Bear | ✔

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

"EMILY!"

Leila winced at the screech of a voice that radiated from the hallway. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hands balled over the surface of the kitchen island. Her shoulders slumped, and she slightly shifted her weight on the stool.

For a second, she looked up and stole a glance at Emily. She was standing by the stove. Her hand loosely grasped the handle of a frying pan. The poor girl's eyes met hers in a look of defiance. Loose strands of her sandy her framed her heart-shaped face. She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say: It's not my fault.

Zoe stormed into the room. She clearly saw that it wasn't really necessary to knock, but instead barged in like she owned the place. With a creased forehead and furrowed brows, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Can you explain why those bed sheets are pink? You know I hate pink. I've mentioned it, multiple times," She complained. Her eyes shot daggers at Emily, who crooned her neck and said nothing.

She let out a desperate huff. "I'll pass it this time, but if it happens again, you'll be a black spot in my book."

Then, she was gone. The door slammed shut behind her. Its sound echoed against the walls, slashing their comfort into thin slices. Leila reached out to rub her temples. She wondered how much longer she would be able to wait until she would finally lose it.

It happened to her that most of the times, her first impressions were actually true.

"She's unbelievable," Leila muttered under her breath. She rested the palm of her hand against her cheek; her elbow propped up over the counter. She exhaled a heavy breath. "I don't understand. I've never done anything that wronged her in anyway."

"Well, the thing is: that's Zoe," Emily stated, tilting her head to the side. "It is what it is. You can't change anything about it, but it's not your fault to begin with."

"But I don't feel okay knowing there's someone that I personally know who hates me," Leila babbled, straightening her back. "Especially when I didn't even do anything at all."

"You've got to get used to it," The young woman said as her hand grasped the handle of the pan and lifted it up to flip the brown pancake in the air. "It isn't going anywhere."

Leila exhaled a sigh. "Thank you, Emily. That was really supportive," She said; coating every word in a layer of sarcasm.

Emily shrugged and put the utensil back in place. "Just doing my job."

Leila's hand unclenched, but the traces her knuckles carved into the palms of her hands were still clear through the sweaty, reddened skin. She stretched her arms in the air. Upon hearing the crack of the muscles, she groaned and shifted against the back of her stool. She folded her hands on the iron edge behind her back.

"Do you know when David's going to come back? It's really lonely around here in this huge place all on my own," She complained, but the sound of a loud thud upstairs proved otherwise. Leila's eyes drifted upwards toward the ceiling, as if she could see through the cemented floors. "Kind of."

"It usually takes him a week to ten days a trip," Emily replied as her hand shook the handle if the pan to ensure that the crust was completely exposed to the heat. She grabbed a spatula from the counter, which she used in testing the quality of the pancake. "But depending on the latest news, it might take him five or less."

She looked up at Leila with a wink that was shortly followed by a throw of the closest towel from Leila in her direction. Emily laughed before clearing her throat.