Page 1 of Emerald

1

Olivia

"Shebrokemydaughter'snose," seethes the woman.

I'm sitting in this cold, stiff chair with my hands clenched into fists on my lap, trying to get my mind to stop punishing me. My fingers dig into my palms, and I focus on the sting to keep the tears back. I don't want anyone to see me like this. Weak. Emotional.

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker and hum, the noise bouncing around the small, bare office, making my brain burn and my skin crawl. I keep my eyes down, locked on the scuffed floor, not daring to look up. Not at the woman who's yelling, not at my boss, not at anyone.

"You need to fire her!"

I flinch at the volume of her voice, a shot of pain quickly following, wishing I could cover my ears. But that only makes me look deranged. Well… more deranged. My chest tightens, but I won't look up. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset.

"Please calm down," my boss says, his voice strained but controlled. "We're handling the situation, but shouting isn't going to help anyone."

The woman's voice gets even louder, if that's possible, and I can feel the heat of her rage like it's a physical thing in the room. "Calm down? CALM DOWN? My daughter is bleeding because of that monster. Why is she even still here? Fucking waste of space…"

I suck in a sharp breath as she continues to call me all kinds of names, trying to ignore the sting her words bring. Like mother, like daughter, it looks like. Can't keep their fucking mouths shut.

I glance over at the blonde in the chair. The blood-soaked cloth held to her face makes me want to grin, but that will only inflame things. Still. She deserved it.

I know I shouldn't have hit the bitch, but she wouldn't leave my space.

She closed the distance by fifty percent… then ninety. That was uncomfortable, but manageable. People do that all the time. Sometimes you briefly get to one hundred percent with an accidental touch, but this one was no accident, at least judging by the other data.

When I told her we didn’t have her size in the back, thirty-two percent of her words became mean. Insults. Then sixty-five… but I was still holding myself back, forcing back thoughts of physical retribution, even though I knew it would feel good.

Then she snapped and wouldn't stop touching me and pushing her fingers into my chest as she screamed at me. Grabbing my arm so I couldn't escape. Still, I kept my hands fisted, but didn’t use them. I reminded myself that so far I’d been kicked out of ninety-two percent of jobs and schools.

It didn’t help. I lost control soon after when she called me a bastard. That word always takes me to one hundred percent rage. Nothing helped overcome the visceral way my body reacted to her touch at that point, percentages be damned.

Then there was blood. Just like always. And it felt just as good as every single time before it, and just as bad afterward.

Bastard. That word echoes in my mind, making me feel dirty, like there's something wrong with me just for existing. I didn't know what it meant when I first heard it and now people just throw it around like it's nothing. A bit of spice for their sentences.

I was seven the first time it was used as a weapon. I didn't respond well then, either.

Like usual, my stupid brain is more than willing to throw the memory back up. Just to make sure I've gotten yet another look at one of my many failings.

***

"She's just a child, Mrs. Harper," Mr. White says in a hard voice. "Nothing was broken. Just a bit of blood. We're talking about children."

"Where is her mother?" says Mrs. Harper, her voice dripping with disdain. I feel my stomach knot up even more. "Why isn't she here, taking responsibility for this? Or her father, that hor—"

"Enough! I will not abide by racial slurs," he barks out, then takes a deep breath. There's a heavy pause, and I can almost feel him wince before he responds. "Her mother has been informed and her father is… unreachable at the moment."

Unreachable. I hate that word. It means gone. It means not ever here. I lower my head, biting my lip so hard I taste blood, my nail scraping against my inner wrist over and over.

Mrs. Harper scoffs as she paces in front of me, her heels clicking on the tile floor. "Of course she's not here," she sneers, venom dripping from her words. "Some irresponsible, rich moll who opens her legs for anyone. No wonder the kid's a violent little terror."

Though I don't understand all her words, I feel like I've been punched. Her words are sharp, jagged things that cut deep, hitting a place inside me that I try so hard to keep hidden. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out her voice, trying not to let the tears spill over.

It's so hard not to break when every word feels like a weight crushing down on me. A physical pain that starts in my ears and stabs into my skull.

"Lily provoked the altercation by calling Olivia a… a deeply inappropriate name. It doesn't excuse violence, but it does explain why things escalated."

Mrs. Harper turns to me, face white, her eyes burning with some emotion I can't identify.

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