I sat on my knees on the ground, silent and still while my second older brother James pulled threat through each of the long, deep, painful cuts through my back. Across from me, my oldest brother Nick was pacing back and forth. No doubt about it, Father was in the living room drinking again.
James cut the thread, and put a shirt of mine in my lap. I stood up and slid on the cloth. Many of times this happened, so it wasn't the first time my brothers had seen me without any type of top. I used to be uncomfortable with them seeing my nakes torso, but now I was completely numb to it.
They were respectful enough to not stare, thank god. Father, however, tended to enjoy the sight. Disgusting bastard.
"We're trying to help you," snapped James angrily.
I sighed through gritted teeth, realizing I had spoken my thoughts again.
"No, no, no, I was thinking," I shook my head, rubbing my creased forehead.
"You should work on keeping your thoughts to yourself," teased Nick, though the worry in his voice was as clear as the sunset light coming from the window into my room.
"Shut up," I turned away, frowning like I normally did, and walked over to my small bed in the corner of the room.
Just because we were Twos didn't mean we lived the best lifestyle. To me, Sevens lived the dream. They got to get up, go to work, and bust their asses trying to provide for themselves. I admired the lower castes. They had it so tough and kept a high head. Twos sneered down at them and treated them like trash. It infuriated me.
I shook my head to clear myself of the distracting ideas. Twos were thought to be rich and have it easy. Not for me and my brothers. We lost our mother to our youngest sibling. She bled out during birth, and he had nearly died. I named him Miles in respect for our soldier Uncle Miles who lived in the castle as a palace guard. Miles had died one day when he was in the town and was hit over the head by a bat.
I shivered with the chills at the memory of watching Miles play with some other kids on the baseball field. He had ran to get a ball, and was surrounded by other boys his age. I had jumped up and ran when I saw them start to shove and hit him. One had gotten a small pocket knife, stabbed him in the stomach, then another got a metal bat and ended Miles.
To this day I still have the nightmares about it.
Hands landed on my shoulder, and I jumped forward in shock. I glared at Nick. I didn't like to be touched. Father's beatings and other sessions with me while Nick and James were gone made it possible. I never allowed anyone to touch me. My brothers, whom I should trust my life with, weren't allowed to stand closer than three inches from my shoulder to theirs. It was sad in public when a sister didn't touch her brothers.
No one knew about Father's madness and addiction to alcohol. He stayed inside all day and was gone drinking and gambling when he wasn't. He always said he was going to work, but he never did. The calls from the office saying he was fired was more than enough proof.
"I need to be alone," I whispered tensely.
"Okay. We love you, kitten. Know that," gently pleaded James before leaving my room with Nick in tow.
I let out a strangled breath and sat on my bed, curling up into a ball. God, how I hated being here. I hated it. No one knew it.
A tear fell off my cheek onto my hand, and I suddenly realized I had been crying since my thoughts had faded off to Miles. The door of the house slammed shut. I knew Father was gone now. I took a deep breath, stood up, and moved to the floor. I reached under my bed and pulled out the packet and letter.
The Selection.
My ticket out.
My only hope.
I held the bound papers to my chest, slowly breathing in and out and in and out as to calm my racing heart. I sat down, picked up a black pen, and filled out the sign up sheets. It was late whenever I finished. Closing the packet that would be sent back, I sat it on my bed and went around my room. I threw all of my noticeable hair into a messy bun, threw on a big black hoodie and some dark jeans, and left without being noticed.
At the end of the street, there was a box for outgoing mail. I put in the brown package, and raced back home. Once home, I went straight to my room, packed a bag, and changed into a loose shirt and shorts. Laid down, I slept for an hour or two.
My sleep was disturbed by a mysterious person slowly taking off my shorts. I screamed and threw out a fist, colliding my knuckles with Father's temples. He cried out and fell to the floor, stoned and unconscious.
