Mafia Darling

1 | The Object (Ella)

"You're...thicker than the last time I saw you," Andi says, but the pause does nothing to hide her judgmental tone. "You won't fit in my clothes anymore."

She tosses her dress back into her bag, and I try not to scowl. She doesn't even fit into what she constantly says are the ideal features -- a slim figure and large curves -- but she never misses a chance to point out that I don't have them. I guess confidence truly does go a long way.

I look in the mirror. Am I so hideous? In middle school, I was the pretty one of us two, but that was years ago.

I start clearing up the bathroom counter, trying to avoid going back into the bedroom where Andi contemplates my closet. She'll comment if she sees the embarrassed blush on my face.

Only seconds later, another face pops up in the mirror, and a hand roughly grabs my arm. I know from touch who it is -- Mother. She does this thing where she curls her fingers a bit so her nails will press in.  Auntie doesn't do that; she's a squeezer.

Before I can say anything, she drags me to the living room. An array of men -- of strangers -- stand evenly spaced out like a boy band, observing me. They're hot. I admit it. If I saw them in a grocery store, I would swoon and steal glances, but here, in my home, I feel nothing but fear.

"Here she is," Mother snarls. "She's all yours."

"What?" I gasp.

"Quiet!" Auntie snaps. "Pack your things."

She starts pushing me back to my room. My heart palpitates, but I find myself doing what they asked. I always do what they ask. I have to.

"Ella?" Andi asks, head tilted, oblivious. "What's--"

"Leave," I whisper.

"Wait, what?"

"Please just leave."

Andi makes a face, but she obliges. "Fine," she snaps. 

She's gone, and it takes everything in me to not go running after her and beg her to please take me away from here, but I can't do that. Andi has a life of her own. I'm freeing her from our already strained friendship.

Snot dribbles down my lips as I pack. My hands shake as I take my meager belongings and shove them into a decades-old suitcase that will likely fall apart upon leaving the house. When I'm done, I give my small room a sweeping goodbye look.

"Took you long enough," Mother snaps.

I stare into her cruel, cold eyes, years of rage and sadness and anxiety bubbling up inside me.

And then I hit her. In the face. 

Everyone gasps. Even the guys look startled. Mother glares at me, a red handprint blooming across her face. 

"Fuck you!" I scream, and I turn to Auntie. "You too!"

They glare at me, but they don't make a move to hit back or even yell. Why would they?

I'm someone else's property now.

Half the guys leave, and I take the hint and go, and the other half trail behind me.

"For what it's worth," says one of them to me in a low tone, "I think that was fucking rad. Marco'll love you."

There's a single car parked in the driveway. It's expensive and sleek and shiny...but it's small. There are only five seats, and including me, there are five people, which means, as the smallest person here, I'll likely be forced to sit in the middle squished up against strangers.