The Most Special Chosen

by Rachel De La Fuente

  “Thanks!” I call out as I step back inside and shut the door.

  I plop back down on the sofa and slit the tape with the box cutter we keep on the coffee table. I carefully open the flaps and peer inside. I have no idea what it might be, or what to expect.

  There’s something black and slightly shiny inside. It dawns on me what I’m looking at, and I let out an excited squeal. Damien has sent me a leather trench coat. I’ve wanted one forever. It’s the ultimate symbol of . . . I shake my head.

  “NO, I’m so not going to go there.”

  I pull the coat out and stand, letting the box fall. To my surprise the coat falls open, the hem dropping to the floor. I hold it out at arm’s length. It’s expertly crafted and tailored. The leather is thin, and all of it is pitch black. There isn’t a single spot of discoloration. It’s the coat I’ve always longed for, but so much better.

  The lining is blood red satin. There is a buckle on the collar to hold it closed. The silver zipper runs right down to crotch level and is overlapped by three long buckles equally spaced down the front between the bust and hips. I put it on and twirl around.

  It fits perfectly. I run up to my room to look in my full length mirror. The coat is absolutely perfect! I zip it up and grin at the shape it gives me. I look amazing.

  As I stretch and turn trying to see myself from all angles, I hear a crinkle. I unzip it again and find an envelope in a pocket on the left.

  “Here we go. Let’s see what Damien has to say.” I go back downstairs and move the box out of the way. As I do, I realize there’s still something else inside. It’s something small, wrapped carefully in tissue paper.

  I open it to discover an emerald green mask that takes my breath away. It’s as though lace has been fashioned into a mask and hardened. The general shape is feline, with swirls going up at the sides, similar to ears, then narrower at the bottom like a muzzle. There are yellow rhinestones, or maybe crystals in a swoop above the eyes, vaguely reminiscent of eyebrows. At the center of the top is a heart with some more rhinestones and ornate filigree.

  “Oh, Damien, it’s beautiful.” How the hell will I be able to thank him for this?

  I set it on the table and take a picture to show my parents, then sit down on the sofa again. Time to read my letter. The envelope is a heavy parchment, sealed with wax, and has my name written across the front in elegant writing. Damien certainly has excellent penmanship. I flip the envelope back over and stare at the seal for a moment. It looks like a D with something around it, but the impression isn’t deep, and I can’t tell for sure.

  I lift the seal with my nail, hoping it won’t break. Luckily, it comes away easily.

  23 December

  Ma chère Elysabeth,

  I hope you are doing well. I have missed you deeply, and cannot wait to return to you. Despite our short time together, I find that already my life is less bright when you are not in it.

  London has been beautiful, but nothing like it would be if you had been here to share it with me. I have been desperately searching for the perfect gift for you. I passed a leather shop on Monday and decided to inquire after a custom coat for you, knowing how you like mine.

  With a bit of convincing, a design was settled on (I provided your measurements, please forgive my forwardness), and promised to me by today. I believe the coat will suit you marvelously, Chérie. I hope it fits well.

  The mask I discovered at a market along the Thames. If I recall correctly, you are lacking green in your collection. I do hope you enjoy your gifts. I will mail them this afternoon, and desperately hope the package will reach you by Christmas. When I spoke with the concierge this morning, I was assured it would make it to you in time, but I feel I may have been misinformed. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. I shall see you soon, ma chère. As ever, I am your devoted servant.

  Much love,

  Damien

  I finish reading and grin. Trust Damien to get me the best gift ever. It totally kicks my gift’s butt. I decide to wear my coat to dinner with my parents. I stretch out on the sofa to watch a few of the shows I have on DVR, then get up to get ready for dinner.

  ***

  When I get to my parents’ house, I let myself in and go straight to the living room.

  “Mom! Dad! Look at my awesome present!” I twirl around so they can get a good look at my new coat. “It’s my Christmas gift from Damien. It arrived today.”

  “Damien sent that to you?” my dad asks flatly.

