Color Me Pretty

remain steadfast in your belief that nothing can ever get better, that life will always fail you. Yes, I think I went there hoping that we could make up and that I could forget everything he ever did, but that's not the way life works. I know now that I was on the right path, that I'm going to have to wait. If he decides he needs help, I'll be here.”
    “And you'll forgive him?”
    Emmett sighs and I know this is hard for him. But he's getting through it. And he's doing it without any help from me.
    “I can forgive him for what he did to me, but not what he did to them. All I can do is help guide him to it. That is, if Liza and the other women even want to forgive him. Some of them stay, I think, because they feel like deserve it, like they should suffer for whatever it is they think they've done. I don't want you to feel that way, Claire.”
    “I'm not the same as them,” I protest, and I'm not, but I'm similar. Like Emmett said before, different fur, same animal. Pain. Acceptance. Recovery. It's universal. If I want to get better, I have to get through it. “Are you mad about the purging?” I ask tentatively. If he says he is, I'll probably get pissed, push him away and grab my wig back. But for now, I just sit there and let the tears fall. I can't seem to stop them, no matter how hard I try.
    Emmett holds out his arms and I fall into them, letting him hold me as the rain drizzles down around us.
    “Of course not. It was a mistake; it's over now. Not a big deal.” I close my eyes and burrow my face into his armpit. Could I have survived this without him? Short-term, maybe, but not long-term. Eventually, I would've relapsed and gone right back to doing what I'd been doing. Right now, there's a hope for something different.
    I gather my resolve together, pull it tight into me, and lay there knowing that right now, nothing can hurt me. Nothing.
    Over an hour passes with neither of us speaking.
    When I finally do get the courage, I pull back and look up at Emmett's face. It's peaceful. He's back to just being. I like that. He can touch his pain and tease it and recognize that it's there, but he can also forget about it, live as if it never was. That's what I'm going to have to do. One day, it will disappear for good, I know it will.
    “Emmett,” I command him, and he looks down at me. This time a shaft of moonlight catches across his face and makes his eyes shimmer. “Kiss me.” He smiles and does what I ask without protest, bending low, capturing my mouth with his as the rain switches direction and starts streaming through the skylight straight into our faces. It pours down our skin and coats us in slick wetness as we drink it in between kisses, taste a piece of night sky and a bit of freedom. That's one of the things I like most about being out here: there's nobody else around to see. Whatever happens here belongs to us and only us.
    A thrill runs through me, like I've been shocked by lightning or something and for a split second, I feel like Old Claire, like the fiery redhead I was before all of this started. But I can't be her again. I have to be New Claire because she's stronger, better, because she can fight off the demons and sing with the angels.
    I tear Emmett's wet shirt open and buttons go flying. He looks surprised but not displeased as I kiss my way down his wet belly and go for his pants. If it was cold up here before, it isn't anymore, and now everything just feels hot and wet, like the water could evaporate at any moment, turn into steam and scald us both. Emmett stops me after I undo his pants, before I can put my mouth around him, and he pulls my face up with gentle fingers under the chin, kisses me again.
    “I want to look at you,” he whispers against my lips and I swear, the tree house spins in circles around me. I crawl onto the bed and bring him with me. We lay side by side and kiss without tongue, pressing our lips together as water pools around us. I think we could drown and we wouldn't notice. We're too busy touching and feeling, warming up cold bodies with fervid fingers and shedding our wet clothing. Most of it has to be peeled away, like the layers on an onion, stripped slowly off, dragged down, thrown away. I think my dress falls through the hole in the floor, but I'm not sure. In the moment, it doesn't matter at all, not even one, little bit.
    Emmett slides on the top of me and then moves down, spreading me open, so he can taste me along with the rain. I look up through the