by Iris Taylor
“My dad has a soft spot for charity cases. A drowned rat, no less.” It was the look of disgust in his eyes that broke me. Like I was the filthiest girl he had ever laid his beautiful, cruel eyes on. I knew I didn’t have a single glamorous bone in me, nor did I have curves that would make any guy drool, but I never knew I could elicit disgust in anyone, much less a guy I had met barely two weeks ago. One who already decided I was not worth his time, and didn’t deserve to share his home or be a part of his family. I felt my eyes burn, and with growing mortification realized I was crying, in front of Cole. I quickly turned and ran, averting my red, brimming eyes from him – and slipped on the marble floor, feeling my ankle twist and give way painfully.
Crying out, I clamped down on my lip hard, not wanting to alert him of my fall. But Cole peeked around the wall and eyed me as I clutched my foot. His face filled with disbelief, and I watched as his expression morphed into derision. “Seriously? What a drama queen. Is that how your mom managed to catch my dad’s attention too? I hope you get thrown out of the cheer team. They won’t have any use for someone as clumsy as you.”
He strode past me and I cowered, waiting for the heavy blow. Nothing happened, and I heard him pad up the stairs, leaving me to pick myself up from the floor. Somehow, somehow, I felt stupid, as if his words about me were true. I hated it. Why was I stupid enough to react to someone as cruel as Cole? I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. Stupid Ella. Stupid, stupid Ella. It wasn’t true. My mother and I may not have bottomless pockets, but that wasn’t why my mother had fallen for Marcus. But there was no point in trying to convince his sons, because why would they believe otherwise? They were unable to see past our poor background. They couldn’t see how sweet and caring my mother was, how she worried for you, how she wanted to know how your day went. They wouldn’t ever see that side of her because they didn’t give her a chance.
“Ella? Honey, what happened? Did u slip?”
I looked up to see my mother’s worried face. She still had her coat on. “Why are you so drenched? Didn’t the boys give you a ride home?”
“I chose to walk,” I lied. “Thought I would enjoy it. Then my phone battery ran out so...”
She tsk-tsked but then stopped when I took too long to get up from the floor. Reaching for me, she asked, “What’s wrong with your foot?”
At that, my eyes threatened to tear up again. Cole was right, the team wouldn’t have any use for me now. “I twisted it when I slipped,” I replied simply. I did my best not to show my mom how emotional I was feeling. I felt like a seventeen-year-old crybaby, and I didn’t want to give Cole the satisfaction of knowing how much he had affected me.
“Oh, goodness. Let me get the boys to help you...”
“No! I mean,” I glanced around helplessly, hoping Susan or Marcus or even Hans would walk through the door. I knew my mother wasn’t strong enough to help me up to my room alone. “Okay.”
As if he was summoned, Cole bounded down the stairs and stopped short at the landing. “Elle? Oh my god, what happened? Are you alright? Here, let me help you...”
My mouth agape, I watched stupidly as he played the best stepbrother act I had ever seen. My mom appeared so grateful it looked like she might hug him. “And this is why we need men in the family.” I could almost hear her clap her hands with joy.
Cole – and it was Cole, I could tell from the glint in his eyes – put his arm around my torso to support me then took my arm and placed it around his shoulders. He was quite a bit taller so this wasn’t the most comfortable position for me, but I suspected that that was the point. He smelled really, really good – that combination of spice-and-mint again - and I shuddered realizing how attractive he was. I was going to have to start writing down all the horrible things he was doing to me to remind me not to go soft on him.
“Will you be okay to help her up the stairs?” my mother asked.
“Oh no problem, ma’am. Ella's not exactly the heaviest.” His tone was jolly, his charm fully switched on. From where we were standing, my mom could not possibly see how he was leering down at me. He made a point to look at my chest and because of how drenched I was, I could see that my nipples were peeking through my shirt. “No problem at all.”
