𝟎𝟗𝟐.                                         𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲

demons ────      imagine dragons

( this was a hard one to write . . .
but emory and brooke are so important to me )

warning: discussions of death & self-harm

☀︎ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯

𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧 𝖠 𝖡𝖫𝖠𝖭𝖪𝖤𝖳 𝖠𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖣 𝖬𝖸 𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖣𝖤𝖱𝖲，𝖨 𝖬𝖮𝖵𝖤 𝖡𝖠𝖢𝖪 𝖳𝖮 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖧𝖮𝖴𝖲𝖤．Everybody sleeps peacefully, not hearing me as I cross by them to reach the house. I tried to sleep, my head tucked on JJ's shoulder, but something woke me. I don't know what it was, but I'm awake and moving back towards the house.

After JJ and I wrote our letters which we've now hidden── separately, and where only we can find them── we cuddled up on the sofa and fell asleep. Matilda was still sleeping in our bedroom, oblivious to us coming in and hiding the letters. I'm now leaving JJ to sleep, moving to the house because something jolted me to wake.

The moment I walk into the house, the door closing behind me, I realise why I woke.

Emory.

She's sitting at the kitchen counter with a bottle of whiskey.

I haven't seen her in nearly two days as, according to Kiara, she's been dealing with a family emergency, whatever that may be. Honestly, I wasn't sure when I'd next see her but I certainly didn't expect to see her now at two o'clock in the morning. Yet she's here, sipping whiskey from the bottle. I don't know how long she's been here nor do I know why she's here, but it's very obvious she isn't doing well.

Whatever that family emergency was, it must've drained her because she is not looking good, no offence to her.

Her head lifts, and she breathes out a laugh. "B!" I think she's drunk. Who am I kidding? Of course she's drunk. There's barely anything left in that bottle of whiskey, that much I can see in the dark. "Oh, it is so good to see you!"

I press my lips together, watching her carefully. Whatever's happened in the past few days can't have been good, but I don't know if she's in any kind of state to confide in me. I should help her to her room, insist that she get some sleep, but I have a feeling she'll put up a fight and attack me with that whiskey bottle. She seems the type.

"How you doin', B? You look great!" A laugh bubbles out of her, followed by a small hiccup. "You're glowing. I get the whole, you know, the Sunshine thing you got going on." She waves one hand in my direction, taking another sip of whiskey with the other. She then tilts the bottle towards me. "You want some?"

I take a daring step forward, spotting something sitting beside her on the kitchen counter── an envelope. It's sealed, telling me she has hasn't opened it, but I suspect it's important as she brought it with her. "Emory, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing." She pulls at the label on the bottle of whiskey, making it very obvious that it's not nothing that's bothering her.

I move into the kitchen, knowing she ain't in any kind of state to jump at me or fight with me as she can barely keep her head up from the alcohol in her system. I go to grab her a glass, moving to the sink as she continues to sip on her whiskey, ignoring me completely which is probably for the best while I figure out a way to deal with this.

I wonder if Kiara knows she's here. I know she retreated for the house a little while ago, claiming she was going to go to sleep. She can't know that Emory is here, so I'm wondering if I should go and tell her as I'm sure she'd know what to do. Well, I think she'd know what to do. She'd definitely be better in this situation than myself, I imagine. She knows Emory better than me.

Then again, I can be a friend to just about anyone, even the psychos of the world── cough, cough, Rafe Cameron. I can deal with an obviously emotional, obviously drunk twenty-year-old.

I place a glass of water on the counter beside her. Her head tilts, finger pointing to the drink like she's never seen water before. "What's that for?"

"It's for you," I reply, going to snatch the bottle of whiskey from her, but she pulls it in the opposite direction.

"No!" She tugs harder, keeping it secured in her hands like a baby holding a rattle.

I sigh loudly. "Emory." I go to grab it again, she moves it away.

"Ooh, stern voice," she laughs, sliding off her seat, prepared to leave, but I can't let her walk off when she's in this state. "I bet JJ likes that a lot. It's very──" She stumbles back, miscalculating her step as she moves off her seat.

I lunge forward to snatch her arms before she falls back entirely, but she drops the fucking bottle of whiskey as a result. The bottle hits the edge of the counter, smashing. "Whoa." She hiccups out a laugh, finding this so totally hilarious. The liquid from the bottle pours out, running off the counter and dripping onto the floor. I watch the liquid drip, feeling Emory slide into me, my hands still tightly holding her arms.

"Okay. Em──" Letting her weight fall on me, I swipe my arm around her back, moving her away from the broken bottle before she gets the stupid idea of cutting herself. "Okay. You need..."

