Vera's Elle

Part One : p r o l o g u e

"Fuck off, Elle" he gritted out, dark eyes glaring down at mine.

It hurt. No, it broke me. Three little letters and my bloody heart ached. I've felt that ugly, straining ache before, in fact, I was quite used to it. But that was before today. Before this moment. And what broke me more, was watching him go. His broad back leaving my line of sight ever so fast. And then I blinked at my eyes, pushing back salty tears that brimmed at my lashes, before leaving in the opposite direction. The wrong direction, I liked to think.

I was ready. Ready to leave the ugly, grey world behind me. To forget all the haters and oppressors. To forget this horrifying experience. This twenty years of failure. Of miniature hell. I was ready to- simply put- die. And I was going to die. Today.

After arriving at home, I marched through the front door, over the foyer, up the stairs, down the wide grey hallway and into the east wing, past a bathroom, study and guestroom before almost reaching my bedroom. But I passed Vera's open room door first. The white door of Vera's room was never open, not even slightly ajar, but this was open on purpose. She opened it herself. No, she left it open. Wanting someone to pass and see that her pale body was hanging from the ceiling. She wanted someone to scream at the sight and then have nightmares later on. I know, because that was my intention too. I was ready to hang myself. I was so very sure that I was going to die today. But here Vera hung limply in the sweet heat of her room.

Something surged through me. Something horrible.

"How could you?" It came out a whisper first. Then I screamed, shaking at Vera's body. I should have been disgusted at myself in that moment, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I picked up the chair Vera had probably kicked out a while ago, and climbed on after shoving off my shoes. I held her body lightly in my left arm and worked the ropes knot, lifting her body ever so slightly. Her weight was heavy and limp, but Vera wasn't dead yet. Her last breaths were coming out weakly and felt cold on my cheek as I lowered her body to the ground.

I was shaking. However, not out of fear or disgust for Vera. It was the devilish side of me that possessed my emotions right at that moment. I was angry. Fueling. And this fire inside of me was being lit by depression. My vile depression.

So I stepped off the chair and lunged at the unmoving, dying body of my beloved sister. I shook at her shoulders, gripped at her forearms and slapped at her face. All the while shouting vigorously at her unconscious face.

"You fool!" I spat at her.

In that moment my father came rushing in, a few familiar and unfamiliar faces right on his tail, some were paramedics, if their uniforms hadn't made it obvious then their actions most definitely did, and others were maidens and workers. One of the maidens must have heard and saw me and Vera, well my screaming and Vera's silent deadness.

A paramedic pulled at me, speaking quickly while another pressed his arms under Vera's waist and lifted her as soon as I was off, placing her onto a stretcher and making quick work with her body. Checking stuff.

I ran to my father half stumbling, my body was still burning inside. I wasn't happy. I wasn't sad. Just so desperately angry. The moment I reached him, my firsts started knocking at his chest.

"Why?" I cried. "Why did she do it!?" I was screaming now, tears soaking my cheeks.

"Elle..." he said softly. But he didn't understand. I didn't understand either. Because I was so incredibly angry.

"I was supposed to die first! How could she?" I continued to smack at his chest. "Me! Me! I was supposed to die FIRST!"

He gripped my forearms pulling me against his chest and holding me there, whispering some incoherent words into my hair.