Chapter 1

It was the Sunday before my 21^st birthday, April 20^th, which was the upcoming Thursday. It showed windows viewing new beginnings for me, a new chapter of my life that overshadowed prior mistakes, and allowed me to be the person I knew I could be. Until then, my life was rather frivolous.

I had abandoned my early religious background, having been raised a good little catholic girl by a strict family. I suppose that had I followed that path, I wouldn’t be writing this. But, by the age of 15, I was the rebel in my perfect little family, with my perfect little parents. And my perfect older sister, who, at the age of 27 was working as a teacher in a catholic school in my home town, teaching innocent children why everything they’ve learned up until then was wrong. And my perfect twin brother, who, also 15, was born again and loving his faith.

And then, there was me, little Marie-Ellen, the blemish of the perfect Lamaharty family. My story starts three days before my sixteenth birthday. I had been counting down the days.

“Ellie!” my brother called out, his silly nickname for me. I had been once again caught smoking in our shared bedroom. He always yelled at me for it, but he would never tell our parents. He knew that if he did, I would tell them about the time that I walked in on him kissing a choir boy, the day that I found out that he was gay. And I was the only one (other than the choir boy) who knew. So we had a nice little deal.

“Oh chill,” I yelled over my shoulder to him, “I was putting it out.” I said, wiping the burning ashes on the window sill before tucking the half smoked cigarette behind my ear

“Ellie, those are going to be the death of you,” And then added, “and me too.” He walked over to me and pulled the cigarette from its hiding place behind my ear, hidden by my hair, and tucked it in his jacket pocket. Then he reached across in front of me, taking the rest of the pack.

“Hey! Give that back! I actually paid for those!” I yelled, jumping on him.

He responded coyly “No you didn’t. You haven’t paid for a pack since Jordan got a job at that gross little tobacco shop. He steals them for you,” he added “silly Ellie.”

I climbed off of him, then sat on my bed. “Fine, keep them. I’ll just get more from Jordan tomorrow. You can try to get me to stop, but those cigarettes are the only joy I have in life with this family.”

Logan sighed, saying “You’re just going to have to accept what family God gave you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but He’s testing you. Just like He’s testing me, giving me thoughts about…well you know.” He stood to leave, to go out to the car, leaving for his weekly Bible study. I think it was on Wednesdays.

“Three more days Logan…” I muttered under my breath, as he walked out of the room. He didn’t know it, but on the night of our shared birthday, I was planning on leaving with Jordan, my best friend/boyfriend, depending on what kind of mood we were in. I was sick of life with uncaring parents, and meaningless, forced church visits to try and, quoting my step-father, “Banish the evil within me.” I was tired of being the outcast in a family of religious freaks.

Since it was on my mind, I stood and pulled a half-packed bag out from under my bed. In it were a few pairs of clothes, a pair of sneakers, a container of makeup, including a stick of lipstick that belonged to my grandmother, and my favorite stuffed cat, named Livvy-Lou, which I’d gotten at birth from Nami, which was my name for my grandmother.

“Seems like I have everything.” I muttered to myself. I stuffed the bag back under my bed, and walking out of my room into the hallway. I closed the door quietly behind me, and then walked down the stairs. I found my father sitting at the kitchen table with his reading glasses on, going over some paper. Probably something about the church, I thought to myself, walking past him to the cupboard where I kept my vitamins. I opened the cupboard, suddenly aware of the fact my father was staring at me out of the corner of his eye. I got my vitamins out as quickly as possible, to try and get out of the room before he said anything to me. I was secretly terrified of being alone with him.

Technically, Frank was my step-father. But he’d been with my mother since she was pregnant for my brother and I. Up until we were twelve we thought he was our biological father, but our mother told us the truth once she thought we were old enough. But, he’d started to be different after we found out.

I looked up to see if he was looking at me still. He appeared to be looking back to his papers. He was large man, not heavy but tall, slightly muscular, and looked like someone capable of killing someone. He still had a full head of hair, but creases and wrinkles were visible along his eyes and lips. He had harsh brown eyes, rather thin, and vicious looking if he was angry. When I looked up again, I saw his eyes dart back to his papers. I knew what he was thinking. I walked briskly out of the room with my vitamin now taken.

“Marie, come here please.” He called out. But I was already out of the room and dashing up the stairs, into my room and closing the door behind me. Safe this time. I pulled my secret bag back out, and stuffed the bottle of vitamins I’d stolen from the kitchen into it. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and dashed to my door realizing I’d forgotten to lock it when I came in. However at that moment, I heard the van pull into the driveway. Frank heard it to, and walked back down the stairs without a word. Silently I whispered a thank you to a God I rarely believed in, but at times like this felt was looking out for me. My mother had just gotten home from bringing my brother to Bible study.

