Color Me Pretty

places his hands at ten and two. “It was an accident, you know,” I tell him because I can't remember if we've cleared up that little detail yet. “I wasn't trying to kill myself.”
    “I believe you,” he tells me, without argument. “There's nothing about you that says you'd give up so easily.” I think of Kylie when he says this and hope to God she decides to call me when she gets out. She never gave me her number, and I never asked. Figured it wasn't my place.
    “If Marlena hadn't come … ” I begin, and I see Emmett grimace. My sister is apparently a sore subject for us both. “I think I might've been alright, you know? Now, I feel like things are so much more complicated with my family.” I hold my palms open and up, so I can stare at the lines in my skin. I wonder if there really is a way to tell the future from these little creases. I curl my fingers up. “They really believe I tried to kill myself, and I don't know how to convince them otherwise.”
    “You may not be able to,” Emmett says, eyes flickering over to my face and every now and again. “They're going to believe what they want to believe. We may have to just try and move past them and let bygones be bygones.”
    “I love that you say bygones, ” I tell him, letting my family troubles slide away. “And dope and stellar and … most especially we. ” Emmett's lips turn up in a grin, and he reaches over for just a brief moment to take my hand and press a kiss to my knuckles. “But I don't know if they're ever going to speak to me again.” I don't say that they blame Emmett, that they find him disgusting. He already knows that.
    “They will,” he promises, and then his face gets kind of weird, and a little chill niggles its way into my belly. I sit up straight and look at him, waiting patiently for something terrible to come crashing down around my head. “Claire,” he breathes, and I feel so sick, I want to throw up. Emmett's voice is full of fear. He thinks that whatever it is he's going to tell me will frighten me, too. My first thought, of course, is new girlfriend followed closely by old girlfriend, but I force myself away from these thoughts. That kiss in the lobby … that wasn't faked. It's impossible to pretend with something like that. I touch a finger to my lips for further reassurance. “I want to ask you something, but I also want you to know that if you need to, you can say no.”
    I stay silent and continue to stare. I can't even imagine where this is going.
    “You've been through a lot, and I hate to spring this on you, but I … ” Emmett wets his lips and raises his left hand to adjust the brown beanie he's got on.
    “Just spit it out,” I tell him. My stomach is rumbling, and I know that I have to eat soon. I have to or my body will get used to resisting and it will be too, too easy to just go back to doing what I've been doing. Emmett won't make me, so I have to make myself. That's what I've always had to do. After all, it's impossible to help someone who won't help herself.
    “My father is coming into town,” Emmett blurts, and then groans, deep and low, like he can't even believe he just said that. I think of his scars and why he has them. I only got the most condensed version of the story, but all of that pain, that's from Emmett's father. Like the slice of cake I had a conversation with, Emmett needs to confront his source and have a nice, long talk. I don't know that then. All I think is that this is all a coincidence. Later, I realize that in his desperation, in that brief time period where he thought I might actually be dead, Emmett saw his pain simmering beneath the surface. He's okay on the outside, but deep down, he has one last bit of healing to take care of. This, this is it. If he's going to help me, really help me, he has to make sure he's free and clear first. That's his motivation. “He wants to go to dinner tomorrow night. Would you … like to go?”
    Hell to the fuck no, is kind of what I want to say, but I can't. I have to go. Somehow, I sense that maybe today, now, Emmett might need me as much as I need him. He feels guilty for it; it's written all over his face, but there it is and there's nothing he can do about it.
    “The timing is shit, and I don't even really want to go, but he says he's getting married again, and I … ”
    “I'll go,” I say. “But only if I get a wig first.” I pause. “And one of my gowns. Some recon might be in order.” Emmett nods, and he