Ellen, Part 1

Ellen stared at the mirror, pondering how it was possible someone else’s reflection could completely replace her own. The person staring back at her wasn’t the star student destined to be valedictorian, nor the class president, head of four clubs, and member of ten more. The person holding her gaze so gallingly steady was an HIV ridden horror, the disease practically crawling under her skin, draining the life from her eyes and the color from her limbs. But the answer she desperately avoided was that this wasn’t a different person.

It was her.

She didn’t have anything against people with HIV or AIDS. They were regular people, just with a shorter expiration date. When she had initially learned of her own contraction three months prior, her world had changed. She had thought, surely, the six-month result would be different. When it wasn’t, she felt as broken as when Jeremy had looked at her and knowingly shared his cursed disease.

Jeremy hadn’t contacted her since he had betrayed her trust, but she hadn’t been keen on tracking him down either. She hadn’t been keen on facing anyone, lately. Life didn’t seem like it could continue the way it had. Once you were doomed, what was the point in pretending nothing had changed?

“Ellen, sweet,” her mother called from the doorway, smartly dressed in a heather gray suit and her bob tucked perfectly behind her ears. “Unless you want to attend school in your nightgown, I suggest you change.”

Ellen stared a moment longer at the sickly image before turning to her mother. “What’s the point? In a few years, it won’t even matter.”

“Fifteen years is not a few. And even if it won’t matter then, I am not supporting you unless you attend and finish college.”

“Dad would support me.”

She scoffed. “Your father only supports us because the court requires it.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Ellen said softly.

“People don’t just change over night, sweet.”

“I did.”

Her mother opened her mouth a couple of times as if to say something, but ultimately bit her lip and looked down the hall. Ellen turned back to the mirror, contemplating the day ahead. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, mother,” she said, turning her face from the deceptive device before her, forcing a smile.

“I’ll have your breakfast ready then.”

As she disappeared, Ellen gazed a while into the horrible lie of a reflection. She could no longer stand the notion of what had become of her because she had thought Jeremy loved her.

“Stop lying to me!” she screeched. Ellen stormed across the room, grabbing a bottle of perfume from her dresser and throwing it at the mirror; both shattered in an excellent explosion of glass.

~*~

Her mother had informed the school counselor of the morning’s incident. She didn’t, as agreed, mention HIV. It was a custom within the family not to discuss unpleasant details that were no one else’s business and would eventually fade from everyone’s memory. Ellen’s case had nearly led to a divergence of practice as her mother wanted the school to know in case of emergencies; Ellen had convinced her to treat it as anything else.

That is how she found herself sinking into the overly soft couch in Mrs. Hardylen’s office.

Her counselor swiveled in the cushy chair to face her, smiling brightly as though the world could forget its worries so long as she believed the sun was shining.

“Your mother tells me you had an episode this morning,” she began. “She also tells me that you’ve been suffering bouts of depression lately and aren’t comfortable confiding in her.” Ellen sat stoically, staring through the cheery woman before her to her terribly malevolent imaginings. “She wanted me to talk to you about it. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes.”

“Your teachers have noticed a difference in the last few months as well, Ellen. I’ve received messages about your slipping grades, lack of participation, and growing tendency to daydream in class,” Mrs. Hardylen said, genuine worry lacing her voice and causing a deep crease to appear between her brows. “Are you sure you don’t have something you wish to discuss?”

“I’m sure,” Ellen tartly said. She hated being treated like a child; if people could even begin to understand, she would gladly share. But that wasn’t the case.

“A few of your teachers also noticed you scribbling away sometimes in a journal…is that it?”

She clutched the pale blue hardback to her chest, wanting to protect her thoughts from prying, unworthy eyes. Her journal never questioned and understood everything. Within its covers she, the real Ellen, was safe. Every moment of doubt, anger, and overwhelming depression was carefully documented to relieve her from herself.

“May I go?”

“May I see the journal?” Mrs. Hardylen reached forth an open hand.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised,” she said, her hand still outstretched.

Ellen stared blankly back, her hands white and shaking with the ferocity of their grip. The journal was the last bit of herself she could hold onto and she didn’t want to relent it to anyone.

Mrs. Hardylen’s hand fell gently back onto her lap as she leaned back. “I guess that will be all for today.”

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 3

But that wasn’t everyone. Justin and Angeline were married and started their own law firm together. He had taken my advice, though I had known that at the march. She had said yes, just as I knew she would, and she was the reason he joined Caroline that day. As much as they argued, they loved each other and there would never be someone else they’d want.

If you were wondering, their law firm was one of the most successful in the nation and represented the new government—by Caroline’s recommendation, of course.

Mitchell and Valetta stuck around helping Caroline until just before the first elections. Then they took off to travel the world, just as Valetta had always wanted to do with her love. It only took a couple hundred years, but she was living her dream un-life. There wasn’t anyone I knew who deserved it more.

And Mitchell? Well, he was still Mitchell. And no matter how old I become, I doubt he will ever stop making fun of me. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Obviously, the Council agreed I had made my significant impact. All charges against us were dropped and we went on with our un-lives. I had heard, though, because of vampiric support during my campaign and the new government being formed, the Council was considering co-habitation in a hundred years, give or take a score. Once co-habitation was established, after all, they could fully stake claim for their part in the revolution.

Elizabeth, the little girl from the march, didn’t see a doll of me made. In fact, no one ever made a doll of me. They did, though, make an angel of me, and she received that for her birthday—courtesy of Drei, who still found it hilarious. Surprisingly enough, the angel looked like me. Pale skin, blue-grey eyes, blondish brown hair, and arms open to welcome everyone and everything. Of course, she was called Leirba. What I didn’t expect was that she was the angel not of change, or hope, or peace, but of miracles. Another company called her the guardian of the impossible, including a story about how she magically came to earth one day, led a great movement for change against all odds, and disappeared when the people could see the path forward. It also promised she’d return again if they ever needed her.

