Ella

I woke up the next morning to a bright room, devoured by the California morning's sunlight. I stretched my pale arms and Ninja Turtle covered legs in satisfaction. I walk into the bathroom to prep myself. I leave my make up off and decide not to change quiet yet.

          I walk back to my bed and sit, reaching sleepily for my book to read. I feel an envelope and grab it, opening it eagerly.

          Ella-

          I'm so sorry for yesterday's events. I plan to deal with them soon, but first, I want to spend time with you. If you're going to be staying in my home, I will have to get to know you. We're going shopping today, so be ready @ 9.

Love,

Michael

          I grin, now opening my book. It's 6 a.m., so I'm going to stay lying in bed reading my favorite book ever created by an American- The Outsiders. I curl up in the bed, book in hand and start reading eagerly.

          An hour later, Michellé walks into my room, urging me to get ready. I resist at first, but she sashays over and pulls me up and out of my comfort area, and drags me by my underarms to the bathroom. The rug burns my heels.

          She sits me on the toilet seat and starts rummaging through my belongings. It takes me a minute to realize what is happening.

          "Hey, leave my stuff alone! You have no right. You have no right!" I wail from my seat. Michellé sends me an amused smirk, giving me the sudden urge to claw her eyes out.

          "Calm down and leave everything to me, okay?" she asks softly, without the accent. My mouth hangs open in shock as she giggles taking out my concealer and applying it to my face.

          "There, now you don't look like Casper, the friendly ghost" Michellé says with a giggle. I open my mouth in protest, but close it once I realize the truth. She laughs again, straightening her French maid uniform before grabbing an eyebrow pencil. I cock an eyebrow at her.

          She shrugs before saying, "To make a statement." I nod and let her define my eyebrows.

When she finishes, she reaches for blood red lipstick, and applies it gingerly t my lips, then fixes my hair to its usual swoop. She then has me stand, look at my image in the mirror- I look pretty damn good mind you- and takes me to the closet. She turns on the radio to some main stream station.

          I hear some old styled artist singing the lyric ‘love never felt so good'. I wrinkle my nose in confusion.

          "Who is this?" I ask Michele, who is swiping through the closet full of my clothes. She turns around, making her uniform swoosh, flashing me a pearly white smile.

          "Who does it sound like?" she asks kindly, pulling out a box-like red top and beanie. I hop on my Ninja Turtle covered bed and sit Indian-style, pondering. After a minute, I answer, "It sounds like another MJ wannabe. But then again, that's literally every artist nowadays, right?"

          Michellé looks like she's trying not to laugh at my answer. I roll onto my back before continuing. "I mean seriously, there all the same. Like, ‘Hey guys, let's all make songs about sex drugs and alcohol and then start a charity to make ourselves look like humanitarians'. I mean, I'm no humanitarian myself, but seriously, they're all the same songs with no effort and the artist don't even put their money into a cause that matters. I mean they're famous, god dammit, go help some damn kids in Africa!" I end in a roar, silencing Michellé into shock. She just stares at me with wide eyes, holding a pair of black skinny jeans and platform boots, while the song continues to play in the background. I blush in embarrassment.

          "Michael Jackson. It's Michael's song. Do you need to take your panic attack pills?" she asks quietly. I nod, standing up to straighten out my Ninja Turtles.

          "Yeah, I'll go do that."

          Thirty minutes later, I'm downstairs, changed into the clothes Michellé had pulled eating breakfast. I run my hand over the ebony dining table, letting my Cinnamon Toast Crunch get soggy. I'm alone in the dining room, or so I thought.

          "Oh, it's you." I brush off the comment, pretending it didn't sting. I cannot let her get to me. She pulls out the chair next to me and sits, facing me. I stare straight ahead.

          "Why are you dressed up?" she asks flatly. I shrug slightly, indicating my own confusion.

          "Dad's taking me out. I don't know where though. Michellé had to dress me." I feel Paris glare at me. I really wish she'd leave me be.

          "Cool."

          "Cool?" I ask in surprise, turning towards Paris. She has on a tightlipped smile and her bright blue eyes give me an icy glare. I give her a look of confusion.

          "What?" I ask. She shakes her head stiffly. "Nothing." I sigh at her answer.

          "What's wrong, Paris?" I ask exasperatedly. She gives me a smirk that could only be described as bitchy.

          "You."

