A light tap at the door startles her. Scrambling, she stuffs the paper under an opulent pillow, dabs at her eyes and calls, "Come in." She stiffens, watching her mother sweep into the room. Ella looks to where she hid the missive, careful to keep her eyes averted.
"Have you been crying again?" her mother demands. "Surely not."
"Mother, you know how my heart breaks. You have been cruel, too cruel in this declaration. Do you not care that my heart is rent?"
"Of course, I care. But, what's done is done. You'll live."
"O my heart, Mother, my heart. La Douleur Exquise," Ella sobs. "I'll never forget him. You may believe that you have managed to blot him out, to erase him, but true love endures, Mother! We will be together ... someday."
"Please don't be so dramatic, Ella. You're only fourteen and there will be other dances," her mother sighs, rubbing her brow. "The pizza will be ready in five minutes." She treads to the door, pausing by the poster of One Direction. "You have your whole life to fall in love, you know."
Overcome with grief, Ella snatches a pillow and flings it at the door as it closes. "How, Mother? How will I ever find true love, when you have me held captive, like Rapunzel, imprisoned and walled in? How?" she wails.
The first notes of "What Makes You Beautiful" chirp from Ella's back pocket. She snatches her phone, glances at the screen and answers it. "No way! You, too? Ugh, we're prisoners of our parents." She sighs and slips back into the cushions. "Wanna watch a movie?"
|Bancroft Tower, Worcester, MA, |
courtesy of Hillarie Jason via Esty.
Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the picture above and the word: La Douleur Exquise (French): The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have. Word limit: 500.