  “Yes, Dad. Isn’t it great?”

  “Isn’t he in London?” he asks, voice fairly monotonous.

  “Yeah, with his family. Why?” My enthusiasm dims as I become aware that he’s not pleased.

  “It makes this gift all the more expensive.” His eyes narrow. “I had hoped he was above things like this.”

  “Um, Dad? What do you mean? It’s just a gift.”

  “When a man gives such an expensive gift to a woman, he expects something in return. I’ll be damned if he gets it from my little girl!” he says loudly.

  I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. “No, Dad, he’s not like that. It’s more a romantic gift than anything else. It would be like you bringing flowers home to mom.” He gives me an incredulous look.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lys. I could probably buy an entire nursery of roses for what he paid for that thing. It was obviously tailored to fit you. And that’s another thing. How in the hell did he know that it would fit!” My dad’s working himself up into a fit.

  I flounder, caught unaware by his sudden waves of anger. “He said he guessed at the measurements. It was made specifically for me, Dad. But—”

  “Ah, you see! Even more expensive, then.” I don’t know precisely what to say to calm my father. My temper, after all, is inherited from him, and I don’t want to deal with an explosion. I glance at my mom, hoping she’ll back me up, but it looks like she’s staying out of it for now

  “It’s a romantic gift. It probably didn’t even cost him his pocket change for the week. He mentioned it the letter he sent with it that he knows that I love his coat, so he had one made for me. It’s sweet, see?” I’m hoping my words will at least calm my father enough to listen to reason. I really should know better by now, once he gets on a role, there’s no appeasing him.

  “This is precisely what I was worried about with the way he was flaunting his wealth,” he says contemptuously. He sent you a coat that must be worth a fortune. To him it’s absolutely nothing, but to you it’s one of the best presents you will ever receive. Not only is he trying to buy you, it doesn’t even mean much to him!”

  I stand there, shocked. I can feel my temper building, and I’m sure my mom sees the warning signs as well, but my father isn’t that observant. “Damien has never been anything but a gentleman,” I declare vehemently. “He really likes me, and I really like him. He doesn’t expect anything from me.”

  “Don’t you use that tone with me, young lady,” he shakes a finger at me angrily. “I don’t want you seeing this Damien anymore. He isn’t the type of man I want my daughter associating with!” He’s practically yelling, a guaranteed way to piss me off, and this time is no exception.

  “What!? I’m twenty-one; you have no right to forbid me to see him!” my ears heat with anger, but I don’t bother backing down. My father is being ridiculous. “How do you think he’ll feel? He buys me a great gift and then I stop seeing him? He’ll think I only like him for his money! For that matter, don’t you care how I feel?” My voice is a screech by the end, and my mom rises, getting ready to head off the approaching storm. My father gives me a quick, withering look, like I’m being silly.

  “I may have no legal right to forbid you to see Damien, but I can cut off all financial support,” he says with a smug smile.

  His answer freezes me. “You wouldn’t!” I gasp out.

  “Do you want to find out?” he threatens.

  “You’d ruin my future over a gift from my boyfriend?” He wouldn’t really
. Would he?

  “No.” I didn’t think so. “I’m offering you a choice. Your boyfriend, or your education and a good life.”

  As if the two are mutually exclusive. My knees give way and I fall into a chair. School starts again in a week. I’m not sure there’s enough time to get a loan to pay tuition, much less get a job as well.

  I stare up at my father hopelessly. “You’re really going to make me choose?”

  “George—” my mom starts, but my father cuts her off.

  “Not now, Estel! What is your decision, Elysabeth?” he demands.

  “I have to decide right now? You’re asking me to make a life-altering decision without even a chance to weigh the pros, cons, and possible outcomes?”

  “There’s nothing to weigh. I know you’re too motivated to throw away your future.”

  Damn him for being right. “But I could get a loan. A job. There are options. Shades of grey beyond the black and white you’ve proposed. I need time to figure things out!” I’m yelling at him, uncaring of his response at this point.

