Page 18 of Picture Perfect

"You need to think about how you'll make amends, Adelaide."

"Make amends," I whisper to myself. But there's nothing to mend when the fabric of your being is deemed unworthy by those who are supposed to nurture it.

What I need is to stay the fuck away from those boys.

Away from anything that makes me feel too much, want too much, be too much. Because in the end, it isn't about longing or love—it’s about survival. And I intend to survive.

I watch from my perch on the edge of the bed as they continue to rifle through the few possessions they've left untouched. There's a methodical coldness in their movements—no corner left untouched, no box left unturned in their crusade to cleanse me of my sins.

"What's this, Adelaide?" Cheryl's voice is steel wrapped in velvet, and I follow it to see her holding my lifeline—the box of protein bars I had squirreled away for days like these.

"Emergency food," I say, my words clipped, a feeble attempt at defiance.

"Emergency? What kind of emergency would you have that we couldn't provide for? No wonder you've been putting on weight." The disdain is dripping from her tone like acid.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, knowing any explanation will be twisted into more ammunition against me.

She scrutinizes the nutrition labels, her lips curled in distaste. "We feed you well enough. You don't need these... extravagances." With a swift motion, the protein bars join the pile of discarded clothing—a mountain of my autonomy, now rubble.

"Please, I—" I start, but the lump in my throat strangles the plea.

"Quiet," she snaps, sealing the bag with exaggerated care before placing it outside of my room, out of my reach. "You'll thank us one day."

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite back the retort simmering on my tongue, the taste of copper blooming in my mouth where I've bitten too hard. Because I doubt that very much.

When the room is finally barren, when every piece of me deemed offensive has been purged, they stand in the doorway, a united front of misguided righteousness.

"Stay here and reflect on your actions," William says, a smirk playing on his lips that makes my skin crawl.

"No dinner tonight. Perhaps hunger will teach you discipline," Cheryl smirks.

Then I must be the most disciplined teenager there is.

"Discipline," I echo hollowly, the word a stone sinking in my stomach. They turn, leaving me in the shadow of their judgment, the sound of the key turning in the lock a grim punctuation.

The room feels alien, stripped of everything that made it at least a little mine, much like how I felt within this family. Hollow. Erased.

??????

The night presses in, a cloak of darkness pierced only by the sliver of moonlight that slips through the edges of the curtains. I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, the hollowness inside echoing with each ragged breath.

"Can't think about them. Can't..." My thoughts are a tangle of emotion—a mix of longing and self-preservation.

The moon shifts, casting a pale glow over the sparse room, over the stripped bed and bare walls. It's a cell.

"Feelings are dangerous," I whisper into the stillness, my voice a thread of sound. "They make you vulnerable."

The click of the lock stops my heart. The door swings open to reveal William. He's wearing the same charcoal pants and white button down as earlier. The suit jacket is gone and he's rolled the sleeve to just below his elbow.

I watch wearily as he dips his fingers into his pockets and leans against the door frame.

"You know this is for your own good, right? You brought this on yourself," his voice is oozing with feigned concern.

"Of course," I echo back, the ill-fitting words catching in my throat like sandpaper.

William's eyes flash with a sense of triumph. He takes a step closer to me, towering over my hunched form.

In the oppressive silence, I brace myself for what comes next.

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