As cute and inspiring as I thought it was, I hoped they wouldn’t need me again, and should they, I hoped someone else would be there to step up and take his or her turn. Otherwise I would be there, but I can guarantee you whoever was supposed to be stepping up wouldn’t like it.

My parents were reunited again, too. I bought a plane ticket for my mom, and left a message for my dad telling him when to be at the airport, which flight, and everything. It dawned on me I could have been there, as well. But the only thing I could do to right what had gone wrong was to give them back to each other.

I stayed at home and mapped it. I watched as she stepped through security, searching for someone familiar, anyone familiar. My dad searched for me, because I had left the message. The two of them finally saw each other, their eyes locking and everyone else seeming to freeze in place. Then he was holding her, so gently, terrified she wasn’t real. She started crying, wrapping her thin arms around him, telling him she loved him and she was sorry she ever had to leave.

A month later, he was divorced from my mother, leaving her the house and enough money to keep her satisfied for years. I think she had been expecting this as she didn’t put up a fight. She just let it happen, and a year later she was married to some guy down the block who divorced her a few months after for everything she was worth. I wouldn’t say she deserved it, because she didn’t, and I found it somewhat cruel that she had to work after never working on anything but a committee for years. I called Dad, left him a message about Kenzy’s situation, and he helped her get back on her feet, ensuring the next guy she married wouldn’t do the same by making him sign a pre-nuptial agreement.

Mom and Dad, though, they had a small apartment in New York, his favorite place in the world. They were happy and he was doing everything he could to help Mom heal after all she had suffered through. I was proud of her for taking the aid he offered—and found for her—and of him for stepping up and being home to help her. If I was lucky, my eternity with Drei would be filled with just as much love as their time together was.

Looking back, it almost seemed as though that march was where most people ended the movement, though it still technically continued into today. I found it strange and flattering. Though it wasn’t the end, it seemed to be the start of everyone’s future. For better or for worse, we had succeeded.

Finally.

Vampiric: Chapter Nine, Part 3

The following morning, she called Ian to let him know he was in charge while racing through traffic to our shopping destination. It had been nicknamed Designer Boulevard for the numerous brand name—expensive, high quality brand name, I might add— clothes and accessories available. Everything from Louis Vuitton to Versace, the up and coming Lollipops accessory brand to Dolce and Gabbana, could be found on the boulevard. I had been to several locations of similar grandeur when I was younger and throughout high school, but had never been to this particular shopping locale.

Unexpectedly, I was actually giddy about it. I guess I hadn’t changed as much as I had thought, and perhaps all I needed was a break from it all before I could remember what I loved most about shopping was mostly trying on clothes that made me feel beautiful, powerful, somehow invincible. I loved the feel of the different fabrics and the look of a well cut dress or pair of pants. Not to mention the shoes, oh my word, the shoes. Shoes to compliment party dresses and shoes in which to run the world; shoes that make you want to dance right there in the store.  So maybe there were many things I missed about shopping.

Later that afternoon, weighted down with what she insisted was only half of my new wardrobe—some of the bags already crammed into her car—we sat down to lunch at a cozy café, comfortably warm inside considering the growing chill outside.

“So, before you ask, this is also most of your Christmas gift,” she said, opening the menu to peruse her options.

I ordered a mixed fruit tea and citrus salad. I was usually appalled by girls who only ate salads, but when I was shopping, it was the only thing I wanted to eat. Weird, yes, but that was me—I just hadn’t seen this side in so long I was surprised she still existed. Caroline ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich with fries and a cherry cola.

“How can you even afford it?”

“Oh, my parents,” she said simply. “They insist if I don’t want to live their lifestyle, I should at least live mine in a decent apartment and designer clothes. I think they want me to spend my inheritance before they’re gone so I regret not spending more time with them. What about you? Ian told me you weren’t sure about going home.”

I shrugged; “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?” She rested her chin on her interlaced fingers.

“Maybe I’ll explain some other time, or you have my permission to ask Ian about it.”

The waiter delivered our drinks and she took a long draw from the straw. “I already did. I just wanted to know if you would tell me.”

It felt like I was being cornered; it wasn’t so bad I couldn’t tell her. I just didn’t want to ruin the day. But what choice did I have now? She already knew, but now she wanted to hear it from me. And I could understand that perfectly.

“The last time I saw my mother, I told her she didn’t deserve her daughter because she was being a freak about dealing with the changes in my behavior. Instead of asking me about it, she was going to lie and pretend she could bake a cake,” I said, finding the anger formerly surrounding the memory was replaced with indifference. “Turns out she’s not even my real mother. The last time I saw my dad was when he told me the story of my mom—my biological mom. About how they met and how I came into the picture. He also told me I was the only reason he could stand to miss her. That I looked a lot like her. Then I ran away, not even thinking about how they would feel about it. I haven’t seen them since.”

“Did you ever meet your birth mom?” she prodded, sitting back so our waiter, newly appeared, could set her food down.

I glanced up at him, not wanting to speak while he was around—he didn’t need to know about my issues—and noticed he wasn’t half bad so far as looks were concerned. He had a soft voice, but perhaps that was more because he didn’t want to disturb our conversation. His hair was a sandy blonde and styled similarly to how schoolboys were often portrayed in movies. He had sea blue eyes and sharp features. I couldn’t figure out why I was so drawn to him; I didn’t realize he had left and I was just staring into space until Caroline waved her hand in front of my eyes.

“What?” I asked, snapping back to reality.

“You were staring,” she said, sounding almost disinterested. “Do you like him or something?”

I shook my head, certain that wasn’t it. “There’s something funny about him. Something I can’t discern.”

