𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, emmett cullen

9 - A MENTAL INSTITUTION ✓

CHAPTER 9 || WRITE A LIE

EACH TENDON IN the fine portions of her shaky hands tremble, and Brooke's knuckles whiten with the curl of her fingers in a tight fist as she attempts to steady her shot nerves. Stiffly, Brooke's slumped upon the risen foundation nearby the wide staircase, and where Brooke would usually marvel at the grand piano laid behind her, she hardly notices. The home is silent, marble statues of eerie, undeniably beautiful figures stand still as those that dare linger watch her with a flick of molten gold eyes in their uncertainty. Her breaths are labored, but there's a bizarre warmth pooling beneath her ribs as if a false sense of security that has the tight cushioning between the columns of Brooke's otherwise coiled spine turn to taffy as the girl slumps.

Ahead of her, Brooke's hands wring and her throat is clenching closed, like the cruel, stone hand that's blackened her skin with horrendous handprints across her throbbing shoulders has latched around her throat. Brooke bites at the inside of her cheek until it's raw, and the skin splits, pooling a slick coppery plague onto her tastebuds. A voice calls to her and after another delayed, shell-shocked moment, the sixteen-year-old raises her bloodshot eyes to the kind, pitiful smile as Carlisle lifts his hand. His rosy lips curve around gently-spoken comfort, likely an explanation or twelve but Brooke's hearing is muffled, as if her head is dunked underwater until Edward's stiff voice admits lowly, "She can't hear you." With his arms looped around his chest, and his face is tight.

A delicate hand presses tentatively against Brooke's trembling bicep and her head snaps, wisps of her unruly hair tousled in her blotchy face until Esme's fingertips brush her cheek with a maternal coo. Her thumb smudges her tears that Brooke didn't even notice fall and Esme slides her arm around her shoulders in a tuck of her against her side. It's a long beat, and the Olympians that surround her confess their concerns, but it isn't until thin panels of smooth, honeyed linoleum seem to tremor with the stomp of feet, wracked with fury with the thunder of Rosalie's steps. Her face is scrunched with wrath, her plump, rosy lip curled above snarling teeth with the hard shake of her head in refusal, and a whip of her tresses of celestial gold as her blazen gaze begins to blacken, charred with her outrage as her hand tosses toward Brooke.

Venom pools on Rosalie's tongue as she bites, "She's a danger to us all! The Volturi–!"

In a sudden jerk of motion, Brooke shoves to her feet with her own teeth bared in ire, "You think that if I ran out of here, hollering about fucking vampires that the town would go–" Dryly, she throws up each of her hands, jabbing her thumbs up sardonically, "--'yeah, cool, completely believable, babe. In fact, let's take the pitchforks and torches over there right now'?" Brooke's face is flushed in a different manner, blood scalding the nape of her neck to her pale cheeks as her stomach jostles nauseously, "Newsflash, Hale, not how it would check out–in fact, I'd be checking in to a goddamn mental institution!" Jolting her hands to rake her fingers through her hair, Brooke's fists ball around the roots with a surge of a disbelieving, bitter laugh from her mouth, "I mean shit, I still might!" Her breaths are quick, "I mean–I mean–what the fuck!?"

Understandingly, Carlisle nods his head and his sigh isn't in exasperation as he clears his throat, "Brooke," He bows his head to find her gaze, and Brooke is frantic in the lock of her eyes upon Emmett but he doesn't meet her stare. His broad shoulders are hunched and his head is bowed whenever Brooke finds Carlisle again. "We wouldn't harm you."

"Tell that to your damn daughter," Brooke mumbles, with Rosalie's rage bubbling beneath the surface, infusing into her darkened eyes. "You–How did you know where I was?" As her eyes welt involuntarily and Brooke's shaky hand rubs hard at her face, and she watches Emmett as she blurts, "Were you following me?" He remains mute, the cogs in his head whir as he thoughtfully, painfully, stares at the floor between his feet and Brooke's jaw grows harder as she calls, "Emmett," Her heart lodged in her throat, "I deserve some sorta goddamn explanation!"