"Wait. M-My..." She lifts her hand, pointing to the envelope that is seconds from being doused in whiskey. Now that wouldn't be fun to read. I groan, still holding onto her as I swipe the envelope from the counter, tucking it into my back pocket before I refocus back on the drunk girl leaning into me.

"Okay. Come on." Guiding her away from the mess that I'll clean up later, I move her to the sofa that she instantly drops to like a sack of potatoes. She releases a loud, guttural noise that has me questioning if she's dying. "Right. Just... sit."

Her head drops back against the sofa, her throat bobbing as she swallows. "Yes, ma'am."

I move back to the kitchen, staring at the mess she created. I'll clean it up in a second. I first just need to help Emory help herself. I reach for the glass of water, checking no whiskey has spilled into it, and then I walk back to Emory. I grab her hand, forcing her to open it so I can place the glass in her hand. "Drink," I instruct, hoping she fucking listens.

Maybe I'm not equipped to deal with a drunk twenty-year-old.

A laugh crawls out of her as her head tips forward, eyes honing in on the glass in her hand. "Hm." I watch her with crossed arms, suddenly wishing I was anybody but myself as I'm still not sure how to deal with this. "I-I── This is water."

"Yes. Well done." If I had a sticker, I'd give her one. "Now drink it."

Her head shakes, falling back against the sofa. "No." I watch her hand go limp, the glass on the cusp of slipping out from her fingers. I rush forward, going to snatch the glass before she drops this one too and we actually wake somebody up. I don't want anybody, especially Matilda, to see Emory like this. While Matilda doesn't know Emory, it wouldn't be fair to her to see her in this state.

I sit on the coffee table across from her, placing the water down beside me. "Emory." I place my hand on her knee, forcing her to lift her head again. "What's going on?"

"Do you have a mother?"

Well, I wasn't expecting her to say that, but okay, I'll entertain her. "No."

"She dead?"

I'm guessing she's leading up to something, though I can't be entirely sure. "I don't know," I reply, genuinely not having any idea whether my mother is alive or not. "I don't think so. Why?"

"My mother's dead."

I stare at her, watching her head fall back once again. Words catch in my throat, unable to form any kind of coherent sentence, so I just stare at her, unmoving. What the fuck do I say? I hadn't expected that to be what she'd been dealing with, but here we are, sitting here in tense silence over the weight of this news.

I never met her mother, not formally. All I knew about her was that she and Emory had a complicated relationship that was only worsened when Emory was kicked out. I know they hadn't spoken in the past eighteen months, and now... well, now they can't speak to each other ever again.

"Oh, my God," I mutter, rubbing my thumb against her knee. "Shit. I-I'm sorry."

"I've heard that a lot lately," she breathes out, head dropping to one side, her hair falling before her eyes. "A lot. A lot. A lot. It's annoying. I-I mean, people who don't even... who don't even know me are, like, telling me they're..." She blows the hair away from her face. "...they're sorry. Everybody always says it."

Her head falls forward, hanging low as she speaks both loudly and softly, it's weird. "Also, w-why do people leave so much food when someone dies? Like, right now, my... my dad has, like, six casseroles in his house and... and I think that's just crazy." She waves her hand at me. "You didn't get food when John died."

"Yeah. I'm sure a casserole would've made it better," I deadpan, knowing nothing would've made my dad's death easier── the first or second time. "Have you eaten?" I then ask, wondering if she's eaten one of those six casseroles.

"Did you not just hear me, B? Six casseroles." For somebody who's obviously very drunk and emotional, she sure can form better sentences than me── the sober unemotional.

"Right. Sorry."

She drags her hand through her hair, face scrunched in disgust, making me think she hasn't showered in a couple days. "I'm gonna..." She shoots up and off the sofa, catching me and herself off guard. "Woah." She falls down again, hitting the sofa harder than before.

I reach for her but she shoves my hand away, forcing me to remain where I am. "I'm fine," she coughs out, wiping her hand across her mouth. "I'm..." Her eyes close, head shaking softly. "I'm fine, B. I-I just need a... a shower."

"Okay." I lift myself off the sofa. "Let me help."

"I don't need help," she laughs, pushing my hand away again as I try to help her up, knowing she's in no state to walk never mind carry herself to the freaking bathroom. I don't want her hurting herself.

"Emory, I'm helping you," I assert, not letting her get out of this.

"No, I──" Her words catch in her throat, she swallows them. "I don't want your help. I-I don't need your help or anybody else's help or──"

I snatch her hands, forcing her to stop talking. "Stop, okay? You're in no state to walk, Emory, so just let me help you. For once, let somebody help you, alright?"