“Elemental? That could be it.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

“But, about your birth mom, did you meet her?”

“In captivity,” I said. “She was my cell mate.”

Her eyes widened. “How was she?”

“Mentally…not all there.”

Wincing, she touched my forearm and sympathized, “I’m sorry, Abs.”

“Don’t be,” I said, not needing another reason for her coddle me. “For as long as she’s been there, she could have been worse.”

A strained silence fell between us for a while before Caroline broke it by querying, “Where do you want to go next?”

Shrugging, I said, “I have no idea.”

“Accessories it is, then.”

When we finished our lunch, we dropped off our bags in her car—fast becoming full—and headed to the many accessory shops on the boulevard. By the end of the day, I literally had a new wardrobe. I kept some of my older clothes—those I loved to death—but most of them Caroline dragged off to donate along with a good deal of her own. Going through my additions, I realized how much I missed shopping and having new clothes. It had gone from being a solid constant in my life to not existing in it at all. It was something that definitely helped my mood. Perhaps this finding myself wasn’t as hard as I was making it.

Vampiric: Chapter Nine, Part 1

Chapter Nine: Rushed

Three months seemed to fly past. We’d had five successful broadcasts—each one widening the fan base according to the activity online—and another one scheduled for the week before Christmas. During the work week, Caroline surfed the web, finding amusement in all the bloggers pretending to be her. She even had fan groups and followings on social networks.

To further spread the word, she bought a new mechanism that would extend the reach of the broadcast by 150 miles, making her total live outreach over a 200 plus mile radius. With the internet bloggers on her side, she was worldwide. And for those people lucky enough to have a system setup to record her broadcasts, her messages were available directly for free replay online. Most of those were viewed well over a million times each. Needless to say, her ideas were spreading and her optimism of a better future was infectious.

Myself? I was swept up in the research, trying to keep everything in some semblance of organization, and attempting to find myself in the chaos along the way. It had been so long since I had lived without him, I wasn’t sure who I was on my own anymore. I doubted I had ever known. But Caroline and Ian insisted the sooner I figured it out, the better I would feel about his decision. Then I could be happy and move on. Unlike how Caroline made it sound, however, it was anything but easy.

Over Thanksgiving, she left for home, saying there were too many family things to discuss, but she’d drag me along for Christmas. Ian invited me to his place for dinner, promising he wouldn’t make me cook too much. He already had most of it started when I reached his loft. It was an open, artsy studio with cement walls and floors, painted in splashes of color as though there had been a paint war at some point in time. But it was homey. I made a mental note that an apartment like this wouldn’t be half bad—when Caroline let me move out, of course.

I had tried a few weeks after my high speed driving experience—I still didn’t know how fast I had driven—and she nearly blew my head off. She insisted I wasn’t emotionally fit to live on my own, and if I even thought about it before she asked, she would start rationing how much of my paycheck was available to me. I was fairly certain that was illegal, but there were worse things in life than having a roommate.

But, back to Thanksgiving; Ian had already started a smoked turkey breast—since a whole turkey didn’t make sense for two—stuffing, and gravy. He allowed me to set the table while he checked to make sure the corn wasn’t overcooking in the oven. When it was done, he opened a bottle of sparkling cider, explaining he didn’t like to drink. I had no problem with it as I hadn’t been drunk in my lifetime and the idea of alcohol was unappealing—considering the last time I had any was in high school on a night I could live without ever remembering.

Neither of us spoke much while we ate; the company was healthy for us but we had never really talked about anything unless Caroline was there to instigate it. After Ian cleared the table and I washed the dishes, we sat down in his living area with more cider.

“Why don’t you go home like Caroline?” Then realizing I might sound ungrateful, I added, “Not that I haven’t enjoyed this; it’s really nice to have someone to spend the holiday with.”

He nodded, grinning slightly at my worried babbling. “I could ask you the same thing;” he sipped from his glass. “The short answer is I don’t know where my family is.”

“What’s the long version?” I asked, curious as to why that statement didn’t cause even a hint of sorrow in his voice. It felt more relaxed now that the silence between us had been broken.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Basically, my parents always moved around a lot when I was younger. I got tired of never being able to meet anyone or do well enough in school not to be considered special needs, so I opted to crash with my grandparents. They passed away a few years ago—within a few months of each other.”

“I’m sorry,” I said instinctively. I winced, knowing it probably sounded more habitual than sincere.

“Don’t be;” he waved it off like a cloud of smoke. “It happens. But, that’s my excuse.”

“I can’t spend it with my mom because it’s not possible. As for my dad and his wife—my other mother—I ran away years ago and haven’t talked to them since. I don’t even know if I’d be welcome anymore.”

“You probably are,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Welcome, that is. They probably miss you.”

Gazing out the huge floor to ceiling windows, I wondered if I would try. If one day I would decide to go home and see them. Would Mother think I was only there for money? Would Dad even talk to me? Or would he be so reclusive that would be impossible? I remembered him saying I was the only reason he could stand missing Mom, and I couldn’t help but think if he was worse off, it was because of me. If I explained, could he forgive me? Or would the only way to fix things be to reunite him and Mom? Was that even possible?

“I don’t know if it would make things easier or more difficult,” I said, trying to toss the thoughts from my mind. Things didn’t need to be more complicated; I needed everything to be simplified. It was the only way I could think of to put my life together enough to be useful to anyone.

“When you’re ready,” he said, sitting back again as though we had been talking about something as simple as taking college courses or moving out.

From there, we talked about Caroline and the next broadcast, as well as random points from her speeches. I discovered he and I actually thought about things in much the same way. If he had been an elemental, I bet he would have been air. Mostly because he put others first and himself second when thinking about the consequences of actions—which seemed to be a trend I’d picked up during my studying. He agreed there needed to be a change, but also that rallying the people into anger wasn’t necessarily the best way—considering how many people become uncontrollable and unpredictable when enraged.