The door was busted open by Nick and James, their foggy eyes staring from Father who was groaning in his sleep to me while I struggled to pull up my shorts. Nick moved towards me but stopped sharply, remembering my rule.
"What happened, Cel?" he demanded.
"I woke up to him trying to take off my shorts," I hissed in disgust.
"James, drag him outside and lock the doors," ordered Nick, shaking with anger. "Before I break his neck."
James nodded, picked up Father by the shoulders of his sweaty shirt, and dragged the still body outside the house. I sighed deeply, scooted away from Nick uneasily, and laid back down.
"I'm going to sleep in here," Nick sat on the foot of the bed. "I know you don't like anyone to be near you, but I'm your brother and it's my job to protect you."
"Whatever helps you sleep," I rolled my eyes, curled up in a ball in the corner of my bed, and fell asleep with my head against the cold wall of my room.
I woke up the next day and saw that both Nick and James were asleep in my room, James awake in a chair still droopy-eyed, Nick sucking the pain off the walls. I punched my older brother, making the dark haired boy shout and fall off my bed. James started to howl with laughter. I hissed at him, the loud noise causing my head to begin to pounding.
With a groan of pain, I stood up and took down my hair. I brushed out the very pale creases. I threw my hair back up into its bun and walked out of my room. I went into the kitchen and began to cook, clean, and I was sore by the time I was finished.
My shoulders were hurting, my back in agony as if I had just got finished being whipped again, my bruised knees aching. I set up the table and made the plates of food for everyone. Naturally, I made Father's. I called for Nick and James, who came racing down as if they heard a bomb go off. They stared in confusion at the table but didn't say anything as they sat down and ate the eggs and bacon and biscuits I had cooked.
I walked back upstairs and went into the bathroom. I showered, washing my hair, irritating my cuts and bruises with the hot water. I bit on my bottom lip and repented from making any noise. I stepped out, dried myself off, and performed my daily routine.
Wrapped in a single towel, I brushed and flossed my teeth, blow dried my hair, straightened the long strands, and put on a little mascara on my pale eyelashes. I rushed into my room, locked the door, and dressed myself for the occasion. My outfit of the day would be just some torn up blue jeans, my brown work boots, a nice gray shirt, and my black leather jacket.
I glanced in the mirror, gave myself a nod of approval, then raced out of the house while Nick and James started their own morning routine. I stepped outside to find Father gone, but noticed a pile of vomit where he was obviously laid down at. I tucked my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket and raced to the building where the girls entering the Selection were getting their picture taken.
There was three lines, so I stood in the middle that happened to be the shortest. No one could know that I was here. People talked too much. A good ten minutes after standing in line, it was my turn.
I signed a slip of paper, was studied thoroughly by a woman with drastic makeup, and then finally was sat down on a stood to take my picture. The camera man positioned me perfectly, had to repeat a few orders, then went to the back of the camera. I took a deep breath, forced myself to relax, and smiled best I could.
Sitting up so straight was hurting my back in ways they couldn't possibly fathom.
He dismissed me, and I nearly ran out of there. Instead of going home, I went to a small café shop in Town Square. Tonight the Report would be coming on all the televisions like every night.
I didn't know much about it, but this year the Selection process would be pushed further along much faster due to lasts year's inconvenience. King Marcus - Formerly known as Prince Marcus - had two Selections rather than one. People had called him the handsomest and most perfect prince of the entire royal family bloodline.
Due to that, the Selected girls the first round often fought but then some had also betrayed him and fell in love with other people. So during his second one, he was lucky enough to pick (Queen) Veronica during her time as the Elite. Since that happened, this year the Selection Selecting would occur tonight once all the pictures of all the castes were in, and only two girls of each caste would be picked.
Never before had there only been fourteen girls in the Selection. I was nervous. There was one out of two shots for me to be picked.
Entering the coffee parlor, I went straight up to the counter where the worker stood and ordered a latte in a to-go cup. She smiled at me as she handed me the cup, and I blindly headed over to a booth with a clear view of one of the hanging televisions. With both my hands wrapped around the freshly brewed coffee, I took an immediate sip.
