Chapter 8 – ELLIE
ELLIE
Four Years Later
The champagne tastes like liquid bullshit.
I take another sip anyway, letting the bubbles fizz against my tongue while some fossil in a Rolex tells me how lucky I am to have such a wonderful stepfather.
The word makes my skin crawl, but I keep my princess smile firmly in place.
That's what good girls do. That's what Senator Waterson's perfect stepdaughter does.
"He did so much for our community when he was the mayor," the man continues, his breath reeking of scotch. "And you, my dear, are just the prettiest little thing. Like a doll."
A doll. That's exactly what I am. Dressed up in this ridiculous pastel pink confection Todd picked out, designed to make me look like I'm twelve instead of twenty. Looks better on the campaign trail, I guess, instead of reminding people he got a readymade family.
The silk whispers against my skin with every breath, and I hate how soft it feels. How delicate. How fucking fragile. This concoction of fashion crimes is almost enough to make me hate my favorite color.
My fingers tap against my thigh. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. The rhythm grounds me, keeps me from screaming in this man's face that his hero is a monster who leaves bruises where designer dresses can hide them.
"Thank you so much," I say instead, voice sweet as the champagne I'm choking down. "Daddy's campaign means everything to him."
The word tastes worse than the alcohol. But I've learned to swallow a lot of poison over the years.
The ballroom sparkles with ostentatious wealth that makes my trailer park roots itch.
Crystal chandeliers cast rainbows across marble floors, and every surface gleams. Women float past in designer gowns, their laughter tinkling like wind chimes, while men in ten thousand-dollar suits discuss tax breaks and golf handicaps.
This is my world now. Has been for four years. Four years since Mom married him and we left everything behind. Four years of learning which fork to use and how to cross my ankles just so. Four years of becoming someone I don't recognize.
Eleanor.
But mostly, four years of surviving and compartmentalizing.
"Eleanor, darling!" Another donor approaches, this one female, dripping in diamonds and Botox. Pretty sure her cheeks would pop a seam if she smiled hard enough. "You look absolutely radiant tonight. Pink is definitely your color."
I want to tell her that pink is my rebellion, not my submission. That the streaks of rose gold in my blonde hair are the only thing I've managed to keep that's mine. But she wouldn't understand. None of them would.
"You're too kind, Mrs. Brindmore," I reply, tilting my head at the perfect angle.
Demure. Grateful. Empty.
She launches into a story about her daughter's engagement, and I nod at all the right moments while my mind drifts. The anxiety crawls under my skin like insects, making everything too bright, too loud, too much. My fingers find their rhythm again.
One, two, three, four, five.
Five is safe. Five is control.
Five is the number of people who used to matter before Todd ripped them away.
"Eleanor."
His voice cuts through the chatter, and my spine straightens automatically. Senator Todd Waterson stands beside me with his silver fox charm and false warmth. To everyone else, he's the picture of paternal pride. To me, he's the reason I count pills and memorize exit strategies.
"Time for another family photo, Princess," he says, and the stolen endearment makes bile rise in my throat.
That is not his name to call me.
Kade's voice echoes in my head, rough and teasing. Tank's hands signing it with that warmth in his dark eyes. Even Cyrus, grudgingly, eventually.
Princess was theirs first. Only theirs.
Todd just took it like he takes everything that doesn't belong to him.
His hand lands on my shoulder, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind me who's in charge. "The photographer from the Times is here."
"Of course, Daddy." The word comes out perfectly pitched, but inside I'm screaming.
He steers me through the crowd, his grip never loosening. People part for us like we're royalty, and maybe we are. American royalty, built on lies and campaign contributions.
Mom stands near the photographer, a vision in a navy blue gown that brings out the shadows under her eyes. Her smile looks painted on, and I recognize the slight tremor in her hands. She's had her own pills tonight. We all have our coping mechanisms.
I guess it runs in the family.
"There are my beautiful girls," Todd announces, pulling us into position. Mom on one side, me on the other, his arms around us like we're possessions to be displayed. "Shall we?"
The photographer starts snapping, and I smile until my cheeks ache.
Flash after flash captures the perfect political family, the image that will grace tomorrow's society pages.
No one will see the way his fingers dig into my waist. No one will notice how Mom sways slightly, overmedicated and underweight.
No one will question the fairy tale.
"Just a few more," the photographer says, adjusting his lens.
That's when I feel it. Todd's breath against my ear, hot and threatening. "After this, you're going to mingle with the Hendersons. They're considering a substantial donation."
"I need to use the restroom," I whisper back, keeping my smile intact.
His fingers tighten, a warning. "Make it quick."
The photographer finally releases us, and I escape before Todd can object. My heels click against marble as I navigate through the crowd, dodging conversations and air kisses.
Click. Click. Click click click.
The bathroom door appears ahead of me like the gates to heaven and I slip inside, grateful for the sudden quiet.
The mirror reflects a stranger. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, everything exactly as it should be.
Except for the pink streaks Todd specifically told me to dye back to blonde last week. My one act of defiance.
I'll pay for it later.
Sometimes I wonder if he chose Mom because my eyes are a shade of green just a few shades off from his. Easier to pass off as his own. Instant family, just add a prenup. That thought makes me want to claw my eyeballs out of my own head.
I set my clutch on the counter and dig out the prescription bottle hidden in the inner pocket. The pills rattle like tiny promises of peace. My hands shake as I count them out.
One, two, three, four, five.
Perfect.
Way too much, according to the pharmacist, but perfect. I’ve developed a tolerance for a lot of things, and these are no exception.
The pills stick in my throat and I cup water from the faucet to wash them down.
