Color Me Pretty

be with Emmett, here. I don't want a feeding tube in my nose or an orderly over my shoulder. I don't want to go back to Crescent Springs, and I sure as fuck am not going to Bayview Hills. Understand that, okay? I didn't try to kill myself.” I step forward, but Marlena doesn't step back. Getting her out of here is going to be a nightmare. I should've never answered the fucking door.
    “Then how on earth did the glass get to your wrists, Claire? Did it float there?”
    “I put it there to feel , Marlena!” I scream. I get up in her face, but she doesn't budge. “I put it there because you hurt me so bad, I couldn't even feel the pain. Do you understand that?” I scoff at her and step back, shaking my head, turning away and looking up at the ceiling. “Of course you don't. Nobody understand me.” I pause. “Except maybe Emmett.” This last part comes out in a whisper, but Marlena hears it. She's not one to miss any information.
    “First night home from the hospital and he has sex with you? Don't you think that's weird, Claire? Normal people do not sleep with sick people, Claire, and you're sick. You need medical help.” I close my eyes because the anger inside of me is so bright it's blinding.
    “You're so selfish,” I tell her, looking over my shoulder, watching her watching me. Her eyes keep drifting to my calves and getting stuck there. That bothers me more than it should. “Emmett sees the person I am inside. You see a project, something that needs to be fixed.”
    “I love you, Claire,” she tells me as I spin around to face her.
    “Liar.” I lock my eyes on her face and try to let my emotions shine through. Maybe she does, maybe , but she doesn't act like it. If you love something, you let it go. You do not trap it; you do not pass judgment on it; you do not hurt it the way she's hurting me. I nibble the inside of my cheek, and I try to figure out if there's a way to win this argument. There isn't. Not really. Emmett said we'd all have to move past this, but how? Marlena won't let us. “Hire Emmett back.” My sister laughs at this and puts her hands on her wide hips. For one, infinitesimally small second, I'm envious of them. Marlena actually looks like a woman. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the fact that the shirt I'm wearing hangs straight from my neck to my thighs.
    “Claire, Emmett is half the problem.”
    My eyes challenge hers – gray looking into blue.
    “He's half the solution. When he came around, I had already dug my own grave. It was just a matter of time until I fell into it.”
    “He's a pervert.”
    “You're a bitch.”
    Silence descends on the little, yellow house with the purple door and the gray roof.
    Outside the open door, the rain continues to fall. It might be summer, but there's always a storm brewing somewhere, and I guess right now it's here, hanging over us, weighing us down. I stand up as straight as I can.
    “When are you coming home?” Marlena asks like she didn't just insult the man I'm falling in love with, like she didn't just blow off everything I told her.
    “Maybe never,” I respond, keeping my distance, standing my ground. Thank God, I'm eighteen. If I were underage by even a day, I'd be screwed. She'd drag me back home kicking and screaming. “Not until you all can accept Emmett, until you can accept me.”
    “We love you, Claire.”
    “Love and acceptance are not the same things, Marlena Morgan Simone.” I turn around and walk down the hallway, and she follows. When I hit my bedroom door, I go inside and I slam it in her face, locking it behind me. With my eyes shut tight, I slide down the wall until I'm seated in the spot where my desk used to stand.
    “Claire.” Marlena taps at the door gently at first and then a little frantic. “If you don't open up, I'm going to call the police. I won't let you hurt yourself again.” I open my eyes and look around the room. As Emmett said, the whole place is empty and swept clean, floor mopped, shades drawn, closet open and bare. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl to the edge of the bathroom. The door is open, so I have a clear shot of the inside, the gleaming white tile, the toilet, the sink. I sit on my knees and stare while Marlena starts to shout at me. But I won't be bullied, and I won't be bossed around. Fuck, let her call the police. I don't give a shit.
    I look at the floor there and I try to imagine the blood, the numbness. I glance over my shoulder and try to remember the