With a giant swell of emotion, Amelia came undone.
She swung her arm across the nightstand. The vase of powder pink roses crashed to the floor. The petals scattered, and water seeped along the hardwood’s grain. Her throat burned, and tears stained her cheeks. Amelia swung again. The lamp exploded against the wall.
Dark satisfaction filled her up and begged for more. God, it’d feel so good to destroy these beautiful things, to smash them into a million little pieces.
Before she could swing again, Mirabelle bounded into the room. Her baffled gaze darted to Amelia, who stood breathless on the other side of the bed. With guilt written on her face, Mirabelle reached out a hand and guided Amelia to sit on the bed next to her.
“My brother will be back later and wants to talk to you,” she said and ran her fingers through Amelia’s damp hair. “I could do your makeup. I’m decent at it. I do it for my girlfriends all the time. I know I always feel better when I feel pretty.”
With a roll of her shoulder, Amelia unburdened herself from Mirabelle’s touch.
“I don’t want to be pretty for him. I don’t care if he thinks I’m pretty.”
“No, that’s not…” Mirabelle frowned at her hands wrung in her lap and shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it’d make you feel better. I’m only trying to?—”
“Whatever you’re trying to do for me, don’t. I just want to go home.”
Home.It slipped through Amelia’s lips thin and quiet.
“Please just tell Emory I want to go home. I need to find my mom. He listens to you. Please.”
Mirabelle eyed the open door and chewed her bottom lip.
“I can’t. I may be his sister, but I don’t make decisions. I know none of this makes sense, and I’m sure Emory will explain, but things will get better.”
“You don’t know that!” Amelia cried and flew to her feet. In her perfect bedroom with glossy hair and beautiful things, Mirabelle’s life was neatly put together. The fucking gall to say things would get better. “You don’t know anything about me. My dad is looking for me, and when he finds me, Emory will pay for what he’s done. He kidnapped me and had my friend killed. What kind of person are you that you can stand by while he does terrible things?”
Amelia stood tall, but the pride in taking a stand dissipated as Mirabelle slinked toward her, eyes ablaze with her own rage.
“You’re what, twenty-two, twenty-three? I hear you’ve lived a real nice life, and I bet you think your father will swoop in and fix this. Well, I got news for you, baby. Your daddy can’t stop what’s coming, and just because Emory saved your life doesn’t mean he won’t put you in the ground without a second thought.”
Amelia clutched the towel knotted at her chest and shuffled backwards.
“Careful.” Mirabelle pointed to the shards of glass a few inches from her bare feet. “You think Emory’s a monster,” she said, her anger doused temporarily. “I heard you say it. He’s right,though. You don’t know what a monster truly is. Our other brother. He’s the real monster.”
“Is he what’s coming?”
Mirabelle contemplated the twin gashes on Amelia’s cheek and throat but skirted the question.
“I just meant that things have gotten dark. More violence, more death. Emory’s trying to figure out why so he can stop it. If he were truly a monster, do you think he’d bother?”
Though rhetorical, Amelia still declined an answer and asked another question of her own.
“Where’s your other brother?”
Fear splintered Mirabelle’s façade of strength. She drew a long breath and whispered, “I don’t want to talk about him. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She snatched a black, long-sleeved dress from the bed and chucked it at Amelia. “Get some rest before Em gets back. You two have a lot to talk about.”
Amelia shook her head. She had nothing to say to Emory, not unless he knew where her mom was or would let her go home.
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“You have to.”
Mirabelle scooped up the other dresses from the bed and leveled a look at Amelia that entreated her to comply.
“I won’t tell him anything.”
She only meant to test the waters, but Mirabelle dumped the clothes in the closet and laughed at her expense, that she’d be so foolishly brazen.