She steals her hands back before she shoves me back as harshly as she can. I stumble, close to falling back on the coffee table, but I catch myself just before I do. I inhale a careful breath, watching her as she stares at me with hooded eyes, looking both upset and angry. It's not a combination I want to deal with, not right now, but she's my friend, and I'm not leaving her.

She needs somebody.

As much as she wants to deny it, I know she needs somebody to confide in, somebody to turn to and cry on. She needs somebody to be on her side, to be there for her. I can be that person if she lets me, but I need her to stop fighting.

I could go get Kiara, but I imagine Emory doesn't want Kiara to see her like this or she would've gone to her already. I mean, she's only upstairs, so she could go to Kiara. I could go to Kiara, but I'm more than capable of looking after Emory, and I will look after her.

"Look, I am sorry about your mother, I am, but I am only trying to help you, Emory, so let me in, okay?" I sit in front of her, watching her eyes flit to me for a moment. "Let me in. I can help. I can be your friend, okay? I want to be your friend. I want to help. So let me just help you to the bathroom, and you can take it from there."

A beat passes, followed by another and then another. We spend the time just looking at one another, waiting to see who will either run away or accept help. I don't back down, I'm not that easy, but going up against Emory is not for the weak, believe me. The way she watches me with a harsh look hidden behind those eyes of hers, it ain't easy to not want to run.

Her hand then lifts, and I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding as I feel her accepting help. I reach my hand out to take hers. "Okay," I whisper, sliding my hand into hers. "Come on."

Ten minutes later── no, I'm not kidding── we're in the bathroom. She's sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head dropped down low. I'm filling up another glass of water, insisting she drink something before I leave her to shower and clean herself up. She doesn't say another word to me, not that I expected her to, and I don't speak either. I'm just going to leave her, and then when she comes out, she can either talk to me or I'll help her to her bedroom.

I watch her take a sip of the water before I leave her, shutting the bathroom door behind me quietly as I don't want to wake anybody up. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody has woken up. I then stand by the door for a moment until I hear the shower running, and I know she's not just sitting there and watching the world spin.

With Emory showering, I go to clean the mess in the kitchen. I pick up each tiny piece of glass, careful not to cut myself as I throw each piece away. I then spray and wipe down the counter, cleaning up the stickiness of the whiskey. I mop the floor because, yes, we do like to keep a clean house, thank you. It may be hard to believe, but we each make sure this place is clean enough.

I even spray the room with whatever freshener I can find, making sure this kitchen doesn't reek of whiskey. I then move into the cabinet where we keep the alcohol, and I move each bottle away from reach because I don't need her coming out of that shower and attempting to find something else to drink.

She's been through something tragic, and while drinking might seem like a good thing to do in the moment, she absolutely shouldn't cry away her feelings into a bottle of the strongest alcohol she can find. I don't want that to be her solution to every problem, not when I've seen it happen to one too many people.

I sigh, wiping my hands down my shorts when I realise there's something in my back pocket── the envelope. I had folded it up, noting myself to give it to Emory, but I had forgot in the midst of her laughing hysterically and shoving me away.

I pull the sealed envelope from my back pocket, finding Emmy to be scrawled across the front in elegant black-inked writing.

I'm not going to open it, obviously, but I can't help but be intrigued by its contents. I'm not sure who left the letter, but based off the nickname and the handwriting, I'm guessing it's from her mother. Hm.

I go to slide the envelope back into my pocket when I hear something── a crash-like sound coming from the bathroom. Flight kicks in, and I find I'm moving quickly towards the bathroom door, afraid that she's slipped or hit her head or── God, maybe I shouldn't have left her.

I hit my hand against the door, now not caring if I wake somebody as she could be hurt. "Emory!" I hit my hand against the door again, very aware of how loud I'm being, but she's inside and I definitely heard some kind of crash, so I need to get in there. "Hey, Em. Open the door."

I go for the handle, finding she didn't lock the door. I can't possibly just barge in there, can I? Then again, she might be injured, so what does it matter if I barge in there.

I push on the handle, watching the door fall open to reveal a sight I never thought I'd see, not from her.

Leaning against the wall is Emory, her hand open and bleeding heavily. My eyes flit from her to the mirror, finding it to be smashed. I then find a bloodied shard of glass sitting inches from her, and I suspect she held it tightly to cause the wound that's spilling out over her hand and running down her arm.

I swallow the emotion crawling up my throat, never imagining I'd see anything like this from anybody, much less Emory. "Em."

Instinctively and without hesitation, I sink to the bathroom floor, immediately going to close my arms around her. Before, I know she would've shoved me away and claimed she didn't need anyone, but this time she just sinks into me, her head falling against my chest while her arms lay limp, the bleeding continuing. The sobs then come, her crying loud and unlike anything I've ever heard before, but I don't let go of her, not even when she lifts her bloodied hand to hold me back.

