Hey, I'm Elle, I'll try my absolute best to update this story, but I make no promises. Have a great day.
They said I was lying. I'm no liar. Nobody ever believed me. And now, I'm broken.
Not just my home is broken, if you can call it that. It's more of a prison.
It never stops. Everything has only gotten worse, and it's only been 2 weeks.
2 weeks of torture. 2 weeks since everyone and everything I ever loved, was taken away from me.
I was 12 years old, and my mom decided to marry this dust she knew from work. My older brother, Gabriel, and I saw something kind of weird about him. His name was Brad, and that's exactly what we called him, even though mom told us to call him, 'dad.'
3 years later, I'm alone. No mom. No Gabe. Just nasty alcoholic Brad...
Why? Haha, let me tell you why.
They both died in a house fire. At least, that's what records say. But I know the truth. That fire wasn't an accident.
They were murdered.
I had to watch as my, 'dad,' killed my family. My everything. Right before my eyes. Even worse, he left me alive, and I don't know why.
But Gabriel and mom are now dead. And they're never coming back, because death is forever.
After Brad.. finished them, he came looking for me. Little did he know I was on the phone with the police. They were on their way when he found me. I had just hung up the phone.
I can never forget that look in his eyes. It were as if they were on fire.
He spilled everything flammable, including the alcohol from the house, and some gas from the garage. He took out a match, lit it, and just dropped it.
Have you ever just watched someone start a fire? If not, you sure don't want to. It spreads.. fast.
He waited until the house was smokey before he grabbed me and ran outside, just as emergency vehicles raced around the corner.
I tried to tell them what happened. I told them exactly what I saw. But just when I had finished my story, Brad walking over to me, and wrapped an arm around my waist. He told the officer that I was in shock, and that I was only making up stories.
They fucking believed him.
When they walked away, Brad brought his lips to my ear, and whispered to me. I paled, and didn't plan on talking to the police again.
By the time the fire was extinguished, mom and Gabriel were gone. The police told us that there was no possible way to even identify them.
Millions of tears later, here I am. Since I have no more living relatives, Brad gets full custody of me, and is now my legal guardian.
2 days after the fire, Brad and I moved far away. He said it was to get rid of the bad memories, and create new, better ones.
At the time, I felt like retorting back sarcastically that it was his fault the memories were there in the first place, but I thought about it, and later concluded that it would be smarter for myself to just shut up.
So we packed what survived the fire (nothing) and moved to California. Why? Probably to spend that inheritance on a big house. Though, I bet it also had to do with the fact that it was across the country from where he murdered my family.
But, since then, we've started a summer routine. For the past 2 weeks, all I've done is clean, unpack, and stay out of the way. And all Brad does is drink and sleep with random women he sometimes brings over to the house.
I was awakened on a Wednesday summer morning when I heard a loud knock on my locked door. And shouting. It was then that I knew today would be a good day.
"Sally," he yelled at me, "This house ain't gonna clean itself! You're a woman, clean!"
His words were slurred, and he was obviously drunk, but I still understood them. I've listened to them every morning this week.
I huffed at his words, keeping my mouth shut as I threw on a pair of denim jeans and an old t-shirt that read, 'Nirvina.'
I barely got a brush through my hair when I heard something shatter, followed by a thump.
Unlocking my door, I walked into the kitchen, where Brad lay, passed out. Surrounding him were pieces of an empty beer bottle.
'Aw,' I thought to myself, 'I knew today was going to be a good day.'
Hours later, after the house was clean, the only trash in it was Brad, passed out on the floor. I was not going to touch that.
The rest of the day went by quickly. I hung out alone in my room. Before I knew it, it was 7:00 PM.
I was going to be late for work. My shift starts at 7:30.
I work at the restaurant down the road, as a waitress there. I get paid student wage, but if you've got the charm, tips are everything. And it's open 24/7.
I'm also of age. 16 is fine, I actually look older. Dark brown hair, striking green eyes, 5"6, and a decent body.
By the time I got to work, I was 2 minutes late.
Hours later at maybe 2:00 AM, I finally got home, quietly climbing into the house through my window. I jumped into my bed, and by the time my head hit the pillow.
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