Doing nothing but sitting there, feeling the cold of the window beside me, enjoying the heat of my late, taking small and separated sips, I waited hours. The sun was set on the horizon when the television channels finally changed and began to play the theme music for the Report.
I looked up to see Marlin Chervils, the host of the Report, come onto the screen and greet all of the viewers. I stared down at the beige colored paper cup while Chervils went on with a few smaller subjects. The only interesting subject he spoke about that appealed to me was the Rebels closing in on the outer cities and towns and villages of Illea.
Then he got down to the true reason anyone was bothering to watch the Report on this night: the Selection.
"It has come to that time when our dearest Prince Seth is now going to be thrown into the life of dating and marriage. Tonight, the royal family will join us as Prince Seth choses fourteen girls that will have an opportunity to take his heart and win the crown. Please welcome King Marcus, Queen Veronica, the young Princess Dinah, and Prince Seth," the camera moved away from Chervils and the Illea anthem began to play as the four regal Ones stepped out onto stage.
King Marcus looked stiff as a board in a plain blue business suit, all of his brunette hair pushed back, hard gray eyes, and thin line for a mouth. Queen Veronica appeared more relaxed, dressed in a long gown of brass and gold, all of her gorgeous ink black hair pinned up, green eyes hooded with her gold eye-shadowed eyelids, lips large and plush with a bold red lipstick over the skin. Princess Dinah followed after her mother, the same inky hair flowing down her back and shoulders in beautifully crafted and tamed curls, big green eyes that knew better than to mess up, and with a floor length violet dress.
Then Prince Seth followed after. He was just as tall, maybe even taller, than his father; his hair was a midnight brown wave that was combed back smooth, cool green eyes that impressed everyone, fair skin, and a plain dark gray suit with a bold emerald tie that made his eyes seem paler and more toned. Prince Seth seemed confident, more relaxed, and calm.
It showed in how he walked, how he held himself, his expression, and how he sat down in the given chair. Chervils then had a worker hold a glass bowl with a metal frame that curved around and stood broadly as a seven. He pulled out one card at a time.
"Vesper James of Seven," he read the name, and a picture of a beautiful girl with short and fair brown hair appeared at the corner of the screen. "Sybil Woodman of Seven," a strawberry blonde with pretty golden-green hazel eyes.
The two Selected of the Seven caste. Up next was the Sixes. He pulled out two more cards, one at a time, reading off the names.
"Briar-Jane Creed of Six," a female with skin like mine, frizzy cotton blonde kinks pulled back at the top from her face, cold nearly black eyes, and a nasty looking scar that traveled from her temple to her jawline appeared. "Niah Sixx of Six," a soft looking girl with light brown skin, black hair falling around her shoulders in a natural waterfall, and lighter brown eyes darker than her skin but still noticeably brown.
The bowl was taken away and the Five was pushed forward. Seth went ahead and pulled out two, sitting one on his knee while opening the first. An eyebrow raised curiously.
"Abigail Cloud of Five," a girl with auburn waves and brown eyes showed up. "Winter Haven of Five," a girl with brown hair that was dyed gray at the tips, bright blue eyes, and a sarcastic smirk. She didn't look at all like she was trying to impress a Prince, but rather insult them and make a fool of herself.
Seth let out a deep breath that was revealed by the mic on his suit jacket collar. His mother leaned over and picked off an invisible hair from his shoulder. He frowned at her, and I smirked a bit.
The Four bowl was held before the One.
"Jane Evans of Four," this girl actually seemed like she could be the next princess with her award winning smile, long dirty blonde hair in a fishtail braid on her shoulder, and glittering blue eyes. "Prin Bell of Four."
Prin Bell in her picture seemed to be an actual girl rather than a picture unlike the others. She was smiling warmly, but her shoulders were set uncomfortably. All her dark brunette hair was pulled back into a ponytail, scary violet eyes, and a scabbed over cut on her lip.