She clutches onto me, and I lift my own hand to run through her hair soothingly, hoping I'm bringing her just enough comfort. It doesn't matter that we're not the best of friends, that she doesn't see me as anything more than John B's sister or JJ's girlfriend── none of that matters when you're upset and just need whoever is closest.

My beautiful, intelligent, larger-than-life friend is crying on the floor of the bathroom, feeling completely helpless and broken, literally bleeding from the pain she's brought upon herself as a direct result of losing her mother. I knew, deep down, she must've been feeling horrible. She lost a parent, I know it's not easy, so I suspected she'd have her breakdown. I just didn't know how extreme it would be nor did I know when it would occur.

Then again, I don't think you ever know when you're going to break down.

I lean my chin upon her head. "It's okay," I say calmly, but I don't know if that's true. I don't know if it will ever be okay again. "I've got you."

I hug her tightly, feeling emotion clawing at my own throat as Emory cries into me. Her emotion is loud, guttural, and fucking heartbreaking. "It's okay," I repeat, dragging my hand from her hair to her back where I press hard, soothing circles against her spine.

Emory holds on tighter, the blood from her hand covering my denim-clad thigh, and I realise that I need to sort that out. I need to stop the bleeding, wipe the wound and bandage it, but she doesn't seem like she wants to move, perfectly content to cry in my arms.

"Hey, Em." I push a strand of hair behind her ear. "I need to clean that cut."

She makes some kind of humming noise that sounds like agreement, but she makes no attempt to move. She just remains in my arms, face pressed against my chest as she cries quietly, the sobs beginning to subside. "Emory. Come on." I sniffle, feeling a burn at the back of my eyes as I look to her.

Reluctantly and with a lot of pushing, I move Emory to lean back against the bathtub. She detaches herself from me, giving me the chance to switch off the shower that's fogging up the bathroom. I then go to grab as much tissue as I possibly can, pressing it into her hand and telling her to keep pressure on it before I move to collect the shards of glass from the floor and sink.

I never thought I'd be cleaning up so much glass in all my life, but hey, look at me.

With the glass cleaned up from the bathroom, only a hole in the mirror as evidence of what happened in here, I begin to rummage through the cabinets, checking for the first aid kit I know we keep in here. Pope insisted that we always keep one in the house just in case something happens to one of us. While it's smart, I never thought something like this would ever happen.

When I find the first aid kit, I sit on my knees in front of her. I pull her hand towards me, placing it on my lap so I can first clean the wound with the wipes. I hear her wince as I drag the wipe across the cut. "Sorry."

She sniffles, swallowing thickly as I continue to wipe the blood away. Emory watches me, eyes still leaking tears that she no longer attempts to hide from me. If I look at her, I know I'll cry too, but if I don't look at her, I'll never be able to help her in the way I know she needs.

When I find that all the blood is washed away, I check to see if any fragments of glass are stuck in the wound, but I think she's safe. I then take the bandages, wrapping it around her hand slowly and carefully, noticing her face twist and contort as I press down on the cut slightly with every pull of the bandage.

Once the bandage is wrapped around her hand, I tape it down, making sure it stays in place. She still hasn't spoken, just stared at me as I've helped aid the wound, but I haven't spoken yet either, not sure on what I can say to make this situation any kind of better.

I inhale a sharp breath, finally meeting her eyes that I know are already on me. "Hey," I utter, voice hoarse. "You should probably have a shower, okay? I'll be just outside the door, so if you need──"

"Don't go," she cries, her voice barely above a whisper.

My eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"Y-You can't go," she insists, eyes flitting to the bandaged wound on her hand. "I don't know... I don't know what I'll do if you go."

I swallow, looking away from her to the door, contemplating on running upstairs to get Kiara as I know she'll be better equipped to handle this kind of situation. She and Emory are together so I imagine Kiara understands Emory in this way. I'm not sure how I can help, if I can help.

Then again, I can't leave her after what I just saw. It would be cruel of me to do so. Like I said, she needs somebody, and I can be that somebody.

"Do you want me to get Kie?"

Her head shakes violently. "No," she exhales. "No. No, I-I can't let Kiara s-see me like this."

"Okay." I press my lips together. "I'll stay here." Reaching out, I place a hand on her knee, hoping she'll feel just an ounce of comfort. "Do you want to take a shower?"

She nods slowly, and I realise that I don't know how this is going to work. Emory and I are friends, but we're not exactly close── not in the way she is with Kiara. I'm definitely stepping into Kiara territory, but she asked me to stay so I can't leave her when she's like this.

