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IT HAD BEEN the perfect night for a party. There she stood—Ellie Sommers, the teenager before she had met her disaster. A grin etched to her face, Ellie whirled before her mirror in the brand new outfit she had managed to get her mother to buy her for the upcoming party at her friend Charlotte's house. Charlotte had been a terrible influence on the once innocent-minded teenager, and it appeared as though only Luke had detected it. Charlotte had entangled herself deeply with Merle Dixon, despite being over a decade younger than him. She relished in the older man's company, and she had soon passed her secrets onto her friend—Ellie Sommers herself.
Perhaps the appeal of older men had been a result of her father's death, or perhaps, it had been entirely Charlotte's influence. Whatever it had been—it had swallowed Ellie whole.
It wouldn't be long before "a party at Charlotte's" became a staple excuse for wandering off alone, or with adventurous friends. Often older than herself and already well immersed in the art of deceit.
As Ellie stood—a youthful, radiant teenager—peering at her outfit that clung to her curves in the most favourable way, she snatched onto her nearby jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Ellie knew all too well how her brother would battle with her about her outfit choice until he had been blue in the face. Too revealing, too small, too last-season. Whatever it had been that the brotherly poison of his tongue would wish to spit.
All Ellie had to do was simply count down the seconds, awaiting the moment Luke would burst through the door, demanding she stay at home as Luke governed to do almost every party she ever dared attend. It became but a pageant for him—a chance to plaster a performance of his protection.
"If I see you in any clothes other than those stupid rainbow pyjamas I will personally hurt you," Luke called out as he clambered up the stairs, "Damn it, Ellie! I told you—Charlotte is no good for you when she's out whoring herself like that!"
His younger sister could only scoff, hurling a shirt at him at full force, before flipping him the bird with her slender finger.
Her voice a shrill, pitchy volume, shrieked, "You used to think she was great! I'm eighteen years old, what part of that don't you understand?" Ellie stared at herself once last time in the tiny mirror, catching a glimpse of her beautifully painted face, "I just want to have fun. You're not going to hold me back."
"You're young—that's my point! You ain't old enough to drink and I don't trust those deadbeat Dixons around you," Luke hissed, tossing the shirt back at his sister,"What kind of police officer would I be if I let my underage sister drink?"
"Like you didn't drink at my age?" Ellie scoffed, halting next to her bedroom door. She crumpled her arms over her chest, glaring bitterly at her brother, "Cut the whole protectiveness act, you're just jealous that I have friends, and you never did!"
