Welcome. If you’re reading
this, it’s probably safe to assume something about the story (or its
author) interested you. I’m glad. Before you start reading, however,
let me tell you a little bit about what this story is - and what it
isn’t. It isn’t a Downey-esque love story. It’s not Finding a Place,
or a "give me the insulin"ly sweet romance. It’s not a tragedy either.
It’s the story of a very special young lady, who’s had a rough life,
and takes it out on everyone. She came to me and ordered me to tell her
story, and so I shall. It’s about her journey into the world, and her
experiences, and what it was like for her along the way. Elizabeth
isn’t going to be a short story, not by any means. I don’t know exactly
when the story will end (I already
see it as a novella-length piece, and don’t have the ending in sight).
That’s up to Elizabeth
to decide. I hope you’ll join me for the journey, as I’m sure it will
be quite an adventure.
I do have to say a brief thank you here,
before we get to the story. First off, to Frank Downey - a better
writer I’ve rarely had the pleasure to read, and Dance of a Lifetime
is easily my absolute favourite online story, and one of my favourites
overall. If you haven’t read it,
finish Elizabeth and then GO! (Sorry Frank, but this is
my story after all ;-))
Then read Naked in School, Michelle’s Story.
If it weren’t
for Frank, and especially for that latter story, I never would’ve
gotten back into writing here. Thank you, Frank. I appreciate it
more
than you could know, and (I hope) my readers will as well. Also, big
thanks to the members of the FDWritings and FKWLounge groups,
especially Girl Friday and Ed. Without you guys, this (and I)
never would have gotten off the ground. Last but not least, to my
editors and proofreaders. FeyRen, Warlord, and Phil S., thank you all
for your hard work. Obviously, any errors that make it into the story
are purely my fault, not theirs.
Finally, now that I’ve bored all of you
to tears, and probably made most of you run for the hills, on to the
story…
Dedicated to someone very special to me. They know who they
are. You'll always be missed.
Chapter 1
"Damn you!" she
yelled, falling to her knees in front of the low-set granite marker in
the ground. The cold wind stung at her face, freezing most of her tears
before they had even begun to fall, as she brushed her ungloved fingers
over the raised words on the stone. Eleanor Lynn Miller. Daughter,
Wife, Mother. August 9, 1958 - December 12, 1998
"Why did you have to leave, mom? Why?"
She cried aloud, knowing full well she would never get an answer.
Elizabeth had asked that same question here at least once a month,
since the day she turned eleven, when her mother died, but she hadn’t
ever found an answer. She laid her head next to the old, dried flowers
resting on the headstone, the flowers she had left here just a few
weeks before, and the memories all came flooding back.
First her mother’s headaches, the way her
hand would just start shaking, all on its own. Then came the fainting
spells, and the doctors’ appointments. Finally, the visit to the
specialist. She’d gone with her mother to that.
"Brain cancer," the doctor had said.
"Chemotherapy and radiation for starters. Then hopefully we’ll be able
to operate."
If only she’d known then what
"chemotherapy and radiation" really meant. Her mother had just said
"I’ll have to take some medicines." Some medicines indeed. Poison.
That’s what it was.
Elle began sobbing more heavily then,
remembering how her mother had looked, how she’d tried not to let her
daughter see what the treatments were doing to her. A year, it all
lasted. Then, the doctor’s appointment, a month before her eleventh
birthday. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller, but the tumor isn’t responding to
our treatments. I’m afraid it’s inoperable now. There’s nothing more we
can do, besides making you comfortable. You probably only have another
few months, a year at the most."
One month, almost to the day, is how long
she had. She was feeling sick the day of Elle’s party. As she was
cutting the birthday cake she collapsed, shaking. Elizabeth ran to her
side and grabbed her hand, as her breathing ceased. And then she was
gone.
Elle sat there for some minutes with her
knees curled to her chest, hugging herself against the wind and sobbing
silently; once again asking all the questions she longed to know the
answers to, but most of all, why?
The chime of her watch brought her back
to the present, making her pull her eyes away from the tombstone.
Another hour had gone by. It wasn’t until she glanced at her watch,
however, that she realized how late it really was. The small lit digits
showed it was just after 5 O’clock.
"Oh shit!" she said out loud, jumping to
her feet. "Randy is really going to be pissed at me this time, if he’s
already home," she mumbled under her breath, already starting to turn
towards the path home. Elizabeth put the thoughts of her mother aside -
as much as she could at least - as she started running the two miles
back to the house. In the middle of a harsh Illinois winter, it wasn’t
a fun experience.
