WHITTAKER, emilee brynn

[EMILEE BRYNN WHITTAKER]

SIXTEEN. HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT. HETEROSEXUAL. OCD. REBECCA PEAD.
( EMILEE BRYNN WHITTAKER )

I SEE YOUR EYES, YOU'RE BARELY SOBER.
I HEAR YOUR VOICE, YOU'RE CALLING OUT FROM ME TO YOU.
the character

ABOUT EMILEE heyy this is emilee brynn whittaker and she's sixteen years old. she'll respond to emilee, emme (that's pronounced em-ME) or em and she's definitely a straight female. she's been told that she looks like rebecca pead, but she's not as much of a camera whore.

THE PERSONALITY emilee is a very bright girl, both in intelligence and in demeanor. she's very charming in a way, despite her abrasive words. it almost doesn't matter what she says because she says it nicely. it's hard to take anything she says seriously, even though eight percent of the time when she's insulting you, she means it. she's not scared to say what she feels and for the most part, this gives off a feeling of confidence that people aren't apt to contradict, leaving her feeling like she's won. this has made her feel almost invincible, in a strange sense of the word and between this and her ocd nature of controlling everything, emilee has been left with a loaded god complex that isn't up for any challenging any time soon.

as stated, emilee likes to control the little things around her, whether it's people's confidence levels or the way her room needs to be just so. it bothers her when things don't go her way, but more to a point where she feels panicked instead of angered, which makes her feel more vulnerable, less in control and eventually, she'll just break down. up until she was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, her mom would attempt to clean her room in a way that her mom liked it, and emilee would get frustrated for no reason and end up in tears and she couldn't understand why. she doesn't like people invading her personal space, either, but not to a point where she can't stand human contact. she would just like a little warning before being hugged or something like that.

finally, emilee is very concerned with everything that is going on, everywhere and at every moment. it's almost like she's intensely curious, but she feels an almost need to know what people are whispering about and stuff. she almost feels as if she doesn't have a choice but to find out, which land her in some pretty sticky situations sometimes. if there's something happening, she wants to be a part of it, which sometimes leaves her exhausted and regretful. emilee can't help but want to find out, as if she's never heard that curiosity killed the cat.

THE HISTORY emilee was born in mid-february sixteen years ago to cadel and alana whittaker, both happily married and ecstatic over the firstborn baby after five years of trying to conceive. cadel insisted on not knowing the sex of his baby because, he claimed, that if he didn't know, it would most certainly be a boy. however, when emilee turned out to be a girl, alana was more than content. she wanted a baby girl more than anything. however, a mere few months into emilee's life, alana learned that she would never be able to naturally conceive again. this left cadel heartbroken that he wouldn't have a son to name after himself and when alana brought up the idea of a surrogate mother, cadel was too pleased to object. and the two of them made a pact that they would try for as long as possible until they had a boy.

the couple soon learned that they would be having twins, and this time, alana insisted on knowing the sexes of her babies, and as it turned out, there was one boy and one girl. the babies were born months too early, however, and the girl was stillborn, though the boy was not. they named him after his father, as had always been the plan, and daddy's little girl soon took a disliking to the 'intruder' in her household. baby cadel was taking up all of her mother and father's attention. she was never kind to her little brother. instead, she was disgusted by him. his throw-up and poop were gross and his wailing hurt her ears immensely. she stayed as far from his room as possible.

when emilee was six, she fell sick with the flu, her temperature shooting up to levels that were so high, her mother bathed her in ice and then rushed her to the emergency room. a week later, once her fever was broken and the flu was being treated, the doctor's told alana some devastating news: the flu virus had triggered emilee's immune system to attack emilee's islet cells, which were the ones that produced insulin. from that day on, it would be impossible for emilee's body to produce insulin at all. at first, emilee couldn't comprehend why she needed an insulin pump, or why her mother needed to draw blood from her finger multiple times a day, no matter how much alana tried to explain it to her. but she grew used to it, and by the time she could work google, she fully understood what exactly had happened--and that it would permanently affect her life every day until she died. she hadn't exactly excepted it, but she came to terms with it, and by the time she was fifteen, she found that she could almost control her weight with it. if she used less insulin, she would get sickly, but skinny. her mother noticed at first, but emilee assured her that she'd done research and that it wouldn't hurt her, even though she'd done no such thing.

when she was twelve, emilee became very aware of how when she felt like she was out of control, it felt like the world could have been collapsing, or like she was dying. she casually mentioned this to her mother, who took her to a psychiatrist, where she was diagnosed with mild anxiety problems and a very mild form of ocd. it wasn't enough to complete cripple her day to day life, but it was enough to prescribe the girl yet another medication, this time to keep her from panicking enough to reduce her to a mental breakdown. however, emilee flushes the pills down the toilet, terrified that the medicine will change who she is as a person. she tried taking them once and she didn't like how they had made her feel.

two weeks after emilee's sixteenth birthday, she and her brother were at a giant party thrown by a neighbor. she was having fun with her friends, getting drunk and smoking weed in the basement. and then it came time to play seven minutes in heaven. cadel was so drunk that disappearing into a closet with another guy for everyone to see wasn't a problem to him; it was merely what he wanted to do--and had been doing for months. and the next morning, he didn't remember a thing, although emilee did. she was shocked. it wasn't that she disapproved, but, she'd never thought of her brother as gay before. he'd always seemed so masculine. she casually dropped hints until one day he came out to her as 100% homosexual, but made her promise not to tell their parents until he got a chance to. to this day, emilee is dying to tell someone--anyone--and she can't let it go, even though she would never dream of betraying her brother's trust like that.

