DISCLAIMER:

The only character in this story that belongs to me is Ella.

I do not own Inception.

Damn.

{Ella}

Arthur walks up to me with this weird smile on his face. He's grinning, but he still has that harsh look in his eyes. He's almost attractive. "You need a totem." he says.

I cock an eyebrow at him, realizing that Eames did the exact same thing to me only a few minutes ago. I blush a little and grin at the floor. "What's a totem?"

"It's a small, personal object that you've got to have on you at all times. It helps you distinguish between what's real" he pulls a rid die out of his pocket and rolls it across the table in front of me-a three. "and what isn't."

"So do I just pick something?"

He shakes his head. "The best thing to do is make something. You have to make sure nobody else knows how it feels-its weight and texture. Only you can know."

I start thinking back to things I used to love during my childhood. I want it to be something that nobody knows about me. I want it to be just mine and have no explanation. Suddenly, I get the perfect idea. "Do you have anything here I can use to make it?"

He nods. "It's probably still here from when Ariadne made hers. Do you want help?"

I narrow my eyes. "Wouldn't that sort of defeat the purpose?"

He almost smiles again. What is it with this guy? "Probably,"

"Then I don't want help."

He laughs once, but there's no humor in it. "Let me know if you need anything. The equipment you need should be down the hall in the room at the end." He leaves before I can thank him.

I glance up at Cobb, poring over files and papers. I should continue studying him like Eames told me to. Then again, I think. I did tell him I'm terrible at doing what I'm told, and this seems important enough. I can leave Cobb alone for a while. I hop off of my stool and glance around for the hallway Arthur was talking about. Of course, it's all the way on the other side of the empty, abandoned factory floor. I roll my eyes and jog over.

There are two rooms at the end of the hallway. How very helpful, Arthur. Thank you. There aren't any doors, so I peer into the open doorway of the room on the left.

Inside, on a single bed, lies Eames asleep. I suddenly can't stop my feet from moving towards him. I try to turn around, but my legs just aren't cooperating. Soon enough, I'm right next to his bed. I kneel down. I'd be staring into those perfect Caribbean ocean eyes of his if they were open. I start studying every feature on him. He's got all of these intriguing little things about him-a scar that cuts across his right eyebrow about a quarter of the way from the end, a slight unevenness in his top lip. All of these little things make him so beautiful and so interesting.

I can't help myself. I reach up and brush my fingers across his cheek. The slight stubble feels like fine-grain sandpaper. His lips open slightly, and I trace them with my finger. They're warm and smooth except for a cut near the left corner of the bottom. There's a cut there. It looks like something he could have sustained during a fight. It's hard-almost impossible-to see the faded yellow bruise painting the skin beneath it.

His lips twitch slightly, and he has the slightest ghost of a smile in his mouth. "Ella," he breathes.

I automatically yank my hand away and bolt out of the room.

I am so screwed if he saw me. I'm such a friggin' creep.

I almost run into the room across the hall. There are a few tools, some wood, and some metal. A lump starts to form in my throat. It reminds me of the workshop my dad had in the garage when I was a little girl. He taught me so much in there. Tears burn in my eyes. I swallow again and again and try to blink them away.

I was so happy when I was younger. What happened to me? Why don't I remember what that's like...

Well, my father decided it would be okay to run off with a hooker when I was eight, so I lost my best friend. My mother wouldn't stop drinking or bringing home new guys every month, so I lost my salvation. She left me when I was sixteen. All I know is sex and abadonment...

No wonder I turned out so fucked up.

()*()*()*()

I know I promised more of Arthur in this chapter, but I just wanted to end it with Ella's last thought there. I know it's sort of cliche for one of the characters to be messed up from a childhood that went down the toilet, but with the way she's evolving in my head, she just seems like she needs to have come from a broken home. Thanks for reading!