I gritted my teeth, feeling my cheeks warm up. Was this how the next few days were going to be, at least until my ankle felt better? His proximity didn't help. I could feel his muscles flexing as he took most of my weight. I was happy when we reached my bedroom but was shocked when he started to pull off my sweater. “I can take off my clothes myself, thank you,” I gritted through clenched teeth. I was freezing and wanted him out of there as soon as possible so I could dry off and get into some warm clothes.
“Well, go on then, show me.”
He let go of me and I found myself teetering on one foot and then falling into a heap on the floor. I cried out in pain as my ankle twisted painfully again. He looked down at me, not bothering to help me up this time. Instead, he looked around the room, appearing bored. “Glad to see you haven't finished unpacking. It’ll be a chore to pack everything up again once you go.”
I could almost hear his evil cackle. “Go! Leave me. You're not being helpful anyway.”
No sooner had the words escaped my mouth did I feel his fingers against my throat again, squeezing, his face right against in mine. He replied, “I hope you're not mistaking my actions as being helpful. Let there be no doubt. You. Are. Not. Welcome. Here. Don't even think of trying to fit into this family or at school. I will make sure you are permanently off the cheerleading team. I will make sure your friends will drop you like the pathetic charity case you are. You will be all alone.”
He spat his words out, the vehemence and disgust in them giving me whiplash. My mind started whirling, trying to process his words. Why did he hate me so much? What had I done to him to deserve his animosity?
“You will never replace her,” he replied, his voice icy. “So don't even try.”
It was something in his voice that made me look at him, and look at him hard. His eyes had a faraway look to them even as his voice tried to tear me apart like shards of glass. Is that what he thought we were doing? Trying to replace his mother? Before I could ask him, he left the room, slamming my bedroom door.
I squeezed my ice shut, counting down from ten, but the pain wouldn’t go away. My ankle hurt, but he had also left behind a mountain of hidden pain when he had uttered those words. I could see he was in agony, and his actions told me he was broken.
I sighed. I needed some ice, and possibly a doctor to take a look at me. But first, the near-impossible task of getting myself a new set of clothes with a twisted ankle. I looked dejectedly at my dead phone, and decided against calling out for my mom. Being alone in a new place sucked, big time.
Chapter 9
Ella
My skin burned as I trudged through the school slowly two days later, my left foot in a cast. The crutches were making my shoulders ache. The whispers and nasty looks that I was getting told me something wasn't right, but I wasn't sure what. “Am I missing something?” I asked Sarah as she slowly walked with me towards my next class.
“The way people are staring, it's as if they've never seen anyone injured before.” I admired her nonchalant attitude, her unwavering confidence. She reminded me of Melissa and at with that thought, my spirits sank, remembering she wasn't around. Melissa would know what to say to Cole. She wouldn't seesaw between sympathy and attraction. She would give back just as good as he had given me. Which reminded me - I hadn't told her about how badly the twins were treating me. I didn't like talking badly about people, especially when I didn't know their side of things. But then again, it wasn't talking badly when I was the victim of their cruel words and actions, was it?
“Hey, it’s the amateur!” a girl called out as she looked at me, and her friends laughed with her. I caught sight of Monica down the hall who looked at me up and down shook her head and turned the other way. It dawned on me then that Cole had meant
it when he said he was going to get me kicked off the team.
I swallowed a sudden intense feeling of dejection and melancholy and kept my chin up. They couldn't possibly kick me off the team because of a twisted ankle, could they? But seeing how my new friends from practice yesterday cast me doleful, pitying looks without actually speaking to me or asking me how I was doing, I guess they could.
“Okay, I want to know why people are treating a twisted ankle like it's a crime,” I commented with frustration after being sneered at by a group of sophomores.
“Oh, crap. Look.” Sarah pointed as we arrived at my locker. There was a photo taped to the door. It was of me in my old cheerleading uniform wrapped around a dancing pole. Above it was a caption saying, “Meet our newest addition: an amateur pole dancer!” With the word amateur highlighted in colorful bold letters. The picture was clearly photoshopped.
"Hey babe, you can dance on my pole anytime."
With that, Sarah whipped around. “Get lost, Anderson!” She turned to look at me with disgust. “Who would do this to you?”