The noise in my head dulls immediately. So do the memories. They're still there—always there—but quieter. The echoes are whispers, not screams. They dance around my mind in fragments, the good and the bad. Can't get rid of one completely without losing the other.
The sound of a '76 Thunderbird rattling in my driveway, followed by, "Hey, Princess. Ready to ride?"
Wind in my hair, warmth against my chest as I grip Tank's leather-clad waist and hurdle down a dead-end road at the speed of freedom.
Hands around my throat and the stench of alcohol in my nostrils as a gravelly voice whispers, "I've given you everything, and this is how you repay me?"
Everything.
The door handle feels cool under my palm, and I turn it five times before pulling it open. The noise rushes back, overwhelming after the bathroom's sanctuary. I paste my smile back on and wade into the crowd, searching for the Hendersons while avoiding Todd's eye line.
"Ellie! There you are!"
I turn to find Marissa Henderson, a socialite adorned with fake enthusiasm and real diamonds. She's the type who thinks charity galas that are really money laundering fronts count as giving back.
"Mrs. Henderson," I greet her, falling into my role. "You look stunning tonight."
She preens, launching into details about her dress designer while I nod and make appropriate noises. This is what I do now. I perform.
"Your stepfather is just wonderful," she gushes. "Richard and I were just saying how refreshing it is to have a family man in office. Someone with real values."
Values. I want to laugh. Or scream.
Maybe both.
"He's very dedicated to his principles," I manage, which isn't technically a lie. He's extremely dedicated to maintaining his image, controlling his family, and winning at any cost.
"And you're such a credit to him," she continues. "So well-behaved. So proper. Not like these other political dynasty children with their scandals and embarrassments."
Like I'm a fucking show pony.
"Eleanor."
Todd materializes beside me. "There you are. I was getting worried."
His hand lands on my shoulder again, possessive and warning. I feel Marissa watching us, seeing exactly what she wants to see. The devoted stepfather with his grateful daughter.
The perfect family unit.
"I was just telling Ellie how wonderful you are," Marissa simpers.
Todd's smile could power the entire city. "She's the wonderful one. My little angel. Though I do wish she'd listen about her hair." His fingers find one of my pink streaks, tugging just hard enough to hurt. "It looks so much better natural."
The threat in his voice is crystal clear, but Marissa just laughs. "Oh, you know how college girls are. Always experimenting. It's harmless."
"Harmless," Todd repeats. "Of course. Just a little youthful rebellion."
He leans in close, his lips near my ear, and to everyone watching, it must look like fatherly affection. "Go stand with your mother," he whispers. "And stop fucking embarrassing me."
I excuse myself from Marissa and make my way to Mom, who stands near the wall like she's trying to disappear into it. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused. Too many pills, not enough food. We're quite a pair.
"Hi, Mom," I say softly, taking my place beside her.
She blinks, seeming to register my presence slowly. "Eleanor. You look beautiful, sweetheart."
"So do you."
We stand in silence, watching Todd work the room. He's in his element here, shaking hands and making promises, building his empire on our backs. Mom's fingers worry at her wedding ring, turning it around and around.
I count the rotations.
Three.
A horrible number.
"Do you ever think about before?" she asks suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.
It's a shock. Mom rarely talks at these things.
I mean, she talks, if you count parroting everything Todd has told her to say, but she doesn't really speak. Not in her own voice.
Before. When we lived in a trailer that leaked when it rained. When I ran wild with my boys, coming home covered in dirt and laughter. When Mom smiled for real and danced in our tiny kitchen to 80s songs on the radio.
"No," I lie. "This is better."
She nods, accepting the fiction because what else can we do? We're trapped in this gilded cage, pretty little birds who've forgotten how to fly.
The party swirls on around us and I watch it all through a haze of anxiety medication and carefully controlled breathing. Always in fives.
A waiter passes with a tray of champagne, and I swap my empty glass for a full one. The bubbles tickle my nose, and I drink deeply, chasing the numbness. Between the pills and the alcohol, maybe I can just… float through the rest of this nightmare.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Todd's voice booms across the ballroom, and conversations halt.
He stands at the microphone, looking every inch the distinguished senator.
"I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means the world to me and my family as we take on this election to bring back what truly matters in this state.”
Applause ripples through the crowd, and he waits for it to die down before continuing. "As many of you know, family values are the cornerstone of my campaign. I've been blessed with a beautiful wife and daughter who remind me every day why this work matters."
His eyes find us across the room, and I see the command in them. We're supposed to join him. Mom moves first, gliding across the floor with practiced grace. I follow, my steps measured. As small as they can be, even though it can only prolong the inevitable.
"My girls," Todd says as we reach him, pulling us close. The crowd coos at the display of affection. "Aren't they something?"
More applause. More smiles. More lies.
He launches into his bullshit speech about community and responsibility, about protecting family values and maintaining order. I tune it out, focusing instead on keeping my expression pleasantly neutral.
The speech ends to thunderous applause and we're released back into the party. I drift away from Mom and Todd, needing space, needing air, needing something other than this suffocating performance.
I find myself near the balcony doors, and the cool night air calls to me. But I know better than to go outside alone. Todd has rules about that. Rules about everything.
And I'll follow them. For now.
The plan has been forming for weeks, maybe months. Whispered rumors about a group that handles problems for the right price. Justice for hire, they call it. Vigilantes who make people disappear.
I've been saving money, skimming from the allowance Todd gives me and taking bills from his wallet when he leaves it on the coffee table. Not enough yet, but soon. And when I have enough, when I find the right contacts, when everything aligns...
Senator Todd Waterson is going to die.