Break Free |h.s.|

Chapter One

Copyright 2014 @cathiii777
All rights reserved
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Emily took a long drag from her glass of gin. She bit the olive off of the toothpick and set her pre-existent martini on a random table. She nodded towards a valet, signaling for him to bring out her car for her. She excused herself from another random CEO and made a beeline to the exit.

She stepped into her white Porsche, mindful not to step on her maxi length, golden dress. The it-girl payed the valet and drove off and headed home. No, it was not her home but a mere mansion for which she slept and ate at. Yawning, she turned on the radio. She rhythmically bobbed her head up and down to crushcrushcrush, one of her favorite songs by Paramore.

Slamming the door shut with five-inch heels, she sighed. The 'house' was empty as always. Not even a trace of a maid. This was life for Emily. School, shopping, partying, socializing and posing for the paparazzi. Emily hated this but she had not yet fully accepted her feelings for her shallow, dull way of life.

At age 17, living in Beverly Hills, Emily's life had already been planned out for her. After finishing high school, she was to become CEO-in-training for BCBG, in order to take over her mother's company. She was going to live the 'high life'. This was the term stock up business owners used for 'make money, party, and have your soul sucked out'. Emily was one hundred percent sure that she didn't want that for her future, but was well unaware of the coincidences of declining the job offer.

She raced up the stairs and changed into a pair of old sweats, which her mother despised. "If it isn't designer, it's the devil," her mother had told her when Emily had only been ten-years-old. Jumping onto her perfectly made bed, she grabbed a book.

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. This was her favorite book. She had read it an exact 87 times. She loved the way that the characters were free, poor, but free. They didn't have life planned out and were able to achieve their life goals if wanted.

Rather than becoming CEO of a fashion line she cared not for, she would rather become an artist. She had an aptitude for the simplistic, yet elegant technique of painting. She had a benign hand, making it easy for her to paint in creases and make small strokes. But, from the first idea, that she had shared with her family, her mother declared it a nuisance, that was not to be bothered with. She hadn't brought up the idea for five years, after attempting to wheedle her mother into agreeing with her interest of art. Her mother, Barbara, had lashed out entirely, questioning if Emily had a working cell on her brain for wanting to give up such a great opportunity, that she was extremely lucky to be given, to take a risk in becoming an artist.

Emily read. And read some more. She read till her eyes began to droop. She put away her favorite novel, and grabbed for her iPod. Turning on some serene music, she wiggled her way under the covers of her bed, falling into a deep slumber.

The following week was the same, old routine.
•wake up
•get dressed
•eat
•school
•homework
•party/meeting
•try on dresses
•party
•sulk
•sleep

To say it was boring was an understatement. There was no real meaning to it. Emily hated it. But everyone else thought she was the luckiest out of everyone at school.

"Emily! Don't you have prom this year? Who's asked you? Who are you going with? What are you going to wear?" This was the closest moment to bonding Emily ever got from her mother anymore.
Emily trudged down the stairs, entering the 'living room' where her mother was elegantly laying in the love seat, flipping through a magazine (probably to insult women that were skinnier than her).

"Ma, I already told you that I don't want to go this year. I went with Troy McFluren last year, and it was boring. I don't want to go to another party." Emily replied the same answer she always gave her mother whenever the subject was brought up.