I looked up at my clock. One forty-two. I walked to my closet and pulled out my waitress outfit, for working at Louie’s Single Strand, a rock bar that played loud eighties music while drunk people tried to dance. Louie had been looking for young women he could doll up in short dresses to keep the attention of men in the bar. Legally, I was too young to work there. But Louie didn’t overly care about laws. I pulled off my t-shirt, pulling the short black dress over my head. It was tight across the top, and very low-cut, with red lace across my breasts and around the puffed sleeves that fell low on my shoulders. The bottom flared out, with plumes of red lace around the bottom, ending half way down my thighs. I tied the red belt around my lower waist, and then pulled my jeans off from underneath. Out of my top drawer came my fishnet stockings, with little red satin bows every few centimeters along my leg. I pulled them on slowly, making sure they stayed even on my legs. Then I pulled my shiny leather high heeled boots out of my closet, putting them on and zipping them up. They pinched my toes a bit, but I knew Louie wanted me to be as sexy as possible so I dealt with it. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. All the money was going towards leaving in three days. I walked over to my bag and pulled out Livvy-Lou, and hugged her close to my chest. She used to be a medium brown, but was now closer to a tan color, and wore a spring time dress made of cotton and lace, in soft pinks and greens, her tail flowing out through a hemmed hole in the back of the dress. I held her close to my face, smelling her. She still smelled just like Nami. I pulled her away from my face, staring at her big blue glass eyes.

“Oh Nami, I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave me?” I set Livvy-Lou back in my bag gently, pulling out my makeup bag. I walk over to my mirror with it. I look at my face, makeup –less and plain at that moment in time. I hadn’t gone out at all, so hadn’t bothered to do anything with my hair or makeup. I pulled my black hair out of the braid I had it tied into, and let it fall across my shoulders, ending at the top of my shoulder blades, and wavy from being in the braid all day. I brushed it with an old porcelain brush with camel hair bristles, from India, that had also been Nami’s. I silently reminded myself to pack that, also. I pulled my contact-lens container out of my makeup case, and put in my brown and copper colored contacts, covering up my naturally green-grey eyes. Then I put on Nami’s old lipstick, a bright red from when she’d been my age, in blue crystal containment. It felt foreign and heavy on my lips, from being so aged, and it smelled of old lipstick, but it reminded me of Nami, and looked just the right shade for my very pale face. As I brushed my black hair, I thought of the a time I saw Nami. I had been eleven.

“Mari, don’t run so fast love. I would hate to see you fall in.” Nami yelled as we walked down the pier. I had run ahead to try and see the waves crashing on the end. However at her request, I slowed down and waited for her. She was using a walker, and didn’t move very quickly, so I walked back to her and held her sleeve as she walked.

“Nami, why do the waves get so high after storms?” I asked curiously, watching the wave’s crash against the rocks along the pier. She always had a unique way of explaining things.

“Well child,” she responded, “ after the storm, the fish are thankful to the heavens for returning evaporated water to them in the ocean. So they dance, and celebrate, and rejoice the return of their water. So the sea shakes with the ruckus of their huge ocean-wide celebration of the fish.”

I smile up at her, and she looks over at me, smiling and shutting her eyes with her smile. The edges of her lips and eyes wrinkle with deep crevices, like deep canyons. She runs her hand across the back of my hair, at that point still its natural color, a light brown, just like hers had been when she was young. It was now all white, and tied back into the bun she always had.

“Nami, why did daddy leave my mother before I was born?” I asked, hoping to finally get an answer to the question constantly troubling me, which no one would answer.

She looked at me troubled and responded “Because he fell out of love with your mother, and she’d fallen out of love with him.” And then she added “Love doesn’t always mean forever child.”

I looked down at my feet, and took Nami’s sleeve again. She stroked my hand with hers.

She said softly “Just remember, that even though hes gone, he loves you very much. Every time I talk to him, he asks me how you and little Logan are, and asks for pictures of the two of you, just so he can see you.”

“But why doesn’t he just come visit us?” I ask, hoping to get more answers.

She pauses to think, more of a way to word her answer than to think of the answer itself. “He’s not allowed to come see you, because he is sick and is in the hospital. And they don’t want you two little ones to get sick too.”

I nod in understanding, knowing that there was more, but things I would have to wait to learn.

“Come Mari, and we’ll walk back to the house.” Nami said, turning around in the direction of the beginning of the pier. I followed silently.

I shook my head, as if to get the thoughts out. I stood, pulling my long coat out of the closet and putting it on. When I wore it, you could only see my boots, so my parents couldn’t see my scant attire. I walked out of my room, grabbing my fedora and setting it on my head. I walk quietly down the stairs, hearing my parents arguing about me.

