AMELIA

Today is the first time I go to Harper's on my own. I followed the cab, leaving Cam sleeping in his room. Earlier, when we returned from school I helped run him a bath, and when he was done, freshened up, wearing only joggers, I found him face flat, fallen asleep on his messy bed. I put some medication in his torn knuckles. He whines and mumbles rubbish but doesn't wake up. He needed to rest so I let him have it.

Ryan's mom says to encourage him to stay on his feet as he's in the earlier stage of walking. So after feeding him, I get him pushing his walker, chasing step by step after the push toys around the nursery. There is something about toddlers that's so pure; you'd enjoy their company, and they'd make you easily happy.

It's in between motivating Ryan that the car toy I am controlling leaves the slightly open door. I rush after it to retrieve it, but Harper's door is open, opposite Ryan's. I stop, not that the toy ran into it; it's that it's the cutest room I could only see the replica on Pinterest.

Harper is there unboxing bundles of Hermes orange boxes laid out on her canopy bed; she is talking to someone, probably on the phone.

The funny thing is, Harper is too perfect, she doesn't have a blemish. It makes it impossible to even compete with her. God knows I don't want to.

I should go back before she catches me. As I turn, not fully able to finish the thought, she calls, "Amy?"

My eyes squeeze shut, regretfully before I awkwardly turn.

"Hey," I smile embarrassedly.

"Come in, please." She waves over, "I need your help. Come see this."

Okay?

As I step into the room, I comprehend where the other voices are coming from. Her laptop is open on her bed, and there is an ongoing video call with Bree and Rose.

"Say hi to the girls." Harper beckons at the screen while grabbing some scarves, rolling one around her neck and holding a few more as she poses at me.

"So we are choosing, and the girls can't come here, but physically what do you think?" She holds out five samples.

"Aren't you having all of them?" I don't get it.

"Yes, but what's your favorite among them? Bree and Rose chose the red, but I think this brown with a touch of yellow is sick. I'm going with one tomorrow, it should suit this bag and shoes." She says, shoving the scarves at me and grabbing pairs of new heels and purses from other boxes.

They're really pretty.

"So what do you think?" She asks, waiting for my reply.

"Okay. I think they're all beautiful, but I would go with the brown for those shoes and purse." I answer, and she squeals.

"I knew it." She excitedly says and collects the scarfs back, hugging me unexpectedly. I was tense but didn't let her notice.

"Okay, I got to go," I announce to her, and she mouths a "Thank you." with a smile.

"Bye Amy." The two girls wave, and I half smile at the screen, turning to leave.

"I can't believe Cam bought you all those." One of the girls says from the call, and the other also goes on, saying, "Literally those must cost thousands."

"He said he was going to spoil me. So I wasn't expecting anything less." Harper replies, braggingly.

I feel my knees turning numb. I couldn't do anything. The walls are confining. I can't stay any more minutes in this house.

"Actually-" Swallowing, I turn over, picking at my thumb with not enough air in my lungs. "I was going to ask if I could leave. I have somewhere to go. You don't have to pay me today."

"Ooh." Harper's face falls. But she goes over to her drawer, grabs something, and comes over, "It's actually just an hour left. I will look after Ryan." She hands over the money with a sad smile. "Thank you for the help, Amy. Really." She adds, hesitating to step back; her expression seems equal to when holding back something. Staring at her, I plotted the darkest revenge on my head, I pictured her blue eyes gouged. I hate that my mind had to go there about someone, much worse, for someone, not Jake. She retreated from me eventually.

I leave the house seeking oxygen, cluelessly walking down the street, rubbing my chest, my eyes blurry with tears.

I shouldn't care. I don't give a fuck about them.

That stupid bracelet. Ripping it, I throw it far into the air, and I drop down by the curb because I might faint, my heart is racing so fast.

***

The cab stops in the driveway a quarter to seven in the evening; Cam's car is parked in its usual spot. It means he's home, likely still asleep. I get out of the cab and briefly check my face in the mirror; it's tear-stained, not fitting my best appearance.

Unlocking the door, I step in. I know Jake isn't home; he stays longer at work so I will just get myself to the room and stay there until tomorrow.

As I take off my jacket and hang it, a figure comes up from the living room direction. I look up, a little taken aback, and find Cam, casually standing there, holding his favorite cup of coffee and yawning. "You are home earlier. I was about to come pick you up."

"I am home so you shouldn't worry." I retort and head up the stairs, trying to lose him, but his face frowns in concern, and he proceeds with his torment over me. He follows.

"Are you mad at me?" He asks, pretending to be clueless.

Or maybe he doesn't know yet that I've unraveled his little plan against me. What I just don't understand is, when I become his greatest enemy that he could make shattering my happiness his sole purpose.

"Is it something I said?" He asks again as I add speed down the hall on the second floor, not replying to him. "Amy?"

Opening the door, I gritted, "Good night."

"You won't have dinner?" He questions when it isn't even his problem but before he can process more of it, I shut the door in his face.

Quiet envelops me for a while as I lean against the door with my eyes closed until the knocking begins.

"Ava, open the door." He starts. "I am not kidding. I have a key; I will open it." He threatens yet again.

The forceful banging shakes the four walls of the room, and chills from it make my bones cold.

"What did I do? I know it is me. I'm always the cause of your problem. Just tell me, hate me, but don't keep it to yourself."

I want to shout at him, but I don't even have the energy; what difference will it make? He's always done what sets right with him. There was a heavy burden in my chest; I couldn't fight him like this. I can't fight him at all. I brought this upon myself for having a soft spot for him, so I only scurry to the bed and hide my face in the pillows, crying as he continues to knock until exhaustion dozes me off to sleep.