I nod back, knowing what I need to do. "Okay. How about you sit in the shower and I wash your hair?"

She wipes her hand── the one that isn't taped up── against her nose. "In some cultures, that means we're married, B," she jokes, bringing some light to the darkness.

I breathe out a laugh, not realising how badly I needed that weight off my shoulders. "Sorry. I'm taken," I jab.

"Hey." She smiles, though I know it's partly forced. "I am too."

"Your hand is hurt so it'll just be easier if I help."

She clears her throat, glancing at her clothes. "I need to, uh, take my clothes off then, right?"

"You don't have to," I say, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. Like I said, we're not the closest of friends, though we're about to be married in some cultures, according to her.

"They'll get wet," she voices, breathing deep. "I-I don't like wet jeans."

"Yeah, wet jeans suck." I laugh softly. "Okay. How about you take off your clothes, leave your underwear on? Will that be okay?"

Her head bobs. "Well, that's intimate."

I give her a blank look. "Em."

"Yes, that'll be fine, B."

I help Emory up and off the floor, and because her hand is hurting, I ease her shirt off her, placing it down on the edge of the sink. I step away as she unbuttons her jeans with one hand, and I go to shut the bathroom door.

When I turn back, she's pushing her jeans down and I help her in stepping out of them. As I pick her jeans up and off the floor, placing them beside her shirt, something on her skin catches my eye.

On the insides of her upper thighs, there's scars, lots of them. Some are longer than others, but it's clear to me what each scar represents. I notice that some of the scars are old, probably a few years old, but some are definitely recent── so recent that they're a painful shade of red.

Clearing my throat, emotion swelling behind my eyes, I look back to her, seeing that she's watching me. There's about a thousand questions hanging between us, but it's none of my business to ask. If she wants to talk to me, she can, and I'll listen.

I go to turn the shower on and she moves away from me to get into the tub before she sits down, her legs crossed. I kick my legs over the tub, standing in it so I can pull the shower head off its stand. I check the water is warm enough before I sit down on the edge of the tub behind her back.

I start by wetting her hair, watching it run off her long brown hair and down her back. She's got beautiful hair, and while she usually pulls it into a ponytail, it looks pretty when it's down, I wonder if she realises that.

I drag my fingers through her hair, holding the shower head over the top of her head. I see her eyes close, her body beginning to relax which calms me down. I want her to relax and not think of all that's happened lately. She deserves to take a minute to herself.

She then speaks, choosing to confide in me.

"It started when I was fourteen."

I pause, hand tightening on the shower head unintentionally. "What?"

"I was shaving my arms, and I nicked myself by accident," she explains, head dropping to stare at the wounds that cover her thighs. "I-I, uh, I thought it would hurt but it actually felt really, really nice── like this huge relief had been lifted, so every now I then, I would accidentally nick myself with a razor."

I feel my entire body freeze, contrasting against the warmth of this room.

"My mom used to call me clumsy," Emory continues, speaking so much more clearer than she was before. "She used to tell me that I should stop shaving my arms if I was going to keep nicking myself, so I decided to cut somewhere she wouldn't see."

Knowing I need to listen to her and wash her hair, I move to grab the bottle of shampoo, placing the shower head down as I squirt a good amount onto my hands before I lather it into her wet hair, dragging my fingers against her scalp so I can give myself something to do rather than cry over this, over knowing that Emory hid all her pain behind a smile and loud laugh for years.

She leans back, a heavy sigh falling past her lips. "I don't wear bikinis. I haven't ever, I don't think." Now that I think about it, she never does wear a bikini when the rest of us do, instead choosing to wear shorts and a cropped shirt. I never thought much of it as she's allowed to wear what she wants, but it seems she's been covering a part of herself for a long time, afraid to let anybody see her weakness. "I hadn't hurt myself in over two years until..." She scoffs, head shaking. "...until I was told a body had washed up and that Dad and I needed to see it."

I close my eyes, tears threatening to form and escape the more she talks, her own voice wobbling as she carries on, finding comfort in speaking with me. "They say she drowned, that she overdosed and fell in the water but I..." She swallows thickly. "I know she didn't just drown, not my mother. Yes, she wasn't perfect, and she liked drinking and... but she didn't just drown. She was killed, Brooke, I-I know she was. I feel it. There were marks on her neck that can't have..."

"Hey." I squeeze her shoulder, feeling her begin to grow more emotional by the minute. "I believe you. If you say she was killed..." I can't think of who would want to kill Emory's mother, but I believe Emory when she says that. If she was killed, I don't think Emory would lie about believing that.