“I got another call from the school. She’s been skipping full days now, probably off with that little boyfriend of hers.” I hear my mother say disappointedly.

“I’ll talk to her later tonight. She’ll be leaving soon.” I hear Frank say in response.

At this point I walk by the door, and mutter a goodbye, and walk out just as quickly. I glance at my phone once I’m outside. Two o’clock on the dot, so I’m running on time. My shift starts at 2:30. I ran down the street. First one block, then a second. I hear a boy from my school whistling from his front porch as I run by. I flipped him off, annoyed by his immaturity. Now I’ve run down a third block, struggling to run in my heeled boots. I stop running, realizing suddenly that I have my bag on my back, the one with my things for running away in it.

“God damnit!” I say aloud, frustrated that I forgot to set it down. Knowing I don’t have enough time to bring it back without getting a ride from Frank, I continue running. I didn’t want to lose any pay.

I get there at 2:20, enough time to fix my hair before I start working. I walk to the back room, where I see Louie flirting with another bosomy waitress in a dress identical to mine, except without the lace, which I’d put on mine myself. She swatted him away without even looking up. She was taller than me, and wore the outfit without the fishnets or boots. Just flesh-tone stockings and heels. She smiles politely when I walk in. She’s a bit younger than my sister, maybe 25. I wave a hello to her, while walking over to my cubby with a mirror to fix my hair, then pull off my coat and hangs it up.

I look at her and say jokingly “We look like such sluts.” Then laugh, to let her know I’m kidding.

I feel Louie’s eyes burning into me, and I glare up at him, and he leaves. He’s old, older than Frank at lease, who’s 45. I can’t stand that swine, but I needed the job.

I walk out into the main bar, but no one is there yet, so I walk over and sit at a bar stool.

At some points I clean, or play around at the pool table with the other waitress, but the afternoon remains uninteresting as usual. No customers ever come in until around dinner time.

About two hours later, a few young men have come in and are looking around for someone to come get their orders. I walk over, holding a notepad, and recognize one of them as a young teacher from my school, who upon seeing me starts blushing profusely. I pretend to not notice him, and look around the table.

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” I say, avoiding the gaze of my young teacher, who has gone from being embarrassed to checking me out.

The response is from another of the group, saying that they’ll all have beers.

“Coming right up.” I respond. I go behind the bar counter and start grabbing them, then look up only to discover that the young teacher had followed me up to the bar.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be working somewhere like this?” he asks shyly, staring at my chest while he talks.

I lean over the counter so more of my cleavage shows, and look him in the eyes and say “I needed a job and Louie gave me one. Is that a problem?” I say, smiling politely.

He leans back a bit, wiping sweat off of his forehead and looking away from me. “N-no, s-s-sorry to have b-bothered you.” He managed to spit out before stumbling back to his table. I laugh to myself, bringing their beers to the table, then winking at him as I walk away.

If he’s not too nervous to talk to me now, I don’t know what I’ll do, I think to myself. Then laugh, realizing that all his buddies are slapping his back and laughing around him. They think he came up here to hit on me! I snort at the thought, and then go up to their table to see if they want any food. They don’t.

The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, until about ten, thirty minutes before the end of my shift, when the teacher walks back up to the bar where I’m, flirting with another customer, hoping for a good tip. I think to myself that he must’ve gotten his strife back. I walk around the bar, up to him, and wave to him to follow me so he can talk to me.

He looks me over and says “It isn’t right for a young girl your age to be working here. You’re only, what, fifteen?”

I respond “I’ll be sixteen in three days. And I’m working here because I need the money.”

He says back “It’s inappropriate and vulgar here. I’ll have to talk to someone about this.” He says, glancing over at his buddies back at the table.

I walk up closer to him, close enough he can smell my perfume, and make it look like I’m going to cry. I say softly “This job is the only way I have to pay for clothes and food for myself. My parents are so poor. Please don’t tell anybody…” I look down like I’m going to start crying. A single tear runs down my cheek.

He pulls me close and hugs me, whispering to me “Shhh…I won’t tell. Don’t worry. I’m so sorry. I just worry about young people like you being in a place like this.” And then walks away sadly. I turn to the mirror, and fix my makeup, laughing. He ate that up! I can’t believe that worked, I think to myself.

Chapter 2

I walk back into the house, quietly locking the door behind me, and then silently climbing the stairs to my room. My parents are asleep, but Logan is awake, reading in our room. He looks up, and then looks back down to his book. He says quietly “Welcome home.”

I snort, and mutter “Yeah, some home it is.” Then I lay on my bed, resting my head on the pillow.

He looks up at me, shaking his head and saying “You’ll just have to live with it. This is your home, and this is the family God has given to you.”