I knew then that if I ever led my own revolution—if that’s what it was supposed to be—I wanted Ian on my side. When I second guessed myself, he would be someone who would see my dilemma and actually work towards helping me solve it in a way with which I was comfortable, versus letting me work it out alone (and possibly screwing everything up) or attempting to convince the only way was something contrary to my beliefs. That was something I knew I would need, especially if I wanted to succeed. And I did.

Elemental: Chapter Eight, Part 5

Nick and Drei argued daily now, sometimes twice. Most days Nick started it, especially when I wouldn’t answer the door and pretended not to hear his knock on my window in the morning. Then Drei pounded on the door a couple of times. I hid in my room, talking myself out of seeing either of them.

I avoided witnessing their arguments, and spent most of the week experimenting, hoping some clarity would be found in the ancient pastime.

Valetta stopped by after the first day, reassuring me she would keep the two from killing each other while I worked out for myself what was needed. She also left some old CDs and a disc player. Old as in music I’d listened to in middle school and had pretended I didn’t like by the time I reached high school.

Her gift became my first experiment. I knew the songs and, never having had the lungs to sing, maybe there was a way to fix that.

The first attempts were a mess of coughs and either not enough air or too much. As I found the right balance of input to match my output, the problem I had was concentrating. Often, just as I was reaching the climax, I would forget to pull more air into my lungs and my voice fizzled out, leaving a drowned moose sound hanging in the air. If anyone had been around to hear, I would have been humiliated and embarrassed.

By the third day of my break, I had mastered it. It surprised me I actually had a decent voice, but it wasn’t like I would be selling records the next week.

After the satisfaction had worn away, I was bored with singing. There was still a challenge in concentrating, but I found my peace to be temporary in that. The moment the song ended, every thought came rushing back. I was to the point that images would flash through my mind as I sang. It was no longer helping. If anything, it made me feel worse for procrastinating.

Abandoning singing, I recalled meditating when I was younger. My mother had insisted it was to aid me in balancing my life as it became busier. More than likely, she just wanted company when she was experimenting with new relaxation methods—like the time she thought it would be entertaining to try a contortionism class. That, by the way, landed her in a chiropractor’s office for two months.

Settling at the foot of my bed—legs crossed, muscles loose, eyes closed—I focused on a blank sheet of paper in my mind’s eye, just as I had been instructed to do years before. My breathing slowed, setting the backbeat for the sounds filling me.

How was I to know my element wouldn’t allow me to meditate?

The blank page was splashed with color and brief sketches of birds, squirrels, and children laughing. Everything flooded into my open mind. It didn’t bother me; it was rather refreshing. There is nothing like being filled with something other than yourself. It didn’t give me an answer, but it revived my will to find one. Unfortunately, Mother would never realize how much those meditation classes really worked.

The second to last night of my isolation, a small troupe of the children visited bearing gifts.

“We’re sorry, Abriel,” Danny, and Derek said when I opened the door.

“We brought you a gift,” Bethanie added as Michelle held forth an ice sculpture of a young woman cradling forget-me-nots. The roots of the flowers laced through her chest, curling into a heart-shape.

“Come in,” I said, surprised at the chill outside.

After settling on the wooden floor of the front room, the sculpture resting on a windowsill, I asked, “What are you sorry for?”

“Aren’t you mad at us?” Mikael responded.

“What would give you that crazy idea?”

“Well you aren’t around anymore,” Xenia added, glancing briefly up at me.

“I’m not mad at you guys,” I insisted.

“Is it Nick?” Bethanie questioned eagerly.

“Or Drei?” Kora added, eyes wide in curiosity.

I was silent a moment. It wasn’t really their fault; it was mine. “No,” I replied. “I just needed some time off.” When Jake looked to ask another question, I added, “Have I missed anything interesting?”

Kora rolled her eyes. “Only Michelle making gaga eyes at Mitchell.”

“Am not!”

“Is that why you’re always showing off super hard when he comes by?” Mikael questioned. Michelle’s cheeks flamed.

“Anthony and Amy almost got caught playing a prank on Nick yesterday,” Derek offered quickly.

Danny added, “Yeah, they were going to make him slip from the lunch station down the hill into a mud puddle and he almost saw them setting it up.”

“Yeah,” Xenia said, “Valetta practically bore holes in them. I’m not sure Nick would have noticed though.”

“He has been really distracted lately,” Bethanie said and all of their smiles began to fade. “He’s not as much fun anymore. And he’s being a stupid jerk whenever Drei comes around.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me,” Michelle huffed. “I used to think he was kind of cute until he became little Mr. Fireball all the time.”

Derek said, “He has been rather stupid about the whole thing.”

“Both of them have been,” Danny amended.

Mikael said, “To be fair, I think taking on a vampire when you’re just a normal person is the more foolhardy.”

“Well I’ll be back in a couple of days,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood again. I hadn’t intended for them to suffer for my imprudence. “Then you can show me a new game.”

Jake, who had been quiet after I’d preempted his question, gave me a skeptical look but didn’t say anything; the others jumped excitedly, promising they’d have a really great game by then. As they walked away from my cabin, Jake turned back. It was strange how subdued he was compared to the others. For a moment, I feared he would return to my door with some other question to which I didn’t have an answer. Then he caught back up with the others, smiling and nodding as they discussed what new game they might create.

Elemental: Chapter Seven, Part 2

 “Like 20 questions?”

“Not really. The object is just asking questions. Each person gets one question per turn. No winner, no rules, you don’t even have to tell the truth; but…it’d be nice if you would;” his jade gems were serious and piercing.

“I’m game;” I smiled, interested in how this would turn out and hoping he would lighten up again. I liked it when he wasn’t so serious; it kept me from being too serious. “You start.”