          Okay bitch, that's the last straw.

          "What is your problem?" I snap, pointing an accusive finger.

          "You're my problem. Everything was better before you came" she says smugly. My mouth hangs open in shock. Didn't Michael teach his kids manners, or is Paris jus releasing her she-devil?

          I grit my teeth. If I respond, it will just give her more power. She must've mistaken my silence for victory, because she continues.

          "Besides, my mom and dad actually were married before having us. You, well, you were just a mistake made by to careless teenagers" she spats. I feel my breath catch as I back away, eyeing her like a monster. She snarls at me as I stand up, walking away. I don't get far, before I bitch-slap, tears burning my eyes.

          "So what if your mom married my dad! Where is she now? ‘Cause I don't see here anywhere!" I screech back angrily. Paris is holding the side of her face as she stands up slowly to meet my eyes. My platform boots make me taller than here, so I have to look down and her, up.

          "At least I was supposed to be here! You were probably supposed to be aborted!" she screams in my face, looking like she might cry. Tears stream down my face. I feel someone's presence at the doorway, but I disregard it.

          "At least my mom loves me! At least she didn't leave me!" I yell at her, making her cry with me. Her face is starting to get red and blotchy.

          "My mom may not be here, but at least I wasn't the product of some dumb fuck--."

          "Stop it!" a loud, deep voice booms from the doorway. After a few more seconds of teary glaring, we slowly turn to see the owner of the voice. A very upset Michael.

          He walks up to both of us, arms crossed over a black and gold military jacket. He's leaning his weight his weight on his right leg, tapping a loafer cover foot. His small nose is flared, making me slightly thankful for the broken nose he got as a teenager. I've seen my Aunt Benetta when she flares her nose. It's scary.

          His brown eyes burn us as he says, "You two...are supposed...to be sisters. Not enemies." He slowly directs his attention towards Paris. "I'm truly disappointed in you Paris. I've raised you better than this" he says sincerely. "But, let me straighten you right out and give you a nice dose of reality" he continues icily, "You both better be thank God that I'm so against physical discipline and that's how I was raised, or else I would have beat the living shit out of both of you, because you both have disrespected my family and myself."

          I shiver audibly at his tone. I feel frozen by his words.

          "Paris, Ella here is not the ‘product of some dumb fuck'. I loved her mother very much, and lost my virginity to her. Her mother and I had to go through a very hard time after she found out she was pregnant. Yes, Ella very much could have been aborted, but that is not an insult, that is just example of how cruelly religion can be used." His tone is reprimanding, as if trying to secretly message to Paris, ‘Yeah my situation ended out okay in the end, but I swear if you do what I did, I will fucking kill you'. Paris nods her head slowly, hanging it slightly in shame.

          Michael turns to me, his eyes now full of ice and tone spitting fire.

          "Paris' mother and I had an arrangement. She didn't just up and leave her kids. She also loves Prince and Paris deeply, thank you very much. Now, I swear if I see another quarrel because of the fact that you two have different mothers, I will not hesitate to slap you back to reality. You have been warned. Ella it is time to go. I will be in the hallway." He then leaves with the grace of a cat.

          Paris turns towards me and pulls me into a kiss...on the cheek. I pull back in surprise, giving her a weak smile.

          "What was that for?" I ask, brushing my beanie. She grins at me, her face still blotchy, her hair pulled back.

          "I'm sorry, Ella. I've been a real bitch, like wow" she says with candor, and slight realization.

          "It's fine, I would've acted like an unreasonable bitch too" I respond reassuringly. She cocks an eyebrow and I shrug. "I only speak truths."

          "She laughs putting out a hand to shake before saying, "Team?"

          "What team?"

"The dysfunctional family team, of course!" I laugh at her enthusiasm.

"Everyone's family is somewhat dysfunctional." She scoffs at my suggestion.

"Exactly, Lordey. We're on each other's team." I grin cocking an eyebrow.

"Lordey?" I ask, while shaking her hand. She shrugs.

"Yeah." I laugh pulling her into a hug. I'm just glad we're not trying to cut out each other's throats anymore.

"I need to go, so see you later?" I say. She nods eagerly, smiling. I flash a smile back, before running out into the hallway, past Michael and into the limo outside. He finally walks out of the house, wearing a small smile. He sits in the vehicle, closing the door, and the driver drives off.

There was nothing I could've done to prepare myself for the day.