"Briella Paige of Three," Briella was a spoiled looking tawny eyed blonde. "Daisy Tress of Three," another tawny eyed blonde.
"Miranda Levee of Two," a girl I used to know appeared on the screen. She still had that adoring smile, the shoulder length curls of brown and blonde highlights, those warm looking but secretly ice cold cyan eyes, and birthmark on her upper lip.
I shuddered, picked up my cup, and went to walk out. My mind was set on the fact it was clear I wasn't going to get picked. However, I froze as Prince Seth spoke up again just as I was stepping outside the door.
"Celaena Evermore of Two," his voice was revealing the awe he was trying to hide.
Whirling around, I saw my photo pop up on the screen. Both my shoulders were tense and rigid with pain, the agony etched in my light silver eyes that were flecked around the pupil with bright gold, a large scar that went from the side of my neck to my side peeking out from my jacket collar and fair blonde hair that was moved out of the way. The light hit my honey toned skin perfectly, showing off the natural dimension and flawlessness of it.
Prince Seth was staring at the card where my photo was also printed out. His eyes were large with astonish, a hint of concern in the edges. He lifted the card closer to his face and stared with slightly narrowed eyes at no doubt about it was my neck or shoulder.
I looked nice, but it was obvious I was hurting in that picture. With the cup in my stone grip, I exited the café and hurried home. Walking up the steps of the front porch, I heard Chervils' voice before I opened up the door.
Taking a deep breath, I opened up the door to see Nick and James staring pale faced at the television screen. They both looked up at me, their matching sterling blue eyes staring at me in confusion. I closed the front door and stood there for a few minutes, doused in their silence.
"You. . . signed up for the Selection?" James finally spoke up, shaking his head a bit with confusion.
"I knew that you got a lot of money during it," I lowered my head in shame, staring down at my boots. "And I couldn't. . . I can't stay here anymore. I don't know what Father will do if you two are out working a night shift and I'm here alone or what he'll do if you two are gone in the day and I'm left without something to protect myself with. I just. . . I just can't do it anymore."
"We understand, Kitten," Nick stepped forward and went to hug me but prevented. "You're doing something for you. You need this."
"Hey! Don't forget that our cue is coming up soon," James smiled and put in.
"We might see you at the palace," Nick nodded slowly, staring at me with more sad than happy gray-blue eyes.
"Guys, I'm so sorry-" I gasped, standing up straight.
"Don't apologize," James quickly cut me off. "You did this for yourself."
"But now you two have to deal with Father, and I don't think I can stand to sit around in a castle around beautiful things knowing one of you is either dead or getting whipped or lord only knows what," I felt the tears prick up at the back of my eyes.
"Hey, hey, hey," Nick soothed, stepping closer and reaching for my shoulders.
My imagination traded his calming hands for Father's rough and filthy fingers and palms. Horror filled me sharply. I screamed out in pure fright, jumping backwards from him, tripping over the rug and falling down.
"Cel!" Nick stumbled back a few steps, his eyes clouding over with regret. "I'm so sorry!"
I stared at nothing, gasping, tears lining up the bottom rim of my eyesight. I shook my head, scooting back and getting onto my shaky feet despite my liquid knees.
"It-It's fine," I gasped though my lungs were holding no air for me to gasp.
"Cel, go on upstairs and get some rest," James said, standing back a good couple feet. "We'll celebrate in the morning. We love you, Kitten."
I nodded, gulped down a breath, and walked up to the stairwell. Before I disappeared upstairs, I looked back to see James rubbing Nick on the shoulder while Nick sat down on the couch. My heart shattered to see Nick so hurt and upset.
Hurrying upstairs, I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, dumped out my coffee in the sink, and threw my hair up into a messy bun again. As I went into my bedroom, I shut the door, and threw on a big shirt and shorts again like I did almost every night. Laying down, I stared up at my ceiling until I eventually passed out.