He leaned back on his hands, his lips scrunched to the side in thought. “Why are you here?”

I thought a moment, judging just how much to tell him. Drei had warned to be careful, and thus far we had all limited how much we tapped into our power, causing him to believe most of it was mere coincidence. What he didn’t think was coincidence, we worked to convince him he imagined. It had become quite a game with the kids; it was rather entertaining hearing the stories and conspiracy theories they developed and built upon until we had forgotten what had started it all.

“Because I can do this,” I said after a moment, picking a flower resembling a fairy hat from beside me, using the air to lift it from my fingers and presenting it to Nick.

He plucked the blossom from the air saying, “Nice parlor trick.”

“Not so much a trick.” I didn’t really want to explain. Showing him was one thing; actually telling him outright was quite another. “My turn, right?”

Nick nodded, inspecting the flower for wires or something, trying to make it levitate as I had moments before, only to watch it fall to the grass repeatedly.

“What was your life like before?”

“Before the fire?” he clarified. At my nod, he continued slowly; “Well, we were happy. Kit and Kate had just started second grade and were ecstatic, finally allowed to buy non-matching clothing sets. My mom had insisted until then that twins were safer dressed alike. Really, she just thought they were cute dressed the same. Dad had been promoted and was talking about moving, which of course led to arguments with my mom; she insisted we stay and not uproot our lives because he wanted to. He was threatening to leave and just send money back, which she said was irrational and that we needed him. And then they’d jump straight to making up;” his cheeks flamed as though he had stumbled across this once and regretted it since.

“I used the instability of their relationship to stay out late. I never did anything I might later regret, but being around people who did somehow made me feel less cowardly. The first time I misjudged the night’s events and showed up late to be caught, they ripped me a new one, then apologized for stunting my growth and just asked if I would stay away from those guys. Course I didn’t…and now I kind of wish I had. Who knows, maybe they still would have been around.”

“I thought you said you were happy?”

“Kit and Kate were, I was, and Dad was; Mom just didn’t want to move, otherwise she was thrilled for Dad and the rest of us.”

“You really miss them,” I stated, thinking about my dad at home, wondering for the first time how he was holding up.

“What was your life like?”

“Before coming here?”

“Well, it is a reciprocal question.” I laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows. The first time he had done that, I tried and he fell over laughing so hard, I couldn’t help but laugh. I could tell from the look in his eyes he was thinking of the same thing.

“Superficial,” I started, forcing myself to look at what my life had really been like. “My dad worked all the time, I never knew my mom, and my mother was in constant denial of there ever being someone else. I was an only child, left to my own devices—one of which was a credit card with a limit I never reached. I had friends who were more like snakes with pearly smiles, but it was better to be on their side than to be against them. And then Drei saved me.”

He waited a moment longer, as though expecting more explanation, but I wasn’t going into the details of why or how he saved me. Nick needed to know that as much as he needed to know why I was here.

When the tension in his relaxed position returned, I knew he was ready for me to ask him another question. “What were you thinking that night, when they were talking about making you leave?”

Nick shrugged and looked out past the kids to the lake.

“Really,” I insisted, resting a hand lightly on his knee. I had been so concerned with everyone else in the room, I didn’t know, and I kind of wanted to.

“Well,” he drawled, as if still thinking. “At first I was just preparing myself for it. Trying to convince myself that it was nothing and at least I had met you, and I was feeling better. I had kind of expected it,” he admitted, “but just the mental preparedness of myself was lacking. But then you argued for me, and I couldn’t believe it. You barely knew me and yet you were fighting for me against one of the most frightening guys I’ve ever met. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing and brave that was.” He didn’t shrug, as I had expected him to, to lighten the weight of his words. Though I had looked away to hide my flaming cheeks, I knew he was staring at me with those piercing eyes, trying to measure my response.

“What were you thinking?” he questioned after a moment.

I didn’t respond right away because I didn’t know how. The night was a blur; I couldn’t even remember what Drei had said really, let alone what I was thinking.

“I don’t think I was,” I began slowly. “I just remember that I knew it was unfair and at one point that I was ready to leave if Drei wanted me to. What he was doing wasn’t right, and it made me—it made me so angry.”

Nick nodded, like he knew this already and just wanted the confirmation. “Your turn.”

Elemental: Chapter Three, Part 5

My blue-gray eyes stared emptily back at me, reminding me of the way Mom had transformed in my mind the night before. I looked as though I hadn’t slept a wink, which might have been the truth. All I could remember, however, was the history of my parents replaying like some horrible family film, always ending with Dad leaving, never to see her again.

I didn’t want to go to school; it was the last thing I wanted to do. Everyone would be talking about yesterday, about the girl who lost it—and more. My mind thoughtfully simulated the jeering faces and deafening silence. Half of me questioned why the past couldn’t be left alone, but the other half argued I had done my fair share of digging.

Turns out, I should have stayed home.

The moment I stepped onto campus, everyone shushed. It seemed to thrill them to peek around the corner at the girl who went psycho not even 24 hours earlier. Giggles echoed everywhere, nearly as much as the stealthy tiptoes and retreating footsteps of pathetic children lacking anything better to do.

In my locker was a note from Sara, apologizing profusely between her ravings of doing nothing wrong. Half of it denied any responsibility on her part. It ended with her begging me not to kill her, which hadn’t crossed my mind before that point—not that I would seriously contemplate it.

My first three classes I kept to a back corner of the room, having noticed in homeroom how everyone seemed to avoid sitting too close. Nothing changed during those classes. I seemed to radiate an aura of “fear me” so that even teachers were contented when I didn’t offer my usual participation. I could feel the waves of relief washing from them every time a question was posed and they glimpsed my way to see I hadn’t volunteered to answer.

