and polished appearance hinted at a life of privilege and success. My curiosity piqued, and I watched as he extended his arm, revealing a woman clinging to it. It was Sophie. Before I could even react, the man turned around and playfully threw his car keys at the awaiting hotel staff. His effortless gesture spoke of a familiarity with this luxurious establishment.
The man at the center of the storm was none other than the womanizer himself, Mr. Cross. Known for his long list of affairs and his questionable lifestyle, Mr. Cross left a trail of broken hearts and shattered relationships in his wake.
In this tangled web of deception and betrayal, Mr. Cross's two daughters, Stella and Jessica, were caught in the middle. Their mother, Kate, had divorced Mr. Cross years ago, unable to bear the weight of his infidelity any longer. Despite their troubled upbringing, the sisters remained resilient, finding solace and support in one another.
I shook my head to get rid of the thought and observed the mesmerizing beauty of the setting sun. As the vibrant hues of orange and pink painted the Brooklyn skyline, I couldn't help but be captivated by the breathtaking beauty of the sunset. As we moved along the crowded bridge, conversations buzzed around me. Stories were shared, jokes were made, and laughter echoed through the air. Even amidst the chatter, my mind wandered back to Miles, my brother. He was always a source of joy and warmth in my life, someone with whom I could share anything.
Miles possessed a rare ability to see beauty in even the most ordinary moments, and I couldn't help but wonder how much he would appreciate this enchanting view. He had a particular fondness for sunsets, often proclaiming them to be nature's masterpiece.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, debating whether to call Miles and share my excitement. But then I remembered that he was currently spending time with his boyfriend, and I decided against interrupting their moment. Still, I made a mental note to tell him about it later and plan another outing to enjoy such a serene view together.
ERIN
The golden hour of Saturday has arrived, casting a warm glow over the world. As the sun gently descends, I find myself drawn to the tranquil embrace of my balcony. Sitting on the cozy floor, the soothing melodies of my guitar fill the air around me.
The strings resonate beneath my fingertips as I pluck each chord, a rhythmic dance of notes that carries my thoughts away. At this moment, time seems to stand still, and the worries of the week fade into the background.
"Erin, honey?" My mom called out, her voice pulling me away from the melodies that were resonating within me. With a sigh, I stopped strumming my guitar and disconnected my earphones, turning to glance at her.
"When your father gets home, just tell him I'm out to buy some groceries, okay? I left my phone at the office," she said as she made her way towards me and landed a kiss on my forehead.
"I will, Mom, and can we have pizza for dinner, please?" I begged, a charming smile plastered across my face. I knew that my mother had been busy and that cooking was the last thing she wanted to do. But pizza night was always a treat, which brought us both joy and relaxation.
"Okay, okay, I'll grab some pizza and Chinese takeout on my way home; I'll get going now. Love you, Honey!" she said, flashing me a warm smile.
"Bye, I love you too, mom!" I yelled back, my voice filled with genuine affection. Watching her walk away, I pondered what surprises she might bring home. The thought of cheesy pizza and mouthwatering dumplings made my stomach grumble in eager agreement.
I sighed and turned my gaze to the beauty of the city. It's not my first time watching the orange sky because of the sunset, but every time I witness this kind of scenery, it never fails to mesmerize me.
As the sun descended behind the skyline, a spectrum of warm colors infused the atmosphere. Shades of orange, pink, and purple painted the heavens, casting a gentle glow upon the bustling streets below. I stood at the edge of the rooftop, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.
There was something magical about this hour—a fleeting moment where time stood still. The city, usually a cacophony of noise and movement, seemed to hush and bow down to the glory of the fading sun. Even the honking of cars and the chatter of people seemed to fade into a distant hum, blending harmoniously with the gentle whispers of the evening breeze.
Suddenly I heard my phone chime, its gentle ring echoing through the room. Startled, I quickly grabbed it from the floor, hoping to see a text from Clark. To my surprise, the name that flashed across the screen was Jacob, the captain of the rugby team.
Curiosity piqued, I opened the message. It was an invitation from Jacob, asking if I would like to hang out with him tonight. As I read his message, my mind began to race, weighing the potential consequences of accepting.
However, as my thoughts continued to swirl, a sense of responsibility washed over me. How could I let Jacob get kicked out of the rugby team just because he was associated with me? The repercussions of that decision would be far-reaching, unfairly affecting both his future opportunities and the legacy he had built as team captain.