"I fought with my dad," she continues. "We kept fighting and fighting and fighting── so much that I had to beg Kiara to leave." I wash away the shampoo in her hair, moving my fingers against her scalp. "I then went upstairs and I just... I didn't even think, I just grabbed a razor and I just..." I bite my lip, emotion clinging to the base of my throat as I realise what she did after sending Kiara away. "My dad blames me, and he should because I-I was the one who stopped talking to them. I was the one──"

"Em, you cannot blame yourself," I interrupt, hearing my voice crack as I talk. "This is not your fault. This is terrible, okay, but you did not do this. Whoever hurt your mother── they are responsible, do you hear me?"

"They didn't kick me out, Brooke."

My head rears back, my fingers slowing in her hair. "What?"

"I left," she tells, a cry catching in her throat. "I left the day after we moved here, the day after I found out that my..." She releases a heavy breath, her chest heaving. "...the day after I found out my dad wasn't actually my dad, that somebody else was my father and that he had money that could maybe help us get out of our money problems. Although, the only way to get his attention was to... you know, use me── his love child from an affair eighteen years ago."

I process her words, shocked by each one. I knew her father wasn't hers biologically, but that she still held his last name as she considered him to be her father. I just never knew when she had found out about her father not being hers, but it was more recent than I realised.

To know she's dealt with his secret for as long as she's known us is heartbreaking. I just can't believe her parents would want to use her to try and get money out of a man Emory's mother had an affair with eighteen years ago. Nobody should do that to their child, it's horrid.

"He lives here, you know?" she continues, speaking so delicately. "He lives here, that's why we moved here, so I could help them get money again through blackmail, but I left because I wasn't about to meet the man that abandoned me and my mother. I couldn't do it, not even for their sake and their money. I-I just couldn't do it."

"That's understandable," I say, continuing to move the water over her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"My mom left me a letter." A sob wrecks her body, bringing a tightening to my chest as I watch her. "Dad gave it to me last night, told me that I should read it because it'll explain everything, but I just can't do it, so I've just been sitting with it for the past two days, wondering if I should burn it or read it."

Said letter is burning a hole in my back pocket. "What do you think it'll say?"

"She'll probably apologise," Emory tells, leaning back into the water as I continue to move the water over her hair. "She'll then tell me who my father is, I just know she will, but that's what I don't think I want to know."

"I get that," I whisper, going to grab the bottle of conditioner. "But I also think you have every right to know, Em, and I think you have every reason to read that letter because if you want to be angry at someone, you should be angry at him. You should blame him, not yourself."

"Yeah, but if I had just met him two years ago when my parents needed money, then maybe..."

"Hey." I place the shower head down, going to run the conditioner through the ends of her hair. "I told you not to blame yourself, Em. None of this is your fault, okay? From the sounds of it, your parents had problems── all three of them, so this is not your fault, and I don't want you to blame yourself for what they've done."

"I-I can't help it. I..."

"I know," I murmur, leaning down. "But you are one of the most selfless people I know. You barely knew us two years ago yet you helped us in South America. You've been helping Kiara for longer than that, and now look at you── you're one of us, Emory, and we care about you, okay?"

She lifts her hand, and I slot mine into hers, seeing the tears pouring down her cheeks. "If you decide to read that letter, know I'm here for you, okay? Whatever that letter says, whatever that letter reveals, Emory, it does not define you nor change anything. It's yours to do with whatever you please."

She nods slowly. "Okay."

We don't speak, not again for twenty minutes as I finish washing her hair and helping her change into more comfortable clothes that I sneak into hers and Kiara's bedroom to grab. We now sit on the sofa in the living room, staring into the darkness ahead while she sips on a glass of water that I finally persuaded her to drink.

I tried to encourage her to go up to bed but she was insistent on sitting here for a moment just to collect herself before she faced Kiara. Besides, I think she's calmed down since our talk in the bathroom. She seems so much more relaxed now than she did twenty minutes ago.

I glance over at her, a question coming to mind. "Does Kiara know?"

Her face scrunches, lips forming a tight yet amused line. "Uh, yeah." Emory looks to me, and I realise that, of course, Kiara knows. "We're together, you know?"

"Y-Yeah, right." I exhale a laugh, realising I asked a very obvious question. Well, I'm a fucking idiot. "Sorry. Of course, yeah."

Emory laughs, sipping on her water. "It's fine."

I inhale sharply, needing to move past that question. "Does anyone else know?"

Her head shakes slowly as she gulps down her water. "No. Just you and Kie," she replies casually. "I trust you. I don't know why, but I just do. Don't let it get to your head." She trusted me with that heavy of information, I can't quite believe that. She peers at me, my silence going against her comment. "It's already gone to your head, hasn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Her head shakes, her lips still pressed into a smile. "Well, because I trust you, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," I respond without hesitation.