Elizabeth looked up as she neared her
house, glancing at the clean exterior and the spotless front porch,
before looking quickly to the driveway and garage, hoping not to see
tire tracks in the coat of snow on the driveway. It had been snowing
off and on most of the day, just enough to leave a few new inches on
the ground, and as it hadn’t been shoveled since this morning she was
hoping there wouldn’t be any tracks in it. The set of tire treads
imprinted in the snow brought her back to reality, at least until she
saw the strange cars parked at the top of the drive. The sight made her
shiver under her heavy coat, and turned her blood cold. Her face,
already red from the cold and snow, turned a dull shade of white as her
stomach tied itself in knots. She silently hoped her worries were
misplaced, but a glance in the back seat of one of the cars as she
jogged up the walk quickly robbed her of her last hope for a reprieve.
She walked around to the back door, dreading what she’d find inside.
For a brief second, the teenager thought about simply turning around
and leaving. Running away. Maybe going back out west, where her family
had used to live; her real family, that is. Moving back to the last
place where she was happy. Instead, she took a deep breath and opened
the door, all the while silently praying for her mother to protect her.
"Where have you been? You were supposed
to be home from school an hour ago! I was expecting dinner to be ready
by now!" her stepfather shouted, before the door had even closed behind
her. By the time she turned around and looked up, Randy was standing up
and heading towards her. Elizabeth backed up, trying to duck out of his
reach.
"I...I’m sorry Randy - I’ll start dinner
now, and I’ll be better about keeping track of time from now on," she
said, stammering and cowering back by the stove. He kept coming towards
her, the look in his eyes telling her all she needed to know. He was
drunk again.
"Hey, Randy," came a voice from the other
room, making Elle jump in surprise. "The game’s back on."
Elizabeth breathed a quick sigh of relief
as her stepfather turned back towards the den.
"I want dinner ready in half an hour, and
don’t you even think about leaving this house again tonight."
"Yes, sir." Elizabeth was already
starting to look through the refrigerator, searching for something she
could prepare for dinner quickly, hoping to be safely asleep in her
room before the game ended.
She almost succeeded. She was just
finishing drying the dishes when she heard the men in the den cheering,
and her stepfather calling for her to bring them more beers. She knew
better than to argue, going over to the fridge and pulling out two
bottles.
"Now, you little slut!" Randy hollered,
causing her to jump and sending one of the bottles crashing to the
ground. She knew she was in trouble the second she heard it shatter on
the hardwood floor.
"What the hell was that?!?" Randy yelled,
rushing into the kitchen in time to see his daughter frantically trying
to clean up the puddle of liquid on the floor, and collecting the
pieces of the broken bottle. The minute she saw him in the doorway, she
froze, stiff as a board.
He exploded.
"Where the hell is my beer you slut! What
did you think, that I wouldn’t notice I was one bottle short? You did
this on purpose, didn’t you? You saw that there were only two left, and
you thought you could stop me from drinking if you wasted them, is that
right? Huh?" He was shouting now, slurring his words. He was well past
simply ‘drunk’, and Elizabeth could see the anger boiling up in his
eyes. "You’re going to pay for that beer -- It cost me money, you know."
"B...Bu...But, you know I don’t have any
money to pay you with, sir... I don’t even have any lunch money for the
rest of the month," Elle mumbled, almost inaudibly. He’d spent her
lunch money on alcohol last week, and she hadn’t gotten an allowance
since shortly after her mother died. He wouldn’t let her work, so the
only money she got was the occasional bit that he would give her for
clothing or "personal items", and the money she had to do the shopping
with when she could - but she had to have receipts for every penny...
‘And they’d better match up!’ he’d told her, the first time he sent her
shopping. Sometimes, if she was lucky, a relative might give her a bit
of cash, for her birthday or Christmas. That usually went towards
clothes or makeup. "I’ll pay for it as soon as I can find some money, I
promise," she said, figuring she could get some kids lunch money from
school tomorrow to pay him back with. That’s how she usually got the
money for food, anyways.
She knew it was a mistake before the
words were even out of her mouth.
"You ungrateful SLUT!" Randy screamed,
grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to him. "How dare you bitch to
me about not having money. Do you go hungry? Do you have clothes on
your back? You’ve got what you need! I don’t give a fuck if you don’t
have lunch money for the month. You could stand to lose a few pounds
anyways; the diet will do you good. You’d better be able to give Rob in
there money to buy more beer tonight, though... I’m not waiting around
for you to try and rip me off. I know you’ve got some money stashed in
your room for clothes, or makeup, or some shit like that... You think
I’m stupid?!? You march your ass upstairs and get it - and I mean ALL
of it - and bring it back down here. RIGHT NOW!
"I... I don’t, sir! I don’t have
anything... maybe a couple of dollars in change, pennies and stuff, but
nothing really," she gasped, barely able to talk through the fear and
sobs.
"A slut like you doesn’t have any money?
Why do I find that hard to believe...? Well then, if you can’t pay for
the beer you wasted in cash, you’ll just have to pay some other way."
Randy sneered, grinning foully and pulling her towards the living room,
ripping at her shirt.