Page 7 of Emerald

My hand picks up the toothbrush and begins scrubbing my teeth, my movements brisk and routine. Then there's a knock. Loud, insistent, and growing more obnoxious by the second, pounding into my skull. The bathroom door rattles under the force of it.

God, I wish my brain would just let me leave. Not be warring with itself. Too anxiety ridden to leave while obsessed with the idea of being completely alone.

I feel my lips twitch, wanting to turn into a scowl, but it's not reflected in my expression.

"Come on, Olivia! Open up already!" Bethany's voice, sharp and grating, cuts through the door. My hand twists the knob, and as the door swings open, Bethany barges in, as impatient and domineering as ever. She's already in her pajamas, hair perfectly groomed, and the predatory gleam in her eyes is unmistakable.

Without waiting for me to speak, she thrusts a crumpled piece of paper into my face.

"Here," she says with that obnoxious sneer of hers. "I need this done by tomorrow before I head back."

I glance down at the paper. Research on the thermodynamic principles of non-ideal solutions. It's a chemistry assignment. Graduate-level, of course—because Bethany never asked me for anything simple. Why is she even taking this course? I thought she was going to be a barrister.

My mind races, skimming through the words, and I'm only paying twenty-three percent attention as Bethany drones on. This will take at least four hours and twenty-five minutes to complete. If I’m quick, maybe I can shave that down twelve percent.

Bethany waves her hand between me and the paper.

"What?" I hear myself ask, my tone flat, emotionless, though inside, I'm seething. I want to tell her to go to hell, to shove her assignment somewhere dark, but I know what's coming.

Bethany rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, come on, don't act like you've got anything better to do. I heard you hit someone again, so I figured you're free. Plus, you're good at this stuff, so it shouldn't take you long."

I feel the burn of anger rise in my chest, but I keep my face expressionless. No matter how angry I get, no matter how many mental cusses I throw her way, nothing escapes my lips.

Instead, my body moves like it's on autopilot. I take the paper from her hands without protest, scanning the assignment quickly, a routine I know all too well. This is Bethany at her worst—entitled, arrogant, and completely sure I'll do as she asks.

"What, no complaints?" she asks with a needling tone. "I don't even have to threaten to touch you?"

She's testing me, prodding for a reaction, but I don't give her one.

I open my mouth, trying to warn her about the assignment's complexity, about how she'll need to defend her work, but as soon as I begin, Bethany cuts me off, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, and once you're done with that," she adds, "Timothy left the invoices and receipts for you on the dining table. You'll need to sort those out and handle the tax stuff."

I don't even have the energy to respond. It's always like this with them. Bethany and Timothy, always taking, never giving. At least Tony leaves me alone. He hasn’t said much of anything to me in years.

I never imagined my life would turn out like this.

I just want to be left alone to draw. The resentment in my chest grows, swelling to the point where it feels like I might burst, but my body doesn't show it. Numb and disconnected, that’s the best way. My head just nods on its own accord, as if this were the most normal request in the world.

Bethany narrows her eyes at me, sensing the shift in my mood. Her lips twist into a smile. I assume a cruel one, since that’s her natural state.

"Oh, and don't think you're fooling anyone," she says, her voice dripping with condescension. "We all know you're only good for this kind of thing. I mean, come on. Twenty-six and still at home. Half white, half nobody. One hundred percent crazy. You should be thankful we keep you busy."

I flinch at her use of a percentage, knowing it’s meant to mock me, not just insult me. That stings. A sharp, burning pain that lances through me. I want to scream at her, to tell her how vile and wrong she is, but the words stay locked inside my head. My body just stands there, silent. Reminding me, once again, that I don't have much evidence to say otherwise.

Bethany's smile grows wider, satisfied with the impact of her words. "Anyway, get to work. I'll check in later."

She turns on her heel and leaves, slamming the door behind her. I'm left standing in the room, staring at the piece of paper in my hand. Anger bubbles inside me, hot and relentless, but there's nowhere for it to go. No one to lash out at.

I crumple the paper tighter in my hand. There is no refusing, at least not without repercussions, that much is clear, but I can make this as painful for her as possible. I'll bury her under complex theories and advanced chemistry concepts. If she's going to be lazy, I'm going to make sure she looks like a fool when asked to defend her work.

I move to the desk, pulling out my notebook and a few reference textbooks I've kept handy. My fingers fly across the page, drafting an outline for the paper. Concepts like Raoult's Law, activity coefficients, and Van't Hoff factors fill the page, with enough subtle errors in application that there will be follow-up questions.

I feel the pressure building in my chest, the anger simmering just below the surface, threatening to spill over as I work. Tears prick at my eyes, hot and angry, but I force them back. Crying won't help. It never has.

4

Olivia

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