I didn't wonder for too long. “I think I know who,” I replied quietly. ”I'll fill you in later.” I didn't feel like getting into the whole deal with Cole right now.
“Well, we better get rid of this,” she said, ripping the photo off my locker door.
“Hey, Ella!” I turned to see Jules and Cameron walking towards me. Cameron looked at me in surprise. “What happened to your leg?” Jules nudged him, pointing to the photo in Sarah's hand. Of course she would have heard about it already.
“It's not true, Jules. The picture’s fake.” I felt pretty lame, having to explain this to my new friends. It just went to show that no one really knew me here. I decided I hated being the new girl. “I slipped and twisted my ankle at home.” They both looked at me in sympathy.
By the end of the day, my shoulders felt like they were going to fall off, my head was hurting and my ears were ringing from all the taunts. I had officially received notice from Monica - sent via two new cheerleaders who had made the team same time as me - to inform me that my position on the team was suspended "until further notice". Which I thought was pretty generous of her, giving me hope like that. Or maybe that was the point: to leave me hanging and hopeful.
I walked to the front of the school to wait for my mom. I had begged her to be the one to fetch me today, saying I was too embarrassed to depend on two guys I barely knew to bring me home. It wouldn't have worked if I hadn’t thrown in the fact that we hadn’t spent time together in a while. It was true because we both had been caught up with settling in, so I was as much to blame as her.
“Where do you want to go?” She asked brightly when I awkwardly maneuvered myself into the car. I couldn't help the glum tone in my voice as I replied, ”Home”.
Thankfully, she saw right through me and said, “If you don't have anything important to do this afternoon, let's go and grab a burger and some ice cream.” It was something of a tradition for us ever since I was in grade school. It started when I had been teased by another girl for wearing glasses when no one else in my class wore one. The Fat Owl, she had called me. Unoriginal, but it didn’t take much to make a little girl cry. I had been on the chubbier side then. When my mom found me red-eyed and silent she had decided it was a good time to get me ice cream, unlocking my bottled-up emotions. Whilst we each enjoyed our sundaes, she told me that people who liked to make fun of others more often than not had problems themselves. “Like what?” I had asked. “Well...” my mom had scrunched up her eyebrows, looking hesitant. It was only a few years later that I learned that she knew Lucy Bennett, the girl who had teased me. Her parents had separated and she was living with her father, who got thrown behind bars when we were in our freshman year for dealing drugs.
“Okay,” I replied to her now. “Let’s try that place at the corner of Main and Fifth.”
Whilst we were both polishing off our desserts – my mother had opted for a sugar-free raspberry gelato whilst I got a dark chocolate frozen yogurt with extra pistachios – I told her about school, how I got into the cheerleading team only to be kicked out again, and my new friends. I didn’t tell her about my interesting encounters with Cole, but I think she could see my relationship with the twins wasn’t exactly ideal.
“Have they been helping you get around at school?” I took too long to answer, and my mom nodded almost imperceptibly. “Give them time to adjust. Sometimes, the most hurtful of people are the most hurt.”
I glanced up at her sharply. Did she know what Cole had done to me? “I’ve heard how he speaks to you at home, when he thinks no one else is around. Cole, I mean.” She looked at me for confirmation, and I looked at my hands in my lap and nodded.
“He...hasn’t exactly been welcoming.”
“And if what Marcus had told me was everything, I wouldn’t expect him to be.” My eyes must have mirrored the unspoken question I had, because she followed it up by saying, “It’s not my story to tell, and I do dare say that in this case, not knowing is better. The twins have been through a tough childhood, but especially Cole. What I need to know is this: has Cole ever done anything to hurt you? Seriously hurt you?”
I was faced with a choice: to call his malicious words and threats serious hurt or to give him a chance, given this new information my mother told me about. “Not seriously.”
At the pointed look she gave me, I qualified it with, ”And I hope it doesn’t come to that. I promise you will be the first person to know if I feel worried or scared in any way.”
She nodded, satisfied with my answer.
