“I didn’t say anything.”
“I felt you thinking what I’m thinking, butruder.”
“Boys,” Crisis interjects, “knock it off.” Her legs cross. “If Clara’s dealing with a self-esteem issue, you focus on complimenting her and highlighting her strengths. Nurture her confidence both in what she is capable of and in her innate worth. If she’s been taught lies,gentlyidentify them. Pose questions and introduce doubts that she can mull over. Encourage her to reassess what she thinks about her place in this world more critically. Guide her away from negative self-narratives. Above all else, become a safe place for her. Seek opportunities to show her that you’re not going to hurt her physically or emotionally no matter what she does. Become the stark opposite of what she’s used to.”
I feel like I should be writing this down.
Crisis continues, “Most importantly, be patient with her. It takes time to change a person’s mind, and—in the end…” Her gaze trails toward my brother. “…they have to change it themselves. It’s easier with support, but you can’tmakeit happen.”
Falling back into Viktor’s bed, I free a tight breath. “I’m bad with patience. I yearn for constant and immediate gratification.” I am, also, bad at notmakingwhat I want happen. It’s in the control issues. Which I have. Abundantly.
“Sucks to suck.” Crisis turns back toward her computer. “Healing from unseen wounds takes an entire lifetime, and it’s going to be frustrating to watch all the ups and downs of how that healing happens. If you can’t handle it, send the poor girlback home. Because even if her home was abusive…at least she was familiar with it. A familiar horrible will always be easier on the system than inconsistency in something new.”
The idea of sending Clara back to wherever she learned how to be a spectre in her own life causes all my muscles to tense. I know Crisis isn’t wrong. I know, because I’ve lived it. The shock of losing my parents—myabusers—hithard. If Viktor hadn’t been there pulling our family together, I don’t know how we would have managed to navigate a world without the pressure our abusers imposed on us.
For a solid year, Kyran went on hiatus. He didn’t know why he had to keep being in the public eye online if no one was making him do it. So, he rotted. For a year. Then, as far as I know, he just picked himself back up, made a video, and renewed his love forcreatingwithout the stress ofbeing forced to.
Even though our lives were so much better with our parents dead, it still took him an entire year to handle thenew. And he’s never had to face anything alone.
I don’t know if Clara’s had anyone. Ever.
I can’t allow the monster in me to stunt her healing journey. I can’t let myself think of a world where she comes out of the abuse she’s known and chooses to devote herself tome. She needs to be stable on her own feet without looking for approval or validation from anyone.
She needs to become independent.
And I need to becomebetter. For her.
?
I can’t do it. I hate myself and everything I am, but Ican’tdo it. I don’twanther to become independent. I want her to bemine. Forever. Starting now, I want her to depend on me completely and think of me constantly. I’ll take perfect care ofher, nurture her self-esteem, protect her,everything. I will make her the happiest woman in the world. I will become anything she wishes.
So long as she looks at me likethisevery day.
I need her to, lest I wither away into nothingness.
Eyes big and blue and shining as though she’s never been hurt, Clara says, “You like it?”
Hope saturates the words while she sits beside me, fidgeting and desperate for me to tell heryes, I like it, I love it,marry me.
A grateful sound pulls from my chest as I indulge in another bite of glorious chocolate chip muffin. It is warm, soft, and large. “You’re amazing. Amazing, Clara.” Compliments, right? Emphasizing strengths? This, right here, is astrength. “You’re a savant. I’ve never tasted anything this good before in my life. Where did you learn to make magic like this?”
She smiles.
My heart skips a pace at the sight, and Idie. Right here, at the breakfast table, with only Crisis, Kaleb, and Viktor present, because the rest of my family chose to sleep in overthis.
Glowing, the mystical baking fairy says, “You really like it? I taught myself to bake, for the most part. Sometimes, I’d go in early to the bakery where I worked, and they’d let me help out with the morning prep in the back. I started as a cashier, but when I was in early one day, my boss taught me decorating because our artisan quit on short notice.” The light in her eyes dwindles, and my stomach twists, grappling in desperation to get it back. Softly, she says, “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”
“No, please,” I beg, more desperate than I think I’ve ever been, “keep talking. Your voice is remarkably beautiful.” It’s light, airy, clear, practically magic. “Do you sing at all?”
She tenses, looking down. “N-no, I…” Her lashes lower. “I used to. A little bit. But my brother said it was annoying…so I stopped.”
I would like to murder her brother. “I’d kill—” Your brother. “—to have you in a studio with me. Maybe I’ll write us a two-part harmony someday.”
Terribly lovely, she returns her baffled gaze to my face, then I watch as doubts creep into eyes. Guarded, she fiddles with her fingers and submits herself to me. “I probably can’t keep key. But if you want me to try, I’ll do my best for you.”
My heart aches as she loses her smile and her light, but I have no idea what I can do to bring either back. I feel so…helpless. So completely and utterly helpless where it concerns this woman.
Into the silence, Crisis declares, “I’m selling my firstborn human child to these muffins.” She reaches for her second serving. “Tell me, Clara, how’d you keep them from catching on fire?”