Lunch was when the message became undeniably clear this was not just a one-day phase. Our school newspaper—the same one that managed to inform the student body of student news after it had ceased to be news—had published and released an edition focusing solely on moi.

I easily glimpsed the cover page, sporting an artistic version of myself floating, glowing abnormally, and resembling an earlier sketch of a popular weather controlling mutant. Everyone seemed to be reading the fresh copy, and an occasional finger found its way to my current position. The raucous of the room had hushed into a murmur of gossip and rumors from the moment I entered. If I neared a table of whispering girls, or chuckling guys, the energy and sound was vacuumed away until I passed; only then did it once again explode and infect the table’s occupants.

I had just decided on not eating in the lunchroom when someone stood and shouted, “Look! There’s the freak!”

Bursts of laughter and agreement echoed through the room and swam in my ears. Feigning deafness, I calmly exited the cafeteria through the rear door and only then allowed myself to sprint quicker than humanly possible to my car.

My eyes fell upon my poor vehicle, cluttered in teasing graffiti, sticky notes, toilet paper, and eggs. I dropped my backpack and stared horrified at my once beautiful, blue hybrid. Tears threatened to fall as I fled from the representation of my destroyed life. En route, I promised myself never to lose control again—regardless of what it required. My livelihood was ruined because of it, as well as everything inside of me.

At home, I found the house devoid of life. I was alone, as I was starting to realize I always had been. I’d been on my own since my mom left me to this supposedly better life; since my father traveled endlessly trying to escape her memory; since Kenzy tried to control everything I was when she couldn’t even begin to imagine. That realization shattered my world.

Elemental: Chapter Three, Part 3

I was losing him to some memory I knew nothing of. To only know so much and begin to lose him was shredding my heart. Knowing who my mom was wasn’t enough anymore. I had to know what had happened. I had to know who she had been to him.

“What happened?” I prompted, my voice pleading and anxious.

His watery eyes found mine, and seemed to find an anchor to this reality along with it. “Sorry,” he muttered, dragging his hand across his eyes.

“What happened?” I repeated when he didn’t begin to answer.

He sighed heavily. “We started seeing each other; at first casually, but then we were together more and more frequently. It was no longer a friendship, but more of a partnership. She had the uncanny ability to know just what to say to make everything better or worse. And her bright, flighty personality drew me closer in until I seriously considered divorcing Kenzy.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Shush, you’re getting ahead of the story,” he reprimanded. I waited impatiently as he recollected his thoughts of the past. “She went missing,” he started again. “No one knew where she had gone, or why she had left. When she reappeared nearly a year later, Kenzy and I had come to an—um, an agreement in our marriage.”

“What?” I screeched. As the story of my mother and father unfolded, despite being abridged, I found I had curled up on the chair as I used to when he would tell me stories of romance and chivalry. “What arrangement?”

“Calm down,” he said, motioning for me to sit with him again. This time I obeyed, hoping that, if anything like my mom, I would better understand what came next. “Kenzy had found out about my relationship with Ty. After months of arguing about divorce, equality, and children, we agreed to stay married and be faithful to each other. Supposing the arrangement held, we would consider adopting a child. A huge concession for Kenzy considering her tenacious feelings toward adoption.

“But then Ty returned, and I couldn’t see myself ever keeping to something so inane. I loved her; how could I give her up?”

“You couldn’t,” I answered gently. “So you saw her again.”

“The first time we met privately, after her return,” he continued, “we went to a hotel. It was where she was staying. I had thought it was temporary, but couldn’t imagine anyone denying her a place to stay. Everyone loved her.”

“Dad, what was important about that time?” I sensed that if I didn’t pry him from his thoughts, I would never hear the end of the story. It no longer was just something to know; it was a need. I needed these answers, this story, some kind of control in my life, something true—really true—to believe.

His pearly whites gleamed at me. “That was the first time I met you. You were so strong and determined for an infant. All the world was a wall to be torn down and rebuilt for you.” He squeezed my shoulders in a one-armed hug. “After the initial shock, I was hurt. My thoughts weren’t possessive…they were dismissive. I was ready to storm out before she told me you were little more than four months old. You were mine…” his voice trailed, seeming to leave the past behind. The hazel eyes found the current me and settled on the image. “You're mine.”

A silence swallowed us as he reasoned out fact from the imaginary accumulated over the years. He laughed to himself at some point, saying, “I had convinced myself it was all a lie. That she really was waiting somewhere. Ty couldn’t be dead. She was too special to die so young.”

Elemental: Chapter Three, Part 2

“What’s the matter, Abbie?” my father inquired, peeking his head out from his study as I stomped down the hall.

My steps ceased slightly past his door. I turned, surprised he was here. Last I knew he had been in New York closing a merger over deadly concoctions and Broadway Theatre. New York had always been his favorite place for business.

“Hi…Dad,” I said somewhat dumbly. “When did you get back?”

“This morning. Now, what’s wrong? Why are you fighting with your mother?”

I crossed my arms, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. “She won’t be honest with me,” I finally answered after no lie would come to mind.

He nodded, causing his shaggy cinnamon hair to jostle. “Come in.”

His study was cozy compared to most of our house. I remembered jumping on the leather couches as a child and settling beside him to listen to poetry or prose of another time that he so expertly read. The numerous bookcases shelving volumes from around the globe had always fascinated me. They held the keys to another realm, a new world, a forgotten time. Now they stood stoic and floundering in a feeble existence, half-forgotten. I looked away from them, reminded far too much of my own predicament.

He patted the soft leather beside him, but I sat across from him; I didn’t want his comforting nature to sway my resolve.

A small, depressed smile invaded his features as he sighed; “I always knew this day would come.”

I sat upright, hoping if I came off more adult-like, he would treat me as such. I fought to keep my expression apathetic. The familiar setting of comfort, laughter, and safety, however, combated my determination.

