Elle Jones

Chapter 9: Confessions

As soon as we reached into our apartments, I quickly gathered my things, then fled out of the car without saying goodnight to Austin or Kristy.

The sound of clicking escaped my heels as I rushed into the apartment complex. Like a flag, my dark brown curls swished against my back, as my mind pictured Joseph chugging down a bottle of toxic beer.

Retrieving my keys from my purse, I had spent an hour unlocking it, stepping inside the room, and silently closing the door.

Marching past the dirty apartment, I dodged fumes of Clorox and Joseph's putrid cologne.

In the meantime, my tongue became dry as cotton as sharp colors transformed into a muggy blur. The bright lights hurt my eyes; the ticking sounds of a clock made my head pound even more.

But in spite of my discomfort, I ran my right hand across the white walls of the apartment lobby. Their slightly bumpy ridges are like red pimples growing on my small nose.

Tracing them against my fingers, I moved my tired feet across the dirt tiled floors. The scorching warm air poured down my back, as the broken A/C stopped blowing gusts of cold wind in my face.

Tired, I quietly closed the door behind me and unlaced my sneakers.

I found the place exactly where it was: the dirty dishes are still piled up in the sink, desserts and snacks are secured in the food closet, and my drunk dad is still drinking his beer close to the shitty television set.

Joseph is a complete mess.

His salt and pepper hair showered over his large forehead; black bags formed underneath his sleepy eyelids, as Joseph sipped an ounce of his beer then watched the blizzard of black and white buzzing in the screen.

Breadcrumbs and spots of dry spit grew on his white tank top as his black shorts reached down to his hairy, withered thighs.

With a half-eaten cheese sandwich in his left hand, Joseph's dark blue eyes stayed on the fuzzy image. His nose twitches like a bunny, and his stubble mouth is covered in crumbs.

Smiling to myself, I managed to walk up into my bedroom, placed my purse on my bed, take a shower, and change into my gray tank top and red gym shorts.

Doing my hair in a luscious ponytail, I thought about jumping into my bed and go to sleep, when all of a sudden, I noticed the ash jar's smooth lid sticking out of my purse.

Unnerved, I slowly picked up Elle Jones' from the bag, and ran my fingers against the chiseled words.

Although it felt cool from the blistering wind, I desperately wanted to tell someone about this, but who can I trust?

My father is a cop, my older brother Jacob is in a state-of-the-art college, and my best friend has scholarships.

But still, I needed someone to talk to.

Someone who wouldn't bail on me when I needed help; unlike my crack addict mother did.

Throwing my head against my soft pillows, I wrapped my arms around Elle Jones' jar, then hugged it like my very own teddy bear.

I can't believe it, I thought, staring at the plain ceiling. I have stolen Elle Jones' ashes.

I could see the headlines now: a sixteen-year-old aspiring director/filmmaker thrown behind bars for robbing a deceased celebrity's ashes.