  “You will decide now. And I will wait while you call this boy and tell him not to contact you again, or I’ll take your card, phone, and car, and cancel your accounts tomorrow.”

  “Over a coat!” My mind can hardly process this. My father has been intractable and irrational before, but never anything like this. His reaction makes no sense.

  I look over at my mother, my last chance at a peaceful resolution to this situation. She avoids my gaze, telling me she’s going to support my father.

  If he really takes my card, I won’t even have food money. I have about ten dollars in my wallet, and another six and some change sitting on my dresser at home. That’ll barely get me ramen for a week, and no one is hiring in January.

  Not that it would matter, as I wouldn’t have my car, or any money for the bus or a taxi, so I couldn’t get to an interview. And without a phone, no one would even be able to reach me to offer an interview.

  As I realize I have no other option, I slump down in my seat. My father obviously realizes what decision I’ve come to. Not that he really gave me much of a choice.

  “Call him now, Elysabeth.”

  “He’s on a flight back here, he won’t answer,” I mumble, refusing to look at him.

  “Then you can leave him a voicemail.”

  “A voicemail?” my head shoots up. “You expect me to break up with him over voicemail?”

  “You can give me your phone if you prefer,” he says sternly.

  I throw him a dirty look before rising and walking toward my old bedroom. I realize my father’s following me. “I expect privacy for this call.” I don’t even look at him. He stops following me, but I don’t hear him return to the living room.

  I shut the door firmly and take a few deep breaths to compose myself as much as possible. As the phone rings, I can’t decide whether or not I want him to pick up.

  “Elysabeth?” This is going to be hard. “Elysabeth, I cannot speak long. We are about to lift off for the second leg of our flight.”

  “Damien, I—” How the hell am I supposed to say this? “I can’t see you anymore.” My voice is flat, expressionless, but a single tear traces its way down my face.

  “Elysabeth? What are you saying? I do not understand. Why not? Was it something I did?”

  “No, Damien, you’re great. Your gift pissed off my father. He’s forbidden me to have any contact with you on the threat of cutting me off completely. There’s—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “There’s only a week until school starts. I don’t have time to find work and get a loan. I’m sorry Damien.” Tears fall freely down my face and an ache develops in my chest.

  “Elysabeth, please, I . . . I can talk to him.” Damien says, sounding panicked. “Explain my gift. I will . . . I will return it. He must understand. I will make him see. But you—I cannot—please do not—”

  My father pounds on the door. “Elysabeth! Time’s up. Say good-bye.”

  “I have to go, Damien.” My words are barely a whisper.

  Despite his protests for me to wait, I hang up the phone. I take a moment to wipe my face. My eyes are red, but I won’t give my father the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s gotten to me. When I wrench open the door, my father is standing there looking smug.

  “Come along, Lys. Dinner time.” He puts an arm around my shoulder.

  I stare at it contemptuously for a moment before pulling away from him in disgust. I’ve never hated anyone more in my life. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” My jaw is clenched to keep myself from yelling. “You’ve cost me the best relationship I’ve ever had over a present. A fucking present! Given from the heart, with no thought of reciprocation, despite what you think. I know this because he’s the only guy I’ve dated who hasn’t tried to get in my pants.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Elysabeth,” he says dismissively. “You’ll get over this quickly enough. Now, come have dinner and stop acting like a child.”

  “Like hell I will!” I shout contemptuously. “You expect me to sit down and pretend nothing is wrong? Everything is fucking wrong!” I grab my purse from the sofa where I’d set it. “I’m leaving. Don’t expect me home again anytime soon.”

  “Don’t you walk out on us!” he yells at my back.

  I spin around to face my father and stand on tiptoes so we’re nose to nose. “Or what? You already threw out your biggest threat. You have nothing left.” I leave quickly, practically slamming the door behind me, drowning out my father’s shouts to come back.

  CHAPTER 10

  I’m sitting on the sofa, exhausted, when Shawn gets home. For lack of a punching bag, I’d stood my mattress against the wall and spent well over an hour punching the hell out of it. My anger is gone, but I’m sore, and my hands hurt like hell.