"I need you to read that letter to me."

My mouth gapes, surprised as I truly believed she wouldn't want to know. "Emory──"

"I know you wanna know what's in it, and... you're right," she exhales, breathing shallow. "Whatever that letter reveals, it doesn't matter. Those words are the last things my mother ever wanted to say to me, so I need to read it. She obviously wants me to know whatever's in that letter, so I have to read it but I need you to be the one that actually reads it."

"But..."

"Please, Brooke. Please. I didn't speak to my mother for eighteen months and she ended up dead." She inhales sharply, likely a tight feeling in her chest, and I feel as though I've been smacked in the face by a ton of bricks. "I'm going to regret that for the rest of my life, but this letter she left might make me feel a little better about not speaking to her. It might help me take some of the blame off my shoulders."

"You shouldn't..."

"Blame myself, I know, but I'm going to regardless, alright?" She looks away from me, staring forward. "I need you to read it, Brooke. I need you to read it loud and clear, no stuttering or crying, okay?"

I roll my eyes, knowing I can't argue with her. "Okay, ma'am."

She chuckles. "Good. Go on."

"Are you sure?" I ask, reaching into my back pocket to retrieve the letter that's sealed in its envelope.

She nods firmly. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm ready to find out what my last name should've been."

"It might be worse than Thorne."

"As long as it ain't Routledge," she bites back, smiling innocently.

I begin to rip open the envelope. "Bitch."

"Hey," she fights. "My mother just died." Well, she got me there.

"Okay." I pull the folded up letter from the envelope, seeing it's a two-sided letter written by her mother in the fanciest handwriting I've ever seen. "Are you ready?"

Her eyes close, a slow breath releasing from her lips. "Yes. I'm ready."

"She writes in cursive," I scoff, squinting my eyes over the words.

"Yeah, I know, that's why you're reading it. I can't read cursive. Can you?"

I lift my shoulders in a shrug. "Yes."

"Okay. Go ahead and read, Routledge."

I clear my throat, prepared to read something that may change Emory's life if she chooses to let it. "Dear, Emmy," I start, swallowing the emotion I already feel burning at my throat. "I'm sorry. I know you overheard your father and I arguing about why we truly moved here. I knew, after so many years of lies and secrets, you'd find out one day that your father isn't your biological father, that some other man from this island is. I'm sorry you found out in the way that you did, but I'm going to write it down and hope it reaches you one day in one form or another."

I peek a glance at Emory, seeing that she's just staring ahead as she listens, face entirely emotionless. I continue, "As I'm writing this, you've been gone a whole week. I'd love nothing more than for you to come back, but I understand that you're upset, and I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I've lied to you your entire life. I'm sorry I've hurt you. But I'm not going to lie to you any longer, okay?"

Not gonna lie, I'm a little afraid of the contents now.

"I don't know if you know this, but I was born here in the Outer Banks, and I met your biological father when I was nineteen," I read. "He was a man I once loved, who I believed loved me too, but that was all a lie. He was married to another woman── a rich woman who had more than I ever would. Long story short, I ended up pregnant and alone, completely lost on what to do, so I threatened to tell his wife."

I lean against the sofa, watching Emory turn away from me. "I quickly found that he wasn't the same man I had fallen in love with. He threatened me, told me he'd ruin my life if I ever spread this secret that I was pregnant with his child while he was married to her. Knowing I had very little at the time, I hid my secret. I hid you, and I'm so sorry that I did."

I turn over the letter, beginning to read from the page. "When I was eight months pregnant, excited to meet you, I ran into his wife and found that she was also pregnant── only a couple months along but pregnant nonetheless."

Emory's mouth stutters open, her eyes finding me. "I-I have a..."

"A sibling, yeah."

She turns her head away again, looking back to the darkness. "Carry on."

"I left town the day after I met her as I couldn't take knowing that you were about to be born into a town where'd you'd be nothing but a secret," I talk, feeling so much emotion in each word her mother writs. "You were born a month later, and you were the most perfect thing, Emmy. I loved you the moment I saw you."

Even though I don't know her, I imagine her mother smiling whilst writing that. "When you were first born, you had my last name, but then I met your father── your real father who raised you as his own, so that's why you're a Thorne through and through."

An emotional laugh ripples out of Emory, her hand wiping her eyes. "A Thorne through a through, huh? She always used to say that."

I let myself smile, finding that sweet. "I know I wasn't perfect, Emmy, I know that," I continue. "But I love you, and your father does too, biological or not. He may be complicated sometimes, but I know he loves you. Compared to the man I had an affair with, your father is a saint, don't forget that. You'll always be his daughter, sweetheart, I promise."