I heard my phone chime once more, its loud interruption echoing through the quiet room. I glanced at the screen and saw yet another message from Jacob. The urgency in his words caught my attention, making my heart skip a beat. He said that he wanted to talk to me about something, which made me realize that I needed to see him too to make sure everything was fine and that I needed answers too.
I smiled, my heart fluttering with anticipation. With a quick tap of my thumbs against the screen, I responded, "That sounds like a great idea! Count me in. What time?"
Almost instantaneously, he replied, "I'll pick you up at eight. See you then!"
Excitement filled me as I put down my phone and allowed myself to bask in the warmth of the moment. With renewed zeal, I picked up my guitar once more. My fingertips danced across the strings, translating the whirlwind of emotions within me into a harmonious melody.
As I strummed the chords of my guitar, lost in the melody that filled the room, a nagging thought suddenly interrupted the serenity of the moment. Clark, the one who had always managed to annoy me at school, has been ignoring me lately. The realization caught me off guard because, truth be told, I didn't know why it bothered me.
Clark had been a thorn in my side for as long as I could remember. He would send me endless messages, teasing and taunting me about the most absurd things. At first, I despised his relentless attention-seeking behavior, wishing for nothing more than for him to leave me alone. And yet, now that the messages had stopped, there was a strange void lingering within me.
I furrowed my brow, trying to understand these conflicting emotions. Why did I suddenly find myself longing for his attention? It made no sense. It's not like he mattered to me in any significant way. Shaking off the perplexing thoughts, I shrugged my shoulders, focusing my attention back on the guitar in my hands.
But as the minutes passed, my mind continually drifted back to Clark's absence in my life. The silence seemed louder than ever before, and the weight of his indifference pressed upon me, slowly unraveling my composure. The irony of it all was not lost on me—wanting something you once detested so fervently.
Unable to play the guitar anymore, I set it aside, frustration seeping into my being.
I immediately stood up and made my way to my bed. "What is wrong with me?" I asked myself as I lay down on my bed and blankly stared at the ceiling. It's been a week now, but still, I can't get Clark out of my mind. I've been thinking about him, and then there's Jacob. What are these guys up to? They both put me in a very confusing situation right now.
"Ughhhhh! I groaned, feeling the frustration building within me. I covered my face with a pillow, hoping to shield myself from their endless disputes. However, even the softest of pillows couldn't block out the headache-inducing chaos.
"You know what? Nevermind!" I yelled at myself, exasperated. With a sigh, I decided to approach the closet with a different strategy. I tried every outfit I had, but none of them fit the style of my box braided hairstyle. I sighed out of frustration as I threw the last outfit I tried into the bed. It seemed like no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find anything that matched the boldness of my hair. I was determined to make a statement tonight, to showcase my personality and uniqueness through not just my hairstyle but also my clothes.
With a sense of determination, I rummaged through my overflowing closet, searching for something that would perfectly complement my box braids. Clothes flew in all directions as I desperately sought the right combination. Just as hope was beginning to wane, my determined hands landed on a black crop top hidden behind a row of dresses. The simplicity of its design spoke to me, as did the daring confidence that it exuded.
I hastily put on the crop top, admiring how it hugged my curves and accentuated the vibrant colors of my braids. The black leather jacket hanging nearby caught my eye. Its sleekness and resilience perfectly mirrored the toughness and resilience I felt within. I draped it over my shoulders, feeling an invisible armor enveloping me, ready to conquer the world with my style.
Now, it was time for a conclusion that did justice to my bold statement. I reached down and picked out a skirt made of flowing layers of sheer black fabric. As I slipped it on, I felt a sudden surge of elegance and femininity. The skirt seemed to float around me, adding an ethereal touch to my fierce attitude.
To complete the ensemble, I selected a pair of edgy black boots, each with a commanding presence. With every click of their metallic heels against the hardwood floor, I felt invincible.
As I stood before the mirror, taking in the sight of my transformed reflection, a newfound confidence surged through my veins. The clothes I wore not only matched my striking box-braided hairstyle but also spoke volumes about my personality. They allowed me to express myself in a way that I hadn't before.
"Perfection!" I happily said as I stood back to admire my reflection.