“Am I adopted?” I questioned, preparing for the worst, though I hadn’t figured out what that would be.

He massaged his temples with a pale hand as he pondered an answer. “Yes, and no,” he finally replied.

My mind froze, unsure whether to be relieved or shattered. I was somewhat confused, and yet completely understood what the remark was supposed to mean; but meaning couldn’t seem to dawn when I was directly involved.

His hazel eyes seemed to understand my thoughts and elaborated: “You are mine, my child. Kenzy is not your mother, however. She adopted you.”

Questions screamed in my mind, blocking out all other noise, but the only word my lips found purchase on was “how.”

“Well,” he said, hunkering down as if he were about to tell me the school had been blown to smithereens, “Kenzy couldn’t have children. We found out she was sterile a couple years into our marriage. At that point, everything was falling apart, and we thought a child would make things better, but a child was inconceivable.”

“What about adoption? Or having another woman carry the child to term?”

“Kenzy didn’t want a child from another woman, afraid she would change her mind after the child’s birth. And she didn’t want a child that had nothing in common with either of us. She was very stubborn on that.”

“So how did you have me?”

He nodded knowingly, as if anticipating that question already and having just found the words in which to explain it. “Some time after our arguments worsened, I met your mom. Tyrene. But everyone called her Ty.” My father smiled fondly at the memory; there was a light in his eyes that made him seem younger, more vivacious. “You look a lot like her, you know. It’s because of you I can stand to miss her.”

Elemental: Chapter Three, Part 1

Chapter Three: Remember the Past

No matter how I approached the memory, I couldn’t understand what had happened. Why had I lost control? What had squeezed me into the corners of my own body and then left? What may have been scarier than either of those was I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know how to prevent it from happening again.

I decided, since everything was unraveling anyway, to seek the truth of my parentage. What more could've made the day worse? The truth might have been an improvement.

My mother was mixing cake batter in the kitchen when I found her. What exactly she was doing mixing a cake, I had no idea. She never cooked. Ever. She had never been a Martha Stewart type of homemaker. As far back as I could remember, she had never really been a homemaker of any kind. I mean, she was home, she sewed on the occasion, and she didn’t really have a job; she organized parties and such, but she didn’t go around cleaning the house or ordering new draperies every month. I couldn’t even remember a time when she had been in the kitchen to cook; I always seemed to remember her criticizing the cooking, though.

“Hello, darling,” she greeted, smiling brightly at me, her thin arm still flailing painfully as she tried to whisk the batter. Her dark hair was piled messily atop her head in an attempt to keep it out of her way.

“Mother, what are you doing?” I questioned, sitting on one of the cherry stools at the breakfast bar.

“Baking,” she said. Then she smiled up at me, adding, “I felt inspired.”

“Tell me the truth,” I requested calmly, not wanting to yell or lose my temper, but needing her to understand this was necessary.

Her lime eyes gazed at me blankly. The fact she still wanted to play this asinine game infuriated me; did she think after 17 years I didn’t know what was abnormal for her?

“Stop lying to me. It’s not protecting me from anything.” My gaze was stony and unmoving, and I sensed a fear of it. “It’s only hurting me.”

She stared at me a moment, her face stoic but her whisking hand shaking slightly at it stood poised over the batter. “Okay,” she conceded, looking down. “I’m baking because I’m unnerved.”

“At what?” I prompted, softening a touch. Maybe she had noticed I was different and wanted to explain. Wanted to tell me she was like me and regretted not explaining things sooner.

“Your friends hardly come over anymore.” No. She had to be kidding me. “You’re always off to one thing or another all day long.” I should have known it would be something like this. She didn’t care about telling me the truth; she had worked on keeping it secret. “You’re asking questions about ridiculous things. And today—today I get a call from the school saying you were fighting with Sara. Since when are you fighting with Sara?” she demanded, her voice steadily growing more hysterical. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I couldn’t stand her. “You two were always so close…I-I just don’t know who you are anymore—and I want to know—”

I stood up abruptly, the stool scraping loudly against the tiled floor. The kitchen, in all its modern grandeur, felt tiny and suffocating. As though the longer I stayed there, the more the walls pushed us together until I became just like her. Until I made sense to her. I couldn’t begin to understand how her whole baking deal was her way of dealing with my inadequacies. Rather than talking with me, like a normal person, she was going to lie and pretend I wouldn’t know any better. Because she’s just so perfect.

“I want my daughter back,” she cried to me, not one real emotion oozing from her voice.

“You don’t deserve her,” I shouted as I stormed from the kitchen.

Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 10

The thought of facing Drei still terrified me. He had tried to prepare and help me, but I was too stubborn to listen. Ever since the bounty hunter and the less than comforting chat with my mother, I didn’t want to admit he was right. It hurt my pride enough to realize my own ignorance; I wanted to hold off hurting it any more.

School finished in a blur; class elections, junior prom, graduation and finals slid together into a solitary block of random images that made no sense to me. I missed my games but was timorous at being caught or attracting unwanted attention. For me, there was no escape from the mundane everyday life I faced, the life I had once invested so much in.

Even summer was just a sequence of parties, appearances, and shopping trips to New York, California, and Paris. My friends were going through senior madness: a “disease” our school had dubbed the craziness for jumping the bones of anything alive the summer before senior year. Their exploits were recounted in vivid detail over overpriced coffee. If questioned myself, I played a similar tune of countless faces passing through my door, but never offered tales of specific encounters without prompting. After all, there were none in reality to spare. It wasn’t me and I wasn’t ready—not to mention the thought still brought flashes of my birthday back a little too vividly.

Part of me wished I could have enjoyed the summer more, but I couldn’t pour my heart into a half-life. It felt like all summer I asked myself if any of it was worth it. Was this petty existence worth anything at all? And every time I asked, the answer was no.