"Oh, God. Get to the point, Mom," Emory utters, speaking up to the ceiling as if to tell her mother off.

"While you're a Thorne through and through, sweetheart, you were born out of an affair that I'm ashamed about to this very day, and I'm sorry because part of me never wanted you to ever find out the truth as──"

"Does she ever get to the point?" Emory asks, obviously growing both impatient and upset.

I nod, looking back to the letter where I skip over a few sappy words, knowing Emory wants me to get to said point. "Ah, okay. When you were still just a baby, I read a news article that revealed something horrible. It revealed that your biological father's wife──"

"Well, that shit sounds complicated," Emory jokes.

"Hey, you wanted me to get to the point," I fight.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "Carry on."

I look back to the words, finding my space in the midst of the cursive. "It was revealed that she had drowned. Not only that, she had drowned with her baby── your half-brother..." The words die on my tongue as I realise what I've just said── as I realise what's just been revealed.

"Groff," Emory speaks, shooting up and off the sofa. "Larissa, his wife drowned with her baby which means..." She moves away from the sofa, heading to the kitchen. "No. No. No."

I follow after her, leaving the letter on the sofa. "Em──"

"Chandler Groff is my father?"

It's making sense. All of it is making sense.

Groff looked at her like he knew her when they first met, like he could place her but didn't want to for some reason. Now that reason has been revealed, and she's standing in the kitchen with her head over the sink. It's a good thing I hid the alcohol as I sense she'd try and drink an entire bottle to forget this.

Emory is Chandler's secret love child. I wonder if Larissa ever found out that he fathered another child months before her child had been born. Did she die knowing what kind of man her husband truly was?

I step forward. "Emory."

"No. No." She sucks in a sharp breath, body leaning forward. "I-I know why Goat Island looked familiar to me," she speaks. "I-I've been there. I-I went when I was a kid, I think. I went with, uh, with my mom. I-I can't remember why, but now I..." Her head shakes, tears forming in her eyes as she stares down at the sink. "No."

I reach out to place a hand on her back, but she flinches away, taking a step back. "Oh, my God. I had a brother. I-I had a..." Her head falls into her hands as a sob catches in her throat. "No. I-It can't be true, Brooke. It can't..."

"It is, Emory. I'm sorry." I'm not sure what I can say, knowing nothing I say will make this situation better or erase the fact that she, Emory Thorne, is the product of an affair between her mother and a man she doesn't want to know.

"Y-You can't tell anybody else," she insists, moving towards the sofa to pick up the letter.

"I won't." She can trust that I won't say a damn word about this, not until she's ready to say something.

Her eyes skim over the words, but based on the way her face contorts, she can't fucking understand a word. "Fuck!" She throws the letter down onto the sofa. "I can't fucking read cursive. Why does my mother write like that? Who──"

"Em, calm down."

"I can't calm down, Brooke. My entire life has been a fucking lie," she exclaims. "I-I had this entire lie hanging over me my entire life and I had no idea until recently. How is that fair? H-How could she keep this from me? I-I mean, I looked that motherfucker in the eye not that long ago, and he knew who I was. He fucking knew."

"I know. I-I'm sorry. It's awful." Again, I know I can't say anything to make this better.

"I don't know what to do. I-I don't know how to act. I-I can't face him, not when my mother is..." She pauses, swallowing harshly like something has just come to mind. "What if he had something to do with my mother dying?"

My mouth gapes. "What?"

"Think about it, B, his entire family is dead," she argues. "It can't be a fucking coincidence that his entire family is dead and his mistress."

No, she has a point, but that's completely crazy, right? "Emory, that's..."

"Farfetched? Yeah, I know, but look at my life right now, B." She raises her arms, a manic laugh cackling out of her as she paces up and down the length of the kitchen. "A lie── that's my life."

I go towards her. "Em──"

"I-I need..." She steps back, head shaking. "I know I wanted you to read it, I appreciate that, but I-I need a minute. I need to go and, I don't know, sleep on it. I-I can't do this... I can't do this right now, okay?" I nod slowly, hearing her completely. "Just don't tell anyone. Please."

"I won't," I speak, voice soft.

"Thank you." She moves back, retrieving the letter from the sofa so she can attempt to read over her mother's words while she tries to sleep tonight. "Thank you."

I watch her leave the room to go upstairs to Kiara, leaving me stand and stare into the abyss.

What the fuck just happened?

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❀ soph speaks

this was a long whirlwind, emotional, impactful journey to write

yeah, for all of you who guessed, jj and emory are related,, they just don't know it yet hehe

i hope you enjoyed this chapter?? and it was explained well enough??

thankyou for reading,, this chapter was a hard one to write but so fun to explore emory

thankyou!!