Confronting Defiance

Let them judge. They believe their own 'facts'. - miss_polarity

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"Enough of this ingrained defiance. Go to your room. Now."

Step by step towards her statued father, Ella looked straight to Anthony—not an emotion coming from either her eyes—and did not dare take it away from his glare. Unbeknownst to her, a tear makes its way to her cheeks as she was reaching for the knob that was in front of her.

Right after managing to close the door soundlessly, all of her strength faded away—her limbs giving up the ghost. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest; she could feel it beating twice per second but it was as if time slowed. She looked at where her nonliving bed is, her sight becoming blurry. The water which was trying to get away from her clutch escaped.

"Argh!" She grunts in the middle of her tears.

Stumbling, she reached for her bed. She wanted someone to hug, someone to make her feel everything will be fine, but there are only pillows on which she can burst to.

Darn these tears!

She's annoyed. She's hurt. Badly. There can't be a reason for her to be in the mood; to attend a dinner with her parents' business partners.

Not after all what happened within the day. Not after another slap.

She lay down on her stomach and hid her head in her pink velvet pillow. There, she cried until there was no tear left for her to cry.

I've endured a lot, and this is nothing. I can overcome this myself. I don't need any friend to rely

onto. Besides, they'll just leave me afterwards.

After some time, she maneuvered herself to prepare for the upcoming dinner with the Davis'.

At least, she speaks to herself, this will be the last time I'll be attending such event. I'll let this slide, but just this once. . . This will be the last.

A dinner, for elites, is not something to look down unto. It is an exclusive event to show off their riches; almost like a gala where anyone should be dressed with gowns and suits; and, there's no questioning to it that Ella has no choice but to dress accordingly to the event.

Drying off her tears, Ella gets to her feet, exchanges a look with the mirror right by the side of her bedroom door, and pulls open another door situated on the left-hand of the room.

The door led to her closet—an understatement. The room is almost twice as big as her bedroom and was full of lights. A chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. There was a total of four 5-meter long rows in the room filled with endless variety of clothes; each row divided it to different seasons: summer, autumn, spring, and winter respectively from left to right—each of which was lighted by little luminescent orbs.

On either of the side of the door was her rows of shoes organized the same way as her clothings. Stationed at the left and right borders was her rows and rows and rows and rows of accessories from her hair down to her nails. Other than the aforementioned confines of the room, on its other end was a spacious room enough to accommodate brocade lounges that was stuffed with plush pillows. Against the far wall, three floor-to-ceiling mirrors in different angles

was set with elaborate gilt frames.

It was magnificent. None of the room's finest hoardings seemed to bear an evidence of contact with her owner. The floor was so stunning alone on its shine and the glasses exhibiting the jewelries shimmered almost like water, reflecting its domain.

She was sure rich. No one can question it. Not even Alexandra who is considered the richest in their university for her scandalous, corseted dresses can rival her closet. AL do know how to flourish her wealth to her mates but the truth is: it was the best of her and the least for Ella.

Without so much thinking, Ella took her first step towards the row in the right-most part of the room. Halfway, she fished out an aegean blue, long, formfitting, beaded gown that flared out at the bottom. The fishtail of the gown was slit up at the middle, designed to reveal the most

important assets: the shoes, of course.

It was a gift from her grandmother that was supposed to be worn on her debut celebration but as far-fetched as it may seem, it did not happen. Maybe it was time for her to wear it. She also had no time to think through it since it was almost 6.

Before getting dressed, she took a shower. After blow-drying her hair, she began whirling it up into an elegantly messy chignon.

It isn't a surprise for an upper-class to know how to style herself, especially when it comes to their hair, since there has been a tradition that Chance's are bound to: No one touches thy hair but thy spouse.

Thereafter, she began putting herself makeup. For her blue eyes, she lined it with kohl and shadowed it with purple. She looked innocent but otherwise, her sophistication was still evident.

Slipping into her gown, she get up, ready to go. She gave herself one last look on her panoramic mirror. Satisfied on the grandeur of her overall appearance, she almost left her closet without wearing footwear.

Having no time to further decide which is which, she picked up her one-of-few low-heeled shoes—her 4-inch Stuart Weitzman Cinderella Slippers.