That night, I looked through Cole’s Instagram account again. His latest post was posted just tonight – it was of an empty chessboard. The words underneath the picture struck a chord, I had to reread them again. Sometimes winning isn’t about knocking someone down. Was he talking about me? The words had a melancholic vibe to it. Was he regretting getting me kicked off the team? Or was I reading it all wrong? Maybe it wasn’t about me at all. Maybe he had put someone else down today, too. I couldn’t help but feel bad for my opinion on him. I wondered what it was that Marcus had told my mom. “Tough childhood” didn’t seem like the kind of description you would use for kids whose parents had divorced. Unless it was especially messy? Or did the twins’ mom die? Did it even matter? It wasn’t a reason for him to be cruel to others.
Unhappy with the turmoil in my brain and how Cole was now invading my sleeping hours, I crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the door, listening for signs that told me someone else was awake. All was silent. I quietly opened the door and hobbled downstairs to grab a snack, only to stop short when I saw one of the twins on the landing on the way up. He saw me, and gave a small wave. A rush of relief went through me.
“Hungry?”
I nodded. “What’re you doing up?”
Hans gestured toward the beer in his hand. “Needed a breather. That history essay’s giving me a headache.”
“You really aren’t making this smart jock thing up, are you?” I had yet to touch that assignment.
His hand flew to his chest, and he feigned a hurt look. “What, a cute guy like me can’t be smart, too?”
I pretended to swat him. “I didn’t say you were cute.” I stuck my tongue out when he looked taken aback. Despite being identical, there was something about Hans that made him decidedly less...magnetic. Perhaps it was the easy smile, or the lack of seriousness about him. I laughed as I slowly made my way down the stairs, happy that I had one-upped him.
“Leave me some cheesecake!” Hans said. “Oh, and Cole too.” The laugh in his voice reminded me of my blunder that first day the twins had returned, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Darn. You win.
Chapter 10
Cole
I listened to their easy banter, the relief in Ella’s voice when she figured out who it was, then shut the door quietly when I heard her make her way down the stairs. She really did enjoy her food, something I wasn’t sure I had seen in any of the o
ther girls I knew. Her midnight trips to the kitchen were my signal to quit letting my brain run and try go to sleep. So that’s how she manages to keep her curves. I had seen pictures of her at her old school – it seemed cheerleading was a big part of her life, so it made perfect sense for me to take that away from her here.
I gazed up at my ceiling, pondering the difference between how Hans and I were taking our lives being rewritten like this. Refashioned, like putty in the hands of a child, probably worth the same, too. I hated that no one bothered to ask us how we were coping. Not that I would’ve answered but being asked would be nice. My father barely spoke to us anymore, and I wasn’t sure when that had started to happen. He used to check on us every night before we slept, just to say goodnight. His gruff way of telling us he loved us. That was before puberty set in and we started to bring our friends over, and sometime later, girls. I guess that was when he had stopped his nightly ritual.
A knock sounded on the door, and Hans sauntered in, not waiting for me to answer. “Busy?”
I didn’t bother answering him. He knew my inner workings almost as well as I did, and sometimes even more.
“Why are you being so nice to her?” Why are you making this harder for me?
He shrugged. “I like to see them struggle at the end.”
I laughed, which sounded something between a snort and a bray of a dying animal to my ears. I forgot how sick Hans really was. It said something about his superb acting skills.
“Why are you so soft on her anyway? When are you gonna bring out the big guns?”
I shook my head. I didn’t tend that way, and he knew it. “I just want her and her mom to leave, not become all broken.” Like us, was what that sentence implied.
“Well, where’s the fun in that?” He looked slightly disappointed but I could see he didn’t care about Ella and her mom. This was my battle to wage, and he wasn’t invested in it. We were eighteen – nothing was keeping us at home really except perhaps each other, and the free room and board, free food, free everything. Speaking to our father about accessing our trust funds – there was too much energy involved in that. The unspoken agreement was that we would be able to access it once we showed enough “maturity” - and who knew what my father’s definition of that was. Grandkids, maybe?