SO SAY THAT YOU JUST WANT TO RUN AWAY.
AND REPLAY ALL THE THINGS THAT I TRIED TO SAY.
behind the character

hey bitches, it's CAZI and i've been pimpin' these hoes for about EIGHT YEARS. i know right, it's great isn't it? need to get a hold of me? hit me up by PM. AIM. MSN. EMAIL. i'm also in the EASTERN time zone just so you know. don't need to be telling you people twice. also meet the rest of my lovely babies, KIERAN DILLON YAJIMA!

There was the promise of autumn borne on the breeze that followed the brunette into the coffee shop, but Emilee couldn't decide whether she liked it or not. She'd always considered fall her favorite season, full of bonfires and sweatshirts and leaves crunching under your toes, but this summer had convinced her that bonfires were still beautiful under a summer moon, sweatshirts looked good with jean shorts and that the warm sand covering your bare feet as you let the thick, burning rays of the sun soak through you was just as satisfying as a dead leaf. Emilee was almost sad to see the summer go, and with it, the weeknight raves and drinking fests that always went hand in hand with summer vacation. It was hard to deny the freedom of summer and chase after a constricting season like fall, but time didn't stop and the seasons didn't halt for Emilee, no matter how many times she made 11:11 wishes that they would. As the glass door of Starbucks swung open again behind her, Emilee suddenly became very aware that she'd stopped in the middle of the store and had been staring off into space. With a startle of embarrassment, she stepped into the line that had already starting to grow long in the time Emilee had been dreaming of the ocean and sunsets. She bit down on one polished nail, the backwards French manicure fresh from the day before, with a line of glitter drawn between the black tip of the nail and the clear base. It wasn't that Emilee always bit down on her nails, but every now and then it felt good, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. It was unexplainable and undefinable, which were two things that irked Emilee just for being what they were. If something didn't have a definition, Emilee would find it. She knew she could, and more often than not, she came to a definition of her liking, that--while not always acceptable by anyone but herself--had to appease her frantic mind until a true explanation could be found. But instead of making Emilee panic, biting her nails felt good for no reason whatsoever, which in and of itself, was normally enough to have Emilee grinding her teeth in annoyance.

The line moved slowly forward as the people behind the counter fought to keep up with the flow of customers who had decided that the nipping breeze was enough to make them want to rush into the first chain coffee store they could find and buy whatever hot lattes, cappuccinos or just plain coffee they could afford, and probably some for the mothers, siblings and pets, too. Some people were so annoying. They only bought things because they could buy things. They had the money, so why the hell not spend it on expensive coffee? Emilee was different, though. She wasn't just buying Starbucks for the sake of spending money. Emilee was addicted to their skinny hazelnut lattes, which she would drink all day and night forever and ever and ever (amen) if she could. She knew that the caffeine in each one just made her want more and it was probably just a marketing tactic, but it was a smart one, and she had fallen for it many times over. She wasn't much for buying into the subculture that was fast food, but treating herself to lattes and french fries and milkshakes every now and then wasn't awful for her--in fact, just the idea of french fries after her homework kept her alive. Or if she ate the disgusting broccoli her mom had put on her plate, she could help herself to as much ice cream from the freezer as she goddamn wanted. Of course, it had to be low fat because Emilee was sick of all the weight she watched herself put on after binging on things that didn't come in a lite version, like french fries or cheeseburgers. And a skinny hazelnut latte was just that--skinny. Sure, it had a little fat and sugar and calories in it, but it was far less than some of the other alternatives, and Emilee had never been blessed with the metabolism of a hummingbird anyway. It was more like that of pig. But no matter. That's what diet and exercise were for, right?

The line moved up again, and this time, Emilee was at the front of it. She smiled at the guy behind the counter who could have been hot if he would have just taken out his septum piercing, and ordered her tall hot skinny hazelnut latte, paid for it and stepped off to the side to watch another guy make her coffee for her. The way the people at Starbucks could just make drinks from memory like that had always amazed her. How anyone had a memory to do that kind of thing exactly the same over and over and over was astounding and probably would have made her brain hurt. So, working at Starbucks was crossed off the list of jobs she could apply at. While waiting for the drink, Emilee ran a hand through her long brown hair that was currently pulled half up, half down and secured with a large, frilly black ribbon that matched the lace that lined the neckline on her tank top almost perfectly, but not quite. It was a grey, polka dotted shiny spaghetti strap tank top that had a thin black ribbon tied right under her not so enormous boobs and a hem of black lace along the bottom and at the v-shaped neckline that dropped a controversial drop down her chest. Along with that were her favorite, dark wash flair jeans and a pair of black ballet flats that she never wore and she was sad that she had wasted such a perfect outfit on a trip to the coffee shop. She accepted the coffee from the guy, fumbling with her wallet, car keys and the drunk before finally setting everything down on the counter to collect herself.