In the aftermath of her battle with fashion, Ella was still in her room. It was as if reality had taken a hit on her. She was freaking out; she doesn't know where to go after she opens the damn door.

Where are they planning to hold the dinner?

Was it in the dining room?—Should I directly go there?—Or was it in the banquet hall?

But, what if they aren't there?

What if they are on the other?

What if I made a fool of myself?

Maybe I should get these clothes off.

Maybe this isn't the right choice—maybe I should just sulk in my bed.

The.door's.freaking.me.out!

It was then when she heard a knock.

"Ella, honey, they're here. Are you. . . ready? Let's go greet them. It's getting late, maybe they're hungry." Ella felt her mom's nervousness as she sighed after finishing her sentence. She was so unsure of what to say, almost like everything she said is a question.

"Ella, let's just forgive daddy, is that okay?" Her mom was so caring, even in her speaking voice.

It hasn't taken a minute before Ella gets hold of the doorknob. Sticking out first her head, she sees the figure of her mother walking away from her room.

She has given up, she thought.

She felt rather sick from what she had seen. Someone turning their back on her is making her heart throb in pain.

Meanwhile, hearing the clicking noise of the door, Melissa stopped in her track, astounded that her daughter, for once, had finally opened up her door. It was then when Ella was about to close the door when Melissa countered—blocking the door with her feet and keeping out for the knob.

Melissa looked at her daughter from head to toe and back.

"Hija, you look so. . ." She was unbearably speechless to see her daughter dressed up in a frock other than her shirt-and-pants uniform. "Nice," she said finishing her sentence.

'Nice', yep, after all what I've done with my body, it's just nice. Ella thought as she mentally rolls her eyes. Of course, she was secretly seeking out for more exaggerated comment. She made an effort, didn't she?

Ella have not had the courage to answer her mother.

"Let's go, they're waiting for you, I mean us, ha ha." Her mother said as she literally pulled her by the hand.

In no time, they reached the living room.

"She's here!" Melissa proclaimed, making all of them turn to their direction. Ella felt uncomfortable—it was too much attention for her.

"Oh, sorry dear, just so excited for you," Melissa whispered—almost, but not likely—in delight at her still looking and smiling sweetly at their guests.

Ella looked at them with her unassailable, emotionless face, but to her defense, even with her inexpressiveness, she was being respectful for the first time in front of her parent's friends.

She turned to where her father was as she felt his profound gaze on her direction; the old man having a noticeably pleased and happy visage. Then, Ella, knowing nothing other than to greet their guests, said:

"Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Davis," stammering on the very first word. She was literally freaking she even did a 90-degree bow to show respect.

"Oh, she's so cute!" Mrs. Davis giggled to her husband. She took her first steps toward Ella and Melissa's.

"I am Maricel, but call me Tita, ok?" She introduced herself and was reaching for Ella's hand, initiating a handshake.

Ella was nowhere to being disrespectful, especially to the elders. Being a 'Chance' limits everything. It definitely is a pleasure to become one but just as everything, it comes with great responsibility. She took the hand that was waiting for hers only to find herself leaning in the woman's body instead of shaking each other's hands.

Maricel broke off the hug first. Ella's eyes are fixated on her while she introduced her husband who was standing still in his place, staring on the direction of Ella—giving off a dour expression.

"This is your Tito Tommy by the way, my husband, of course," she said chuckling on her own words. Tommy smiled to Ella.

"I am El-" Maricel stopped her mid-sentence.

"We know who you are," she said sweetly.

There was a brief, awkward silence then.

Melissa clapped her hands, "Anyway! Dinner's ready, shall we eat?"

As the Davis was being led by Tony, Sean and Caber—her brothers—and Ella and Melissa walked their way to the banquet hall, her mom started whispering something to her.

"I've heard what happened in school from your brothers. I'm sorry, if only I've known earlier. . ."

"Then what? You could've told him to not slap me?"

The conversation stopped there. Figures she really was the vengeful-type—so much for her speeches.

Entering the banquet hall, Melissa left her daughter's side and sat dangerously quiet in her spot. Ella's cruelness was a bolt from the blue for her, too much for her.

A table for eight was set in the middle of the room. The two high-ranked males sat on the head and foot of the rectangular table. On the left of Tony sat Maricel as Tommy was seated to the right of Melissa. Sean was on the right of his father, as Caber took the left seat by Tommy. In between Maricel and Caber was Ella—behind her was the door—and the seat across her, left vacant.

