Mad Ember

23: Demons

"Oh, is this about Corbans family coming to visit?" Reagan's eyes light up with fire, and she begins hitting Easton on the shoulders incessantly.

"You Idiot! Corban was supposed to talk with her about that! Not, you!" He sucks in a breath and looks at me apologetically.

"Sorry, Ember." I let out a breath as I try to process everything.

"His family? What do you mean, his family? His mother passed, and his dad isn't exactly stable. He never mentioned anyone else." Reagan wrings her hands together.

"You really should talk to Corban about this, Ember." I glare at her.

"Reagan, please." I practically beg. Reagan sighs.

"Alright. Just... Don't hold it against Corban. He was trying really hard to tell you." I groan.

"Well, please explain."

"Corban's aunt and cousin are coming back with his little brother Wyatt from another pack. Corban's dad has been getting worse while away from Wyatt and needs to see him. He wants you to meet everyone before it's too late." My breath hitches. Sure, it may not sound like a big deal to a lot of people, but to me, it is.

The last time I saw any of my family, it was them burning to death, and my mom's death brought hell for me tainting how I view families. I don't think I'm ready to be introduced to Corbans. I don't think I can handle it. No, I know I won't be able to. I pull myself together on the outside, though.

I also can't get past the thought that he kept it from me for so long. We had been going about our lives... we grew intimately, and he was holding something back when we said all in. But I have no right to hold it against him. I'm the farthest from all in as they come. I can't help but think that we are pushing our bond to work too fast. As much as I wish I could say it didn't, it hurt.

"I'll have to bring it up with him. I'm going to go back up to my room." I say and quickly excuse myself, calling Dod so that he will follow me back up to my room. I quickly get to my room and lock myself in the bathroom with a shaky breath. Dog scratches at the door, but I tune him out.

Everything just starts becoming too much. Too much light, too much noise, too much stuff. I realize that I am running right into the arms of a panic attack. I shake my head, clenching my fists, and bury my head into my knees, trying to escape the sensory overload. I run my hands through my hair, shaking my head. My hands tremble, and I clench them into tight fists once again. I can feel my father's presence poking at my brain, and I try to push him back.

"No, no, no, no, no," I mutter like a broken record. I wince when I realize that I had squeezed my hands too tightly, and blood trickles to the floor. My hands are trembling uncontrollably as my father's presence once again comes to the forefront of my brain. 'You were always so dramatic.' I let out a mangled groan and quickly strip my clothes so I can get in the shower. I need to wash this all away.

I try not to blame my mom. I know that none of this could possibly be her fault. The cancer took us all by surprise, and she was gone in a blink of an eye right afterwards. I can still hear my father crying out her name. He really did love her with everything he had.

But he was supposed to grieve with me. The man I called dad should have been there for me as I tried to cope with the loss of my mother. But he wasn't. He turned into the raging alcoholic.

Sure it wasn't bad at first. He tried to take care of Josiah and I. But gave up after a while, leaving the task to a fourteen-year-old boy who didn't really give a shit either.

Taking up the responsibility of keeping our family together, six-year-old me tried so damn hard. Cleaning the house like I used to when I wanted to happily surprise my mom. Of course, it was never actually clean. A five-year-old can only do so much. But still, she would act excited, giving me the biggest hug, and the wettest kiss on my cheek. Later she would go back and clean up my failed attempt. My father wasn't as grateful for my efforts.