Chapter 1 #4
As my lips parted, the overwhelming need to put these spiraling feelings into words pressing against my chest, the clinking of glasses rang through the room. The laughter and chatter of my relatives halted as everyone turned toward the sound, followed by my father’s deep voice.
“All right, everybody,” he called out, his tone full of joy, a wide smile on his face as he stood beside Mom, an arm around her shoulders. “Megan and I would like to say a few words in honor of our birthday girl.”
A deafening round of cheers erupted, the sound amplified by the sheer number of bodies crammed together.
All eyes zeroed in on me.
Heat crawled up my neck, my cheeks flushing under the weight of their attention. My gaze darted around the room, searching for anything to ground me, and landed on my grandfather. He shot me a cheeky wink, his hand clasped around my grandmother’s as she watched me with a beaming smile.
“You know, every birthday we get to celebrate with our darling girl is always momentous,” Dad continued. “There… there were many birthdays we thought would be the last, so celebrating each year is something truly incredible for Megan and me.”
Mom dabbed at her eyes, giving me a watery smile.
I ached.
“Twenty-one,” Dad breathed, letting out a low whistle. “What a milestone. And a whole year into your recovery. Another milestone, with so many more to come.”
Until it failed me, I thought darkly. Because it inevitably would.
Because that’s what my body did.
“A year ago, we weren’t quite sure we’d be standing here today,” he murmured, his voice turning somber. A quiet wave of exhalations spread through the room. Hands clutched pearls and brooches, small, sad smiles shot my way.
They were mourning me.
Even though I was still here.
What would have happened if I had died?
Would today be a memorial instead of a birthday? Or would my parents have retreated into themselves? Would this house still be filled with overflowing bodies and laughter, or would it have been cold, stark, silent?
Would Thomas have come home from whatever country he was fighting other people’s wars in?
“But our Ellis is here.”
My father’s voice snapped me back to the moment, and I blinked at him as he gestured me over.
My legs moved automatically, carrying me across the room, weaving through the bodies of my family.
A small smile settled on my face as they beamed at me, patting my back as I passed, like I was some kind of blessing.
Some sort of chosen one.
As soon as I reached my parents, they wedged me between them, my father raising his glass.
“Our Ellis,” he declared, his voice thick with emotion. “A survivor. The strongest person I know. I have seen this woman pushed to the brink and come back even stronger. Ellis, you’re our miracle, and we are so proud of you.”
Tears burned in my eyes at his words, and I desperately wanted to soak up whatever he was feeling, to experience it for myself.
But there was nothing.
Just a bleak void of dead emotion.
Relatives wiped their eyes, and my mother beamed.
“Happy birthday, darling,” she announced.
Glasses raised and clinked, and my mother pulled me into a hug as everyone drank.
Over her shoulder, my eyes met Thomas’s.
The weight in my chest suddenly felt ten times heavier.
I stood in the silence of the kitchen, my hands braced on the counter as I stared out the window into the yard.
The full moon hung high in the sky, a perfect white orb glowing against the darkness. Its light bathed the yard below, casting everything in a silvery sheen, as if choosing to shine its favor on our house tonight.
“To Ellis, the girl who defied the odds!”
“The girl who is meant to be here!”
“With a bright future ahead of her. Filled with love, adventure, and possibility!”
The toasts and words echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, looping over and over, until I had to grip the counter just to steady myself, as if it were the only thing keeping me tied down to the earth.
Because right now, a part of me wanted to float away. I just wanted to slip free of the weight of all these expectations suddenly pressing down on my shoulders.
Because what if they were wrong?
What if I wasn’t meant to be here at all?
What if I was just lucky?
I didn’t know how to live up to this.
I had been ready to die. I had been prepared for it.
I knew how to do it.
Living was a whole other story.
“All right, kid?”
My grandfather’s voice broke through the silence of the kitchen, and I jumped, unprepared for the rough edge in his tone—the way it rattled slightly these days when he spoke.
He stood in the doorway, wearing the same tweed suit I swear he wore every single day, his white hair perfectly combed, his beard trimmed to perfection. Thick glasses masked his green eyes, but their sharpness remained, unwavering.
“You scared me,” I breathed, pushing off the counter to face him. “For a man who creaks when he walks, you sure were silent.”
He snorted and shook his head as he stepped closer. “Come with me, kiddo, and I’ll let that smart-ass comment slide.”
