TRAPPED

Endings are indefinite.

Many stories usually finish with ‘the end’; the protagonist lives happily ever after with their chosen love interest while the antagonist ceases to hold any significance. This would sound oh so lovely if you were still a naïve kid, tainted by the flaws of humanity, not knowing the pains or struggles that come after the so-called ‘finish’. Most stories we think we know simply don’t finish at ‘the end’; in fact, a lot of them aren’t even accurate, yet we still hold on to the false stories as a sense of comfort to let us forget, just for a moment, the shitty thing we call life.

I’ve had my fair share of endings, like the end of being an only child when my twin sister was born three minutes later or ending my claim to the Moore family inheritance once I got shipped off to boarding school, discrediting my whole existence.

But no ending hurt me more than when I got told, through a letter I may add, by my mother that Ellie was dead.

At the time I thought, just like any rebellious teenager refusing to grow up would, that endings were supposed to be happy. When anything ended, people moved on to better things; yet in my case, it only seemed to get worse. I began to act more rashly than I had ever before, kicking, screaming and shouting at anything I possibly could until I found myself being sent back home.

No one was happy to see me when I arrived. Six months on, my mother was still distraught by my sister’s death, her eyes blood red as she constantly dabbed at them with a tissue. Every time she looked at me, she would just start sighing and sniffing as more bits of tissue stuck to her face with her tears. My father didn’t even bother trying to look at me once. Instead, he stayed in his study, only coming out to get dinner before retreating back.

At dinner, Mother and I sat in silence, chewing in uncoordinated synchrony. She never allowed me to do as little as hush Ellie’s name nor was I allowed to enter her room. I respected this at first, to honour my sister’s death, however, I quickly alter my decision once I overheard my parents discussing the matter later on.

****

‘I told you, Ellen, let’s just drop this and let her go in peace.’ My father’s voice bellowed.

Peeking through the opened gap created by the door, I could see both my parents were standing in my father’s study; he had his left arm resting on his armchair as he appeared to lean over my mother who stood timidly next to his large stature, still dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

‘I understand that Edmund, but we can’t forget the fact that she was our daughter. How can we just hide what happened to her? We need to-’ my mother was cut off as Father quickly raised his left arm and pointed it towards my mother.

‘If you were an obedient wife, if you had raised her as a true mother would have, she wouldn’t have died the way she did. Elizabeth is dead because of you!’

As he said that, my mother began crying loudly and heavily, not taking time to breathe.

I paused my focus on the discussion and thought to myself. Why had Father referred to Ellie as Elizabeth, my full name? And what did my mother do to cause Ellie to die? I peered back into the room to see Father pacing around the room and Mother, sunk into his chair, still crying.

‘Oh stop making a racket Ellen. If you didn’t allow her to go crazy over that stupid Miller boy, she wouldn’t have become drawn to and intoxicated by that kind of world, quite literally.’ He scoffed. ‘I would have thought Eliza would be the one disappoint the family because of her usual antics but I was wrong.’ He walked back to my mother. ‘We need to fix this.’

My mother stopped sobbing and peered up, looking into my father’s eyes. ‘Are you sure? Won’t Elizabeth ask questions?’

‘Eliza. Not Elizabeth.’

‘Stop with that nonsense Edmund. She’s your daughter too. How will we explain to people we have another daughter that we decided to hide away for nearly 18 years? Did you think about what people would say then?’ She finally stood up and matched his posture. ‘She’s important to us.’

My father stood still for a while before he walked out of my eye range to the side of the room. I arched my body further to try and get a better view when I tripped. As I got up, I saw Father and Mother were looking at me.

‘Eliza, dear, what you doing here? Are you okay?’ My mother walked over to me and patted my hair.

I maintained eye contact with my father who, for the first time, was looking straight at me. ‘How much did you hear?’ He spoke with a low tone.

I paused for a second before shaking my head saying, ‘Everything.’

‘Well that complicates things, don’t you agree Ellen? Bring her here.’

My mother stayed quiet and pushed me towards my father. I tried to stay put but her hands gripped themselves tightly around my arms. Once I had reached my father, he slapped me. As his hand left my face, I could feel it heat up with rage.

‘Do not try and speak back.’ He gripped my jaw whilst my mother was still holding onto my arms. ‘You will do as I say, understand?’

It was clear he was waiting for a reply.

I scoffed. ‘What? You said no speaking.’ I cocked my head to the side and arched an eyebrow.

Within a second he had let go of my jaw and proceeded to slap me again. This time my cheek was stinging a lot more from this slap than the previous one.

‘Don’t play games with me, child.’ He roughly placed his hand around my neck. ‘I have a proposal. You will be added back into the inheritance if you do one thing.’

‘What’s that?’ I managed to whisper.

‘You become Elizabeth.’

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