Color Me Pretty

about you?”
    I sit up and look around, at the curtains we hung and the bedding we laid out. It's all wet, but otherwise undisturbed. It might be rainy, but it isn't windy. At least there's that. And this place, even in the dark, even in the wet, is so magical, such a far cry from everyday life that I couldn't ever find fault in coming here. Even if the forest were on fire, I think this place would stay safe. I think it'll always be safe.
    “Yeah, actually I do.”
    I get on my hands and knees and crawl over to the area between the two beds. It's the driest spot there is, plus, if I position myself just right, I can look up and out the skylight at the dancing tree tops and the gray clouds. Emmett joins me and curls himself around my body, so that I'm tucked into him, head under his chin, body wrapped in his arms.
    “I'm sorry about dragging you there,” he tells me. “I shouldn't have even gone. It's not like … it's not like I knew my mother anyway.” He's still sad about her death though, sad that he never got to know her, sad that she cared more about herself than she did him. If she had loved him, she would've taken him with her and not left him with a man who hurt others to make himself feel better. “Besides, I knew he'd never changed. I just … I hoped.”
    “Nothing wrong with that,” I whisper although I don't know if I really believe that yet. I close my hands and let the sound of the rain lull me into a half-sleep.
    I think it's a long while later that Emmett speaks again.
    “Just because he hasn't changed doesn't mean you can't,” Emmett tells me. My eyes open and focus on a trickle of wetness that's dripping onto the green and brown bedspread we picked out together. Seems like that took place years ago, but it was only a week. Just one week.
    “How do you know that?”
    “Because you're stronger than him. Ted is weak, Claire. That's why he hurts others to make himself feel better. I used to think he hurt them because he got off on it or something, that he was a sadist or whatever. But I don't think that's true anymore. I think he's damaged so deep inside that he doesn't know how to handle it, so he punishes the people around him for it.” Emmett pauses and takes a deep breath. “I can't let his pain or their pain be my own. I can't save them if they don't want to be saved. That's the first step to recovery. Knowing you have a problem, wanting to change it. I stopped cutting because I wanted to. You can do the same thing.”
    “Are you okay?” I ask him, sitting up, scooting away a bit, so I can try to see into his eyes. It's hard up here, bathed in this all consuming darkness. The moonlight has fled, but I still feel okay, still feel at peace. This dark isn't the same kind that was in my soul. This is different. This dark is just a different side of light, a frame if you will. Something to show you how pretty the glow of the sun is. It's just a comparison, not an enemy.
    “Me?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Of course. I was more worried about you.”
    “Because of the puking?” Emmett reaches over and touches my hair, taking it gently between his fingers. At first, I think he's just touching it affectionately, but then he starts to pull the wig away, and my hands come up and clamp down around it. I stare at him like he's completely lost it.
    “Claire,” he says, trying to move forward. I scoot back.
    “Emmett.” I don't want him to take my wig away. He pauses and drops his hands to his lap.
    “I was worried about you because I didn't want you to feel discouraged. Not everybody can beat their problems, but you can.” I think of Kylie when he says that, and I wonder how she's doing. I really, really hope she calls me.
    “How do you know that? Look at you. You thought you were over your pain, but you're not. Your dad is still haunting you, but you can avoid him. I can't avoid food, Emmett. Not without dying again.” He looks up at me and the shadows on his face shift enough that I know he's smiling.
    I start to cry. Goddamn it.
    “Claire,” Emmett says again and then the wig is being lifted away from my scalp and set aside. Before I can protest, hot lips brush against the fine layer of hair there, tease away the pain and the embarrassment with warmth. I want to punch Emmett for taking it off, but I can't. All I can do is sit there and tremble and wonder why he's not the one crying. “My father is the perfect example of what happens when you refuse to change, when you