I frowned as I took his offered hand, a strange sense of peace settling over me, as if, for a moment, he was my anchor instead of the kitchen counter.
“Go where?”
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “You’ll see.”
He led me to the garage, both of us slipping out unnoticed. I reveled in the fading party noise, the way the concrete walls swallowed the sound. But confusion crept in as I glanced around.
Why the hell were we in here?
“What are we—”
My words cut off as he flicked on the light.
The garage illuminated instantly, and my mouth dropped open at the sight before me.
Sitting in the middle of the room, gleaming under the fluorescents, was his pristine cherry-red 1967 convertible Mustang, a giant red ribbon tied to the windshield like a beacon.
I stared, then looked to my grandfather, who had leaned casually against the driver’s door, watching me.
No way.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he breathed on a laugh, as if he could hear my thoughts. “She’s all yours now.”
“You—I—what?” My words were completely unintelligible as I took a weak step forward, stopping halfway. “Granddad… this—I can’t. You—you love this car. It’s literally your favorite thing in the world. You’ve told us that enough.”
“I do love it,” he agreed, tapping the door. “That’s why she needs to go to someone who’s going to use her, you know? I can’t drive this thing around anymore.”
I blinked at him, my brain struggling to catch up. “You think I will?”
He snorted and pushed off the car, stepping toward me. Both hands landed on my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake.
“Ellis, if anyone needs a set of wheels to get the fuck out of Dodge, it’s you.”
My breath caught at his words, but he continued, his voice low and earnest.
“You’ve been strapped down to dread and death like a goddamn slave since before you could form a proper thought, and enough is enough. You just have to do something. Anything. You’ll never beat the rush of getting behind the wheel of this car and driving to nowhere. Trust me.”
My eyes burned as I glanced back at the car.
The same car he used to take me to get ice cream in.
I had loved it as a child and even more as a teenager, the wind in my hair as we drove for miles with no destination.
He had always found ways to get me out of the house, and the convertible had always been his go-to.
“Do something, kid,” he muttered gruffly, his voice thick with emotion as mine met his.
“Don’t fade away now. You fought too damn hard, and I see it.
I see what people either choose not to see or are too blind with their own joy to notice.
But I notice." His voice softened. "Get your ass in the car and drive to nowhere. Film your videos. Do whatever you have to do. But get a taste of life. Find a reason to want to be here. You got it?”
Something tight coiled in my chest, and I found myself nodding weakly, as if admitting some shameful secret. But there was no judgment from him, only understanding and acceptance.
His hands fell away, and I took a hesitant step toward the car I had grown up in, my fingers grazing the cool metal.
“I’ll leave you with it for a bit,” he murmured, turning on his heel to leave. He slipped out without another word.
Something stirred within me. A feeling I couldn’t quite name.
But I knew one thing for certain.
This was freedom.
I opened the driver’s-side door and slipped inside, my hands going to the wheel as I ran them along it. Taking a deep breath, I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the silence wash over me—the peace that came from being on my own.
I fished out my phone and settled into the seat, navigating to TikTok to edit my latest video and upload it quickly before I had to head back inside.
The app opened straight to my FYP, and I almost tapped out immediately, until the first video caught my attention.
A pair of hands held what looked like tarot cards on a surface draped in red velvet. The person’s nails were painted a chipped black. They tapped the deck against the table, then began to shuffle. I realized the feed was live.
“All right,” a feminine voice murmured, tapping the cards again.
“If you are a Libra sun, moon, or rising, this one’s for you.
Stick around. You’re going to get a whole reading for your biggest week yet.
For you Libras sitting around waiting for the next shoe to drop…
well, things are about to get interesting. ”
Comments flooded the screen in droves. I noted about ten thousand people were watching and interacting.
“Some of us carry pieces of home as we go,” the woman continued. “Some of us dump it all at once and leave.”
Ida_Evergreen has pinned a heart.
Eliiimorhhhan_s: pleeeeeeease give me some good news, babe.
I glowered and rolled my eyes. Yes, I was a Libra, but I was not into this hocus-pocus bullshit. The ache in my chest—and the flash of Alexis’s eyes—had me navigating out of the app entirely. I set my phone down and turned my gaze back to the wheel.
I had a car, and while I wasn’t starting the engine tonight and flooring it out of here, it already felt as if I were moving.