Page 1 of Ever's Last
Chapter One
Ever
Bright lights. Check.
Big city. Check. Well, it’s a suburb. Okay, just kidding, it’s the country, but we’re close to a big city. I’m a Georgia peach, a small-town girl living the dream. Kind of, if you call crowns, sashes, and strutting the catwalk living it up. This is the south, where Fridays are for football, Saturdays are for pageants, and Sundays are for church.
One day, my life changed, and I’m still trying to figure out if it was for the better or not.
Why is that?
Because on a lonely dirt road, I died.
I didn’t physically die, unless you count the three minutes in the ambulance or the four minutes on the operating table. By all accounts, I should be dead, but somewhere in Heaven, someone or something was looking out for me.
Although, I wasn’t the same after. No one ever is when you’ve been run over. And I’m not talking about it in a metaphorical sense. I was literally run over . . . with a car. I can’t hardly explain it, but there’s something surreal about dying, and to know that it almost happened to me changes my whole outlook on life.
My name is Ever Rain and I went from ugly duckling to Cinderella in a matter of months, all because someone hit me on that lonely, dirt road. I don’t remember much. I went to the rodeo and tried to tell my best friend I loved him. However, that didn’t go down as planned. His girlfriend called me a cow, shoved me into a game booth, and knocked me down to the ground. I did the only thing that came to mind— I took off, fleeing the scene. I wanted to get away from the taunting and name-calling. To make it worse, my best friend just watched. He never stepped in or told the others to stop. And that’s why I ended up on that road. My best friend was my ride to the fair. He was older than me and I was the little sister he never had. Thinking back now, I could have called my dad to come get me, but I didn’t want to wake him up. It was midnight and my stepmother, Anne, would have bitched the next morning if I interrupted her beauty sleep.
I walked for several hours, just wandering, crying, trying to get my head straight. I heard the vehicle before I saw it. The lights got closer and I thought they would just pass me, but all of a sudden everything went dark. I woke up in the hospital looking like some eighty’s slasher film star, and I’m not talking about the pretty girl. I was no cheerleader or prom queen. No, I looked more like the terror that was hunting people. Think Jason, Freddy, and Chucky combined. Hell, I probably would have given Michael Myers a run for his money.
Several surgeries later, I came out looking like the debutante my stepmother always wanted, but only after an extended hospital stay and months of surgery.
I was Anne’s in with high society because I had a sob story. It didn’t hurt that I now looked like Sleeping Beauty, except instead of golden hair, I had black as midnight locks. It was usually my eyes that mesmerized people with the hypnotic grey color and flecks of purple dancing through the depths. I wasn’t your typical beauty queen. It was my eyes. When people stared into them, some would say it was as if they were spinning, like a top, drawing you in. Plus, people eat up those sad but powerful cry-me-a-river stories. But it wasn’t my story anymore— it washers.
I have been in so many pageants and beauty contests. My stepmother loved every minute of it, taking all the credit if I won and berating me when I didn’t. It was all worth it though, because it made my dad, Shane, happy. While Anne and I had our rough times, fighting like cats and dogs, when things were good, we were alright. I’d put up with the bullshit just to see Dad happy, considering he hasn’t been for a long time.
To this day, no one has come forward to admit that they were the ones behind the wheel. My case went cold. It became your run of the mill hit and run. Not that it matters now. I’m sure I will never know who it was that hurt me, and part of me doesn’t want to. The accident has opened up worlds to me. So, in a way, I’m kind of grateful that it happened. I have friends who I met at the hospital, that I didn’t have before, except for my two friends from high school. I have a new outlook on life: live it by the moment and never take anyone or anything for granted.
While Anne is still trying to weasel her way into the pockets of others, my dad is working his ass off. He owns a catering company and I help him out. It’s a relief when I’m working because it’s a vacation from my stepmother.
My dad married Anne when I was a toddler. My mom was a free spirit, a hippy, living life out of a VW van and lurking in bars at night. My dad met her in one of those very bars, and I was the result of a night of ‘fun’. My mother never told my father about the pregnancy. She probably didn’t know who it was that got her pregnant. When she realized who it was, I was unloaded on my father’s doorstep. Although, during those brief five years that I knew her, she was fun, until the day she wasn’t. It was then when I met my father and his soon-to-be-bride. Ever since the day I walked through the threshold of my family’s home, Anne pretty much hated me. Her life changed in one day, the moment I became hisentireworld. And it shows still to this day.
If I’m not strutting across a stage, Anne wants nothing to do with me. What she wants is for my dad to move us into a bigger house. I don’t want to move because this house has been in the family for years. It’s not just a home to us because it means so much more than that. There are memories here for me, like stubbing my toe on my grandma’s piano, or when Linc was chased by a goat, or where we spent our summers swimming in the lake. But in her eyes, it doesn’t fit her dream.
Yesterday, my dad told me we were moving, that he found a house that would shut her up. My words, not his. I’m debating whether to go with him. I could just stay here in my room in the house I love. We’re not selling it because of the sentimental value. I’m old enough to be on my own, but I don’t want to leave him alone with that monster. Anne is just that, a beast. Dad only went along with this ruse of being a happy family, buying a house, playing house, just to appease her. She always gets what she wants, and I think it’s just because he’s tired of arguing with her.
We can’t afford the move. It blows my mind how he was even approved for a mortgage. My surgeries and therapy put us back thousands of dollars. At this rate, he’ll be working until he’s ninety to pay it off. I work for free when he needs me to, so he doesn’t have to worry about paying me. If he did, or tried, I would just put it toward all the bills.
My dad has picked up a few more clients, celebrities and pros from the area. We’ve been putting up flyers and paid for an ad to run on TV. I know he paid a pretty penny for it, so hopefully word of mouth will get the business out there. ‘We make your dreams a reality’ is our slogan after all. It needs a bit of work, but we do try to try to make our clients’ dreams a reality for them. We only want our clients to be happy and content.
Sometimes watching someone else’s dreams come true makes me wish for more. While my new looks get me a few dates here and there, I want something more concrete. Something that will havemeaning.
Maybe it’s just me. After the accident and all the surgeries, I have a plethora of self-esteem issues. I try not to, but when I look in the mirror, I see a heavy girl even though I’m skinny according to American standards. Honestly, it gives me the drive to do better and chase after my desires, even if I don’t know what they all are yet. I want to help others embrace who they are, no matter the size. Talking about what I went through, as in the diet, exercise, and motivation, helps me a great deal.
I also want to travel, to see the world, to get a job far from this small town where cows are the cause of traffic jams. I want to go to college, if nothing else. However, I crave to find my prince charming, if he exists.
A girl can dream, can’t she?
Chapter Two
Memphis
One, two. One, two. I keep count in my head as I pound the bag. I’m dripping sweat and yet I don’t want to stop.
I’m pissed because today I was told I’m getting old and I have an image problem. Old? I’mbarelythirty. Fuck!
One, two. One, two. I’m about to fake an uppercut when some douchebag interrupts me.
