Ana and Dee were fighting again. Their shrieking echoed through the thin walls as they spat insults at each other. Thuds against their shared wall rocked her picture frames as they threw shoes, and Ella heard a yelp as one struck true.

They’re my shoes! one of them was yelling.

They match my dress! said the other.

No one cares, thought Ella. They were just shoes. They were lucky to have a couple pairs. Ella only had the one, the sneakers threadbare, soles peeling from the uppers, laces dirty and the aglets
chewed off by Dee’s Shih Tzu.

Water got into her socks on rainy days, and it was always raining here. It pattered against the tin roof in sharp tink, tinks that kept her up all night, nothing like the condo they’d lived in before. It’d been her dad’s, the place she’d grown up in with him and her mom before her mom got sick.

Dad had met Donna and things had been all right for a while but then Dad got sick, and Donna changed. She was a mean old bitch; she grabbed onto Ella with clawed nails, paid for by her dad’s life insurance, and ordered her around. Made her do all the chores even though she had two good daughters right there. Not that her daughters were good. Ana and Dee made her do everything for them. Wash their clothes, clean their room, do their homework for them. Ella wasn’t even that good at math, but she must be alright if Ana and Dee weren’t complaining.

Another thud, harder this time, knocked down one of her pictures. Ella raced for it as the glass shattered against the carpet. She lifted the frame off ground, shook the glass out of it, and looked at the picture. Her mom and dad grinned up at her, happy as can be. She sat between them, all cherub faced, cake smeared on her cheeks. There was a bit of frosting on her nose. She could vividly remember her mom laughing, scooping up a bit from her birthday cake, and dobbing it on the tip of her nose. She’d complained, had wiped most of it off, but not before the picture had been taken.
Ella smoothed a thumb over the picture and hissed as a stray shard of glass cut her wrist.

The red drew to the surface, and she swore, quickly setting the photo down before she could ruin it. Ana and Dee were still going at it. The shouts were louder now, more thumps sounding through
their rickety old trailer as they grappled. Ella bit the inside of her cheek to resist the urge to shout back. Stop! Stop it! she wanted to scream. But it wouldn’t do nothing. It never did. She just ended up being shouted back at. Locked in her room to listen to them yell some more.

Ella tip-toed around the glass in her carpet and darted past Ana and Dee’s room before they could involve her and slipped into the bathroom. The tap ran cold as it always did, but it felt nice against the heat burning through her palms. She scrubbed at the cut, watched the pink swirl into the drain. Scrubbed some more.

The door burst open. Dee squinted at her as she clasped a hand over the cut.

What are you doing? she said, voice suspicious.

Nothing, said Ella.

Dee didn’t believe her. She ripped her hand away, revealing the cat scratch on her wrist. Her lip curled.

You didn’t do it right, she laughed.

What?

You have to go deeper, said Dee.

Ella didn’t respond. She kept quiet. Pretended she didn’t know what Dee was talking about.

Pretended she didn’t have cuts on her thighs, the scars pale, and pink, and red like this cut.

Ana appeared.

Get out, she said. We need to get ready.

Ella’s hand was still throbbing. She wanted to grab some tissue, but she felt the weight of their stares on her. She slunk back to her room.

Ana and Dee bickered over make-up. Over their dresses. They were pretty, all chiffon and beads that sparkled in the dim light of their kitchen, bought from some wedding boutique. Ella didn’t know how they could afford brand new dresses. Her dad’s life insurance had ran out ages ago. She’d had to scrounge up some cash from weeding gardens to get her own dress. It was all wrinkled blue satin, the lace torn in spots, and a stain on the hem. But at least it was long enough to hide her sneakers.

Ana’s cracked phone was blasting some pop song, innuendos of kissing and fucking echoing through the house in a poor excuse of flowery language. Ella tapped her foot to the beat, wrapped
her dishwater hair into a messy bun. Applied some of her mom’s old makeup to her face, blue on her eyelids, pink on her cheeks, red on her lips. She thought she looked pretty. She thought she looked a little like her mom. She joined Ana and Dee in the living room when they finished. Donna was lounging on the couch with a cigarette, the smoke forming a haze in front of her. Ella wrinkled her nose, held her breath so she wouldn’t inhale the cancer.

Donna smiled at her daughters. Gorgeous, she called them. Belle’s of the ball. Her eyes fell on Ella. Her smile fell.

Where are you going?

The dance, said Ella. She’d thought it was obvious.

No, you’re not.

Ana and Dee snickered. Ella cast them a glance.

What? Why?

You have dishes, said Donna.

Ella looked in the kitchen. The sink is empty.

The girls’ room is a mess, Donna said.

It’s their room. I didn’t make the mess.

Doesn’t matter, said Donna shortly, her expression turning ugly. You’re not going until its clean.

Ella bit her lip, felt her eyes sting.

Besides, said Ana to Dee, her dress is ugly.

Yeah, said Dee. We can’t show up with her.

We should throw it in the fireplace, they joked. Maybe the ash will make it look better.

Donna laughed at her daughters’ comments.

Ella grabbed her wrist, squeezed it to feel it throb, hoping it would stop her from crying.

But you said I could go.

Donna rolled her eyes. Are you deaf? she said. I said you can, after you clean up.

Ella squeezed her wrist tighter. Looked at Ana and Dee. Hoped they would be nice just this once. She’d done their homework, had helped them whenever she asked. They just continued to laugh and joke. Told her they had to leave soon. That maybe if she was quick, she could see one of them win prom queen.

The tears felt hot on her face, streaking her make-up, making her look like a clown. She felt like a clown. Should have known things would never be fair with them. She retreated to her room, ignoring the crunch of glass under her feet as she curled up on her bed.

Ella listened as Donna fawned over her girls, took pictures of them, and sent them off to their dates. Headlights shown through Ella’s curtains, and she peered out at them. Felt her heart drop when she saw Ana and Dee talking to her date. He was frowning, looking back at her. She ducked behind the curtains, hoping he didn’t see her. Hoping he had. The cars started; the headlights retreated.

Ella kicked off her shoes and tore off her dress. The lace ripped some more but what did she care? It wasn’t like she was going to the prom. It wasn’t like her date was coming back for her. Donna’s show mocked her with laughs and Ella stormed over to her door, slammed it shut. Donna yelled but Ella didn’t care. She twisted on her heel and winced when something sharp stung her foot.
The broken frame was still there. She hadn’t cleaned it up.

Ella stared down at it. Felt the pain in her foot and her wrist. Felt the throb take away some of her anger, her grief.

You have to go deeper, Dee had said.

The shard cut her hand as she picked it up, slickening her hold with crimson. Ella stared down at her thighs, at the marks on them, and then at her wrists. She tightened her grip, relishing in the sharp pain, and placed the point at her wrist.

She went

Deeper.