“God… I don’t know him. But everyone keeps asking me if I do. What’s up with that?” I respond coyly.

Logan rolls his eyes, saying “Is it just impossible for you to be a part of this family, and just accept what you’re fortunate enough to have?” I thought he was done, because he looked back down at his book, but he continued. “We have food to eat, a home to sleep in, and two loving parents. Mom loves you so much, and it hurts her to see you hate our family. And Frank loves you too.”

I snorted, and muttered under my breath. “Yeah…he loves me an awful lot.”

Logan frowned, getting up and sitting next to me on my bed, brushing my hair back and holding me close to him.

I looked up at him, and smiled, saying. “Well that was, indeed, very random Mr. Logan.”

He responded in the same sing-song voice. “Well of course Ms. Ellie. For whom would I be if I weren’t ridiculously random every chance I got?” Then we both fell back on my bed laughing. He held me in a close hug until we both fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke up, I chuckled softly at my snoring brother lying squished next to me on my bed. I shook him softly, whispering. “Logan…we have to get up for school.”

He grumbled something illegible, and then tried to roll over to face the other way but wound up rolling onto the floor. He sat up abruptly, blushing dark red.

I laughed, helping him up so he was sitting on the bed. He looked at me with a curious look on his face. I looked over at him, wondering why he was looking at me the way he was. Then I looked down at my clothes, realizing that I had never changed the night before and was still wearing my waitressing uniform. Logan knew what kind of a place I worked in, but had never actually seen me in my costume. I got up, and walked into my closet, closing the door behind me. I pulled off my dress and stockings. At some point the night before, I had kicked off my boots. I pulled on a bright red shirt, with one three-quarter length sleeve that was a dark red, and the other side just a strap. I fished through my clothes a bit more, finding a very pleated black-denim skirt. It ended half way up my thighs, though it used to be down past my knees. My parents bought it for me because they wanted me to have something formal and “appropriate” to wear back to school on my first day this year. The day before, I ripped the skirt short, without hemming it, so the bottom would tatter a little. Then sewed lace underneath, also very pleated, so it was a few layers of lace and about an inch longer than the skirt itself, then added a black belt with a wide loop to the top, sewing it in place. It very quickly became a favorite.

I pulled it on, then pulling on my knee high, belted, platform-heeled boots, belting the six belts into place. Then, from behind the closet door, right in front of me, I pulled on my shiny leather jacket with red hems and red satin ribbon around the collar and sleeves. I walked out of the closet, looking at myself in the mirror, then deciding against the jacket, pulling it off and tossing it back in the closet. I walked over to the mirror, putting on cover-up to make the dark rings under my eyes less visible, and then put on a thick dark line of eye-liner. Then mascara and blush, making my very pale face look more and more like that of a porcelain doll. I put on dark red lipstick, looking at my clear, china doll-like face, and wondering how I could have myself so real, and yet still look so fake. It was beyond my comprehension.

Logan had already gotten dressed and headed downstairs, and I was close behind. I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail, and then ran down the stairs, grabbing a half bagel off of Logan’s plate. He glared up at me, and I grinned, holding the bagel in my teeth like a leopard having just caught its prey. He continued to glare, in response to which I thrashed my head back and forth with the bagel still in my teeth, gnawing at it like an animal. He couldn’t keep the glare up anymore and broke out laughing.

At this moment our mom walked in, first looking at Logan, who was laughing so hard he was practically choking on the other half of the bagel that I didn’t take, then to me, still holding the bagel in my teeth, with messy hair and butter on my face from thrashing my head back and forth. She shrugged, half smiling; the basic equivalent of “I don’t want to know.” At this, Logan, who had finally stopped laughing, practically choked once again on the bite of bagel he had just taken, once again laughing again.

I grinned at my mother. She looked over at me and said “You know, you have some butter in your hair.” She chuckled softly, walking towards the sink, rinsing off the apple she had just pulled out of the fridge.

Everyone says I look just like her, but no one knows what my father looks like, so how can they know? She has sandy brown hair, short and framing her face, the same color as my natural color. Ironic that both her and Nami had the same color hair, even though they weren’t related. They didn’t even like each other. Nami hated my mother, for leaving my father.

As much as I was frustrated at him for leaving us, I still desperately wanted him in my life. After all, he was my dad.

All of a sudden, while I was lost in my train of thought, I feel my half bagel pulled from my mouth. I see Logan, smiling teasingly, dangling it in front of my face. I lunge forward, trying to snatch it with my teeth. This evolves into a full throttle tug-o-war over it. I end up with half of the half, and eat it as quickly as possible, before its reduced to an eighth of a bagel.

This is indeed all I have so far in my story.