I watch her take a deep breath before looking away from Cam and fucking finally giving me those eyes.
“I’m pretty sure you can handle it,” she says softly, and once again, I see that pain just below the surface.
“Might be so, still asking for your help.”
One way or another, I’m getting to the bottom of this shit. I finally have everything in my life going on the right track, full speed ahead, and I want my little firecracker along for the ride with me.
Her lips thin for just a second before she catches herself. Right when she’s about to open her mouth, I assume to give me another line of bullshit, my mom interrupts her. “You can use my bathroom, honey. Ember, the makeup remover is in the second drawer on the left.”
I raise one of my eyebrows at Ember, daring her to fucking say no now. Panic briefly crosses her face, so fleeting I question if that’s what I saw, before she stands from the table and starts to walk up the deck stairs and into the house. Not even saying a word.
“Come here, little prince,” my sister coos and takes her youngest from my arms. “Be nice,” she whispers at me when I move to stand. I look at her with confusion, but she just gives me a sad smile.
What in the fucking hell? I swear all the women in my life are insane.
I unsnap the tutu I had made for myself when Molly told me she wished I had one just like hers as I walk up the deck stairs, dropping it on the couch when I enter the house. The silence around me is so thick I want to knock something off the wall just to ease the trepidation it’s creating. Shaking off the ridiculous feelings, I walk through the house, up the stairs, and into my parents’ bedroom at the end of the hall. I find Ember in their bathroom pulling out some girly shit, and I stop in the doorway to wait for her to acknowledge that I’m there.
“How long are you planning to stand there?” she asks a minute later, not looking away from what she’s doing.
“Depends. How long are you planning to ignore me, babe?” I shoot back, my confusion growing when her shoulders pull tight.
“Don’t call me that,” she seethes, only pausing briefly in her task.
“What the fuck, Em?”
“Just don’t. Do not call me babe. I’m not your fucking babe,” she says with so much hate in that one word I’m struck dumb.
“Right,” I stutter, finding my feet and walking into the room. Maybe it’s her lady time? I sit on the chair in front of my mom’s vanity and look up at her. Her eyes are pinched tight and her chest is moving rapidly with her rushed breaths. “It’s just a word, Em. I didn’t realize it was offensive.”
Her eyes snap open, and she looks down at me, the pain not even masked in the slightest.
“What’s going on here?” I cluelessly question.
She picks up one of the square cotton looking things in one hand and a bottle in the other, back to ignoring me, but her face is saying enough. I search my mind trying to figure out what’s happening right now, but fuck if I have a single light bulb going off.
I close my eyes out of instinct when she moves toward my face with that shit, her movements angry as she roughly wipes my face.
“Keep your head still,” she snaps.
“Kind of hard to do that when you’re dead set on removing a layer of skin, babe.”
She stops instantly, and I curse myself.
“Do not call me that!” she screams.
I open my eyes, blinking when whatever the fuck she had been wiping on me gets in my eyes and burns. I stand quickly, knocking over the chair and stick my head down, turning on the water in the sink and grabbing the towel off the hook. I scrub quickly before standing and looking down at her. She hasn’t moved an inch, but now, her hands are gripping the counter so hard, it’s as if it’s the only thing keeping her standing.