Once seated, everyone was swallowed in their own world of conversations. Even her torpid mother was budged on the trending issues she, Caber, and Tommy are talking about while Sean and Tony talked about their weekend's fishing.

"You look so wonderful–not to mention, sexy—in your gown Ella!" Maricel opined, startling her prey. Ella wasn't really into gowns, especially hearing such comments from total strangers, but deep down, she appreciated it. Shyly scratching her neck, Maricel gave out yet another squeal.

"So, is it true Ella that this is your first time seeing guests?" Maricel bubbly started off another chat with Ella.

In the most inoffensive way, Ella replied in her placid disposition, "It's not like it's my first time seeing guests, seeing you. I've actually seen random people in our house, but otherwise this is my first time—at least in my memory—to have contact and share a conversation."

"Oh, is it?" Maricel verbalizing whatever was left in her speechlessness.

"Yes." Ella answered simply without any further ado.

"So how's the experience?" Ella sensed Maricel wasn't likely to go quiet.

"It's fine."

"Yea? Hmm, then I guess I thought wrong ha ha."

A questioning look was what Ella could only give as a response.

"Oh, I thought for a moment that you were on a panic."

"You can say that." Ella professed.

Maricel was indeed surprised as to how the young lady could be so honest. "But how come you keep that expression in your face? No offense, Ella."

"It's okay, Tita," she breathe before continuing, "I learned to control myself from being alone."

"Oh," she said in awe, "that is really nice! You're the exact opposite of my son. I wish I'd have a daughter like you." Mrs. Davis said genuinely looking like a girl wishing in her birthday candle.

Another silence occurred, though this time it was comforting at least for Ella who does feel a little awkward conversing with anyone.

Sudden warmth fell on her hands—it was Maricel's.

"Dear," she paused looking for more suitable words to say.

"Ella, I know, you're having a hard time, and it's fine to show. Do not be afraid, you can be reckless around me, okay?"

Ella was notably moved and decided to give her a genuine smile. Maricel smiled back.

As they are having their desserts, Mr. Soller, their family driver, announced someone had just arrived. On the very notice, Tommy and Maricel Davis looked at Ella's parents meaningfully.

"He's here." Tommy said.

"Mister. . ." Tony said indicating Mr. Soller to let the man in.

Mister Soller went out. A minute after, the banquet hall's door flew open—about the same time Ella opened her mouth to eat her Wuzetka chocolate cream pie. The Davis' were on their feet.

"Son." Mr. Davis welcomed his son.

Ella, as well as her brothers—savouring their desserts—still didn't paid any attention to their late guest.

"Ow, mom! Don't do that here," he said. Both their parents chuckled.

They are all too focused on him while she and her brothers enjoyed their Wuzetkas.

Yum.. their taste buds said.

"Ella," her dad switched his attention to Ella, calling her in a low voice, "would you mind welcoming him?" Pointing in her back with his eyes.

Me? As if. She thought to herself.

"Cabby?" Melissa sweetly called out to her husband's endearment, giving him a don't-force-her look. Tony was about to protest then when the man behind Ella spoke.

"Madame and Sir?"

She fixated her eyes on her pie as the man in his back walked towards Melissa's and kissed her hand, and he shook hands with her father.

"Such a gentleman. Call us Tita and Tito, no need for formalities."

"Yes, of course, Tita." He replied gaily. His gaiety alone left shivers to Ella—the reason, she knew nothing of.

"Welcome, hijo, have you had dinner?" Tony asked as he gestured the man to his seat.

"Ah, yes, Tito. I've had it with my girlfriend."

Melissa's eyes shot open, Sean and Caber almost choked, Tony went to another world, and Ella? She was still intact but was out of their conversation—she's in the state of blankness, never interested in the first place. She was just focused on her cake.

"Ahem," she faked a cough to bring them back. It worked.

Tony cleared his throat before talking again, "Take a seat, hijo, at least taste my wife's Wuzetka."

"Thank you Tito," he said awfully grateful of Tony's invite.

As he set down on his seat, Ella took the chance to have a look at him—accidentally meeting his eyes. He smiled a sweetly.

What the heck?

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Will, XOXO