i. HOME chris schistad [EDITING]

[edited] 2 + tirsdag

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NOVEMBER 17 2015
tirsdag 16.40

A pinch of pepper, a touch of salt, a sprinkle of basil.
   Elli had to remember the very specific instructions of the recipe. She had only made it once before, but she wasn't allowed to reference the ingredients or method. Elli had always made dinner for her mother and father. She was a mediocre cook, but depended heavily on her skill to be fed, for if the meal she had cooked did not present itself perfect, she wasn't to eat that night. Perhaps it was in that her slim figure remained.
   The events of Friday night had resulted in an increase of chores for Ellinor, which meant by nightfall, the teenager was almost too exhausted to complete her homework. The chores weren't practical, but rather petty and tedious. She was to do things like cleaning the handles of toothbrushes and polishing the fake leaves of some of the plants around the house.
   Elli wondered why she let herself lived like this, but she knew she had no choice. It wasn't as though she was living in poverty, though, she thought, she had all the nicest brands and unlimited phone data. She didn't believe she could really complain when there were people living in much worse conditions than her.
   "What is this?" The calm in her father's voice made Elli's stomach twist. "What is this?" he repeated. Elli turned to look at him. He towered over her nearly-six-foot frame by about five inches. He had deep middle-eastern skin, dark hair and dark eyes. His jawline was clenched and angry.
   Elli stammered, studying the object in her father's hand, "I—I don't—I can't see—"
   "You can't see? Are you blind?" He strode towards her and held the object up to her face. Elli whimpered at the sight of it.
   "They—they're—" She shut her eyes.
   "Birth control pills? Yes? They're not your mother's, and they're certainly not mine... So tell me, Ellinor," his breath was calm and even against her cheeks, the calm before the storm, "Ellinor," he repeated, "look at me."
   Elli opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears she hadn't known had gathered. Her father's eyes were centimetres from her own, dark and cold like chiseled stone. "Please. I don't—"
   "You don't what?" He placed the box upon the nearest bench surface. "I, Ellinor, am going to save you an interrogation. I am not going to ask why you have such things, and get straight to the point."
   "Yeah?" Her voice broke. "And what's your point?"
   Her father stepped back from her and raised his hand into a fist.

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