  “Hey, Lys, I figured you’d still be with your parents.” His footsteps go down the hall to his room, then come back. “Lys?” Confused. “Lys!” Slightly panicked. “What happened? Oh my god, is that blood on your hands?”

  I look down, vaguely surprised to find that I do, indeed, have blood on my hands. Guess that’s why they hurt so bad.

  Shawn takes one of my hands carefully. “Holy crap, these are scraped to shit!” He grabs my shoulders to make me look him in the eye. “Were you attacked? Do you need to go to the hospital?” He sounds so concerned. Do I really look that bad?

  I shake my head slowly, not sure where to start. “I may need a new mattress.”

  “A new mattress? Lys, did you hit your head? Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, then you can tell me what happened.” He pulls me into the kitchen and washes off my hands. There’s some bruising, and scabs are already forming.

  “Lys, how did this happen?” Shawn’s really careful as he dries off my knuckles.

  “I punched the hell out of my mattress.” My voice is a monotone.

  “Why?” he asks fervently.

  “I got into a fight with my father.”

  “Oh, hell. Another one? Lys, you can’t keep doing this. And you can’t come home and punch things. You’re hurting yourself,” he declares.

  I shrug one shoulder, not caring. “It was him or an inanimate object. Take your pick.”

  “What was this fight over?”

  “My coat,” my voice catches, the emotions still simmering just below the surface.

  “Coat?” he asks, confused.

  “Damien’s gift finally got here. It was a leather trench. I wore it when I went to see my parents. My father got pissed off and said D . . . Damien was trying to buy me. I’m . . . I’m forbidden from having any contact with him ever again.” I blink quickly, hoping to stall the looming tears.

  Shawn snorts. “Right, he expects that to work?”

  I look up at him hopelessly. “He made me call Damien and break up with him.”

  Shawn’s jaw drops. In any other circumstances, it would probably be funny. “You actually did it?”

  “I had to.” I drop my head and stare at
my hands. “He threatened to cut me off completely if I didn’t. No money, no tuition, no phone, no car.” I sniff. “I have a week until school starts. I can’t get a loan in that amount of time. And I would have about sixteen dollars to my name. That’s barely ramen for a week. I didn’t have a choice, Shawnie.”

  Shawn pulls me into a hug, and I blink furiously, desperate not to cry. “Oh, Lys, I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head against his shoulder. “No you’re not. You’re probably happy I won’t ever see Damien again.”

  Shawn holds me away from him and looks me in the eye. “Lys, I could never be happy when you’re this miserable. Besides, I don’t agree with your dad. While I do think he’s hiding something, I don’t think Damien would ever try to buy you. Nor do I think he intends to harm you in any way.”

  “Shawn, what do I do?” My phone rings, and for a second I brighten at Damien’s ringtone. “I can’t answer it.” My face crumples. “I’m sure my father will check my phone records.”

  Shawn pulls me into another hug and rubs my back, offering support. “I don’t know what you should do, Lys. Give it some time. You’ll think of something. For now, let’s have a game night. You can imagine every zombie you kill has your dad’s face. I nod slowly, figuring that it will at least give me something else to focus on.

  While the zombie killing does help distract me, it doesn’t solve any problems, and early the next morning, after a nearly sleepless night, my anger and frustration are back in full force.

  I sit in my room trying to ignore the persistent ache in my chest as I desperately think of a way to work around my father’s ruling. My phone ringing pulls me from my thoughts. It’s my mother. I’m tempted to ignore the call, but I can’t do that. Even when I’m mad at her.

  “Hello Mother. You’re lucky I’m up. It’s only seven.”

  “Elysabeth, I know you do not sleep well after fights. Now, we need to talk.” Crap, the tone suggests I’m in trouble with her, now, too.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I don’t agree with your actions yesterday,” she starts in on me. “You were rude, disrespectful, and vulgar. He is your father and deserves to be treated with respect.” Her attack puts me on the defense and fuels my anger.