Mother filled the weeks before school with college visits so I could learn which colleges best suited me. I felt more relaxed and involved as I went from one campus to another, comforted by the less superficial atmosphere. It was promising me something more of a life. And while I strolled through lecture halls and parks, I forgot myself. I felt more at peace in my skin, putting aside any disturbing realities of my life. I am somewhat ashamed to admit I had forgotten Drei in that time as well. In fact, all of it had been forgotten.

I returned for the start of school with my new resolve and feeling less troubled. My worries consisted mostly of finding time for my three advanced placement courses, seven clubs, four volunteer commitments, and anything else that would keep my mind from everything I had forgotten. Of course, then, I hadn’t realized that was the purpose for my over-involvement.

A couple of months into the school year, I found everything slipping from beneath me again. All the control and the careful steps I had taken to stay ignorant were stripped from me. All with one disastrous event.

Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 9

That week I hated myself. I had blown off Drei, literally, and hadn’t trusted him because he told me the truth. How screwed up was I that I couldn’t stand the truth? What did that say about me? Or anyone around me, for that matter?

After the bounty hunter had left, I felt hollow, wondering how much more of what Drei had said was true. It would certainly explain what I had avoided thinking about but I still couldn’t imagine what my mother’s response would be if I asked. Deep down, I didn’t want it to be true; it would mean I still had some inkling of what was happening in my own life if it wasn’t. I didn’t want to find out everything was a lie. Something I didn’t know.

Curiosity won out soon enough, demanding I learn the truth before I dismissed everything. Yet I was still hesitant. It wasn’t a subject I really wanted to go into. Not with her. She was always so temperamental and dismissive. Guess that’s where I learned it.

“Mother?” I called meekly from the doorway of her study.

The study was a large room, half library, half home office. The half as a library sported floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with every craft, self-help, and romance book she deemed worthy. Amidst the shelves was a cozy sitting area with old leather armchairs and dim Tiffany lamps. The half as an office bore a large wrap-around mahogany desk with a sleek laptop and a red leather chair. Along one wall was a bookcase of binders concealing different files and patterns she occasionally used when she sewed—which had been increasingly less often over the past years. In the far corner was an antique sewing table, renovated and shiny, the cherry wood giving a sense of peace to the stiff setting.

She sat elegantly in one of the chairs of the half library, her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose as she pored over a volume of by the latest over-hyped psychologist.

“Yes?” she replied distantly, a bookmark hovering just above the page as she read to the end of the paragraph.

“May we speak?”

“Of course, darling.” She closed her book with a soft snap as I sat demurely at her feet. “What do you want to speak of? Is it about a boy?”

I hesitated, not certain it was such a great idea any more. “Sort of,” I replied.

“Is he nice?” Trust her to make this out to be something it wasn't.

“I’m not so sure,” I responded honestly. “He said I was adopted,” I added quickly before she could conjure another question.

Her face concealed something beneath the sympathy she portrayed. “Oh, honey,” she cooed, pulling me up to sit on the arm of her chair. “Don’t listen to such inanity. He’s just trying to bother you.”

I let her stroke my hair and hold me like she used to when I’d had a nightmare and was younger. She babbled to me some more, but I felt numb. Her words felt fake and syrupy, as if they were meant to reassure me secrets could be kept with calm and coaxing. Perhaps it was better to hear a lie and believe I still had some control over my life than it was to hear the truth when so much had made me feel fragile already.

Elemental: Chapter Two, Part 7

My jaw dropped. My mother? The same one who was constantly nagging about boyfriends and college? “My mother’s at home asleep,” I said slowly.

“No, your mother has been locked away for 17 years.”

“That’s not possible!” I crossed my arms, trying not to let his words sink in too deep. Suddenly I felt cold, and the fact I knew practically nothing about him seemed really important. Like it was reason enough to block out anything else he said and dismiss it as a lie.

“It is. And if you are not careful, they will reunite you,” he threatened, though his voice wasn’t as cruel and frightening anymore.

I was silent. Thoughts jumbled in my head and left me wordless. He was so serious I was somewhat convinced he was telling the truth, but the idea was ludicrous and I had no reason to believe him. I saw her all the time...unless—

“I could take you away. You would be safe. We take care of all the elementals,” he offered, his voice gentle and alluring after the long silence that had fallen between us. The scent of flowers filled the air. It might have been my imagination, but instead of finding it soothing this time, it made me doubly uneasy, almost nauseous.

The idea seemed okay, but fear swelled in my mind. What would I do without school, college prospects, or friends? How could I survive without the comforts I found every day, the security in the fact I had everything I needed? I couldn’t leave everything behind; it didn’t seem possible. Aside from that, how safe would I be with Drei should I trust him? I didn’t know. He had soothed and saved me, yes, but that was when people still expected to see me. If I ran away, that expectation decreased to nearly nonexistent and what would he do then? Would he still be safe?

“Who is we?” I asked instead, attempting to think about something that didn’t bring so many unanswered questions to light.

“Vampires, like myself,” he answered, as if trying to prove I could trust him.

I scoffed, more out of terror than disapproval. “You’re out of your mind,” I insisted, trying to calm myself. It wasn’t working very well. “First bounty hunters, then my mother, now vampires? This is—this is a total joke.”

My mind repeated those final words, trying to convince me that was the truth. It fit into the boxes of my life; the rest of it didn’t. I could even make a box for being an elemental, and stretch things to make it fit, but I wasn’t going to try for everything else if it was easier to deny it all.

But my heart refused to believe he was lying. It argued I had always suspected this harsher reality, even if I never wanted to admit it.

Wanting to escape that place and the gut-wrenching feeling my world was collapsing, I forced Drei away from me and dashed back through the park. I was able to escape him easily enough; I wasn’t as lucky with his words.