My Prince Charming - A Steele Fairy Tale
Chapter 1
Ella
Sitting in the back of an Uber, I think about my life and hate the path it’s taken. It hasn’t been a good road, but it’s up to me to make it better. The driver attempts to make conversation. “So, you work at Billy’s Burgers?” It’s obvious since I’m wearing a smelly, greasy Billy’s Burgers shirt.
“Yeah.” I shouldn’t be rude. It’s not his fault I’m miserable. I pull my hair tie out of my hair and rub my scalp gently before tying my dark brown hair back up into a messy bun.
“Doesn’t sound like a good place to work.” He sympathetically frowns, making me feel less awkward.
“It’s not, but it’s money,” I add. It’s a super crappy hole in the wall burger stand with less than sanitary conditions, and I’m pretty sure a manager on the nightshift sells drugs out of the back of the building. He disappears out back every couple hours, and he’s not smoking or looking high on anything, so that’s got to be the reason. Either way, it’s sketchy as hell and I hate it. Maybe I’ll quit and find another place.
“I get it. This is my second job. I have to pay for college, and I don’t want to be drowning in debt.” He turns onto the long road that leads to some of the most expensive homes in the city. “You live over here?”
I know exactly what he’s thinking. Why would someone living in this area have to work at a fast-food restaurant? Not everything is as it seems, but I can’t say that I’m a servant in my own home.
“Yes, but you know how it is…they want to teach me a lesson about hard work,” I lie. It’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Eight years ago, my father remarried. She’s kind of a wicked stepmother who acts sweet and kind to your face and then threatens to smother you while you sleep. It has been three years since my father killed himself, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him and wonder why he did it. He’d started to witness their abuse and neglect when it came to me, and they even fought about it when he wasn’t working nonstop, so why would he leave me alone?
Sometimes I wonder if he was murdered, but I’ve got no proof except my stepmother’s greed as a motive. Everything according to the investigators led to a suicide except the fact that there wasn’t a note. He and I had plans for the following weekend, so none of it made sense to me.
After a long day at my fast-food job, I still have to go to my second job at the local Walmart.
“Well, don’t work too hard and take care,” he says. I give him money and close the door. The large mansion in front of me would be a pleasure to own if my stepfamily hadn’t existed. Honestly, I don’t believe my father would have purchased such an ostentatious place if it weren’t for my stepmother. He had simpler tastes despite his wealth.
God, I miss him.
A feeling of stress and fatigue weighs on me as I slide the key into the lock and turn it gingerly. If I didn’t have to stop at home first, I wouldn’t, but I smell like old grease and need to shower and change. Cringing as the door creaks open, I quietly sneak in and close it gently behind me.
If my stepfamily realizes I’m home, the demands will begin. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible—and I’m not just talking about today. I need to get away from them and unfortunately, running away is my only recourse.
Two days ago, I graduated from high school without fanfare. Going to college is out of the question at the moment. Although I received paychecks, saving money has been nearly impossible. My stepmother would take a majority of my money as payment for living in my father’s home. Now that I’m an adult, they demand more money per paycheck.
I’ve finally reached my breaking point. I’d rather be homeless than live with them ever again. After I get off my shift, I’m packing all I can carry and I’m leaving.
I manage to make it to my small room without any of them coming to look for me. It won’t last long, but hopefully they’re too busy to bother me. I find my work clothes and then kick off my shoes, and next is my greasy, smelly shirt.
As I kick off my pants, my small bedroom is invaded by my stepsisters. They storm in so quickly that I don’t have time to slip my clothes back on. Instead, I use my hands to cover up that I’m in my worn-out bra and panties.
“Why are my clothes not folded, Ella?” Ana shouts, tossing her wicker basket of clothes at me, hitting me square in the face. Holy cow, this woman has lost her mind. Reaching up, I touch my cheek and feel the sting of the small abrasion that the stupid basket made. I’m about to launch myself at her, but I remember my plan. Getting out of here is more important than dealing with these women ever again.