A/N: Ugh, I'm horrible, I always preface everything with author's notes. Anyway, I'm not abandoning other stories, this is simply something I thought of and wanted to work on.
Prologue - East of Eden
When I saw her sitting there, tapping her cigarette on the edge of the table, I honest to God didn't recognise her.
She'd dyed her hair a muddy brown and her eyes were bored and she looked far older than twenty-one. But there was something vaguely familiar about the way she jutted out her chin that caught my attention, and when I examined her hands more closely, I knew it had to be her. The fingernails were the same--short, but not too short, wide but not too wide--and her fingers were the same perfect length that had laced between my own.
I'd found myself in the hazy bar that night and for a moment, one stupid moment, I thought that fate had conspired to bring us back together. The smoke was tickling my nose and I was downing my second beer and trying to decide what to do and where to go next when I noticed her.
I called the bartender over and sent her a drink, and I knew he must have told her who it was from because she looked my way, the bored expression momentarily replaced by confusion. It turned out that she didn't recognise me anymore than I had her--I guess she'd been expecting me to change, but I still looked more or less the same as when I'd last seen her.
I sent her another drink to stall before I reintroduced myself, and immediately after I sent it, I regretted it. I knew what her mom was like and that it was distinctly possible she was going down the same road. She looked like hell, but it was too late to steal back the vodka she tipped down her throat.
She shifted position and stretched her arms out to extinguish the butt of her cigarette in the tray and although I already knew it was her, it was impossible not to notice her arms. They were laced with purple and red and too-white lines and patterns and I wondered what had happened since I'd known her last. I wondered why she didn't even care to hide them anymore.
I'll admit it. I was scared--no, terrified--to approach her. I didn't want to know who'd done this to her. I didn't want to be told that it was me because I was scared to death that it was. And an hour later, when I still hadn't talked to her and she left the stuffy atmosphere, I didn't try to stop her. I let her go and I muttered expletives about fate and destiny under my breath and I wondered if I would ever see her again.
I tipped back two more beers and when I was finally drunk enough to forget my own name, I stumbled back to my hotel and fell into bed.
Had I been lucid, I would have complained about the stains in the sheets and the messy bathroom, but then again those were my fault anyway. True, the maid should have been by, but I guess you get what you pay for and I wasn't willing to pay a hell of a lot just to go to some stupid car auction and find a few worth restoring. Don't get me wrong--I loved the cars--but staying in even the filthiest hotel in Toronto cost more than I wanted to shell out.
I guess I understood now why I'd never seen Ellie on TV or heard about her attending university and why when I talked to Craig six months before, he knew only that she'd seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet.
She seemed so broken, so unlike the Ellie Nash I'd once known, and I wanted to be the one to fix her. Maybe I was irrational, maybe I couldn't ever be her night in shining armour, and maybe I didn't even deserve to save her, but nevertheless, I wanted--no, needed--to try. I needed to know who'd done this to her, and I needed to make sure they didn't do it again. I needed to know what possessed her to hang out in a bar at three in the morning and why she hadn't smiled the entire time I'd been there.
I needed to know, and make a difference--if, that is, I ever saw her again. At that point, it seemed pretty unlikely.