𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, emmett cullen

11 - COLD ONES ✓

CHAPTER 11 || HEAVY ASSUMPTION

THE LIVING SPACE IS cramped, with the earthy tones of Charlie's color scheme sought to be the most unlike Renée and her soft tones augmented by eccentric decor. Brooke sits cross-legged, her ankles dipping the leather of their couch beneath as her honeycomb eyes latch to Emmett in wonder. It was the unknown, Brooke finds, that scared her. Or catlike irises, thrumming with lethality, feral and grotesquely cardinal. Emmett's are warm, like a liquid honey dribbling from a beechwood dipper into a smooth pool, and the corners are rounded with Emmett's boyishness, wide and soft with thick lashes that fan his sharp, high cheekbones. Full lips curve around Emmett's boisterous syllables, and his laughter is a lick of heat across Brooke's face as they flush with a contagious amusement.

Dusk bleeds into nightfall, until the skies are doused with treacle. Pearl constellations dust the sky, a crescent moon pinned overhead and Brooke has drawn the curtains. Emmett has her attention, magnetized to cling to every syllable and if she dared to peek whenever her rosy lips spoke, she'd see his gentle stare, infatuated by Brooke's every confession as if she held the answer. Time passed quickly, and Brooke doesn't realize the hour until the thud of heavy duty, steel toe-capped boots hit the porch steps sluggishly with a drag of defeated feet and Brooke frowns with a twist of her expression as she cranes her neck over the spine of the couch with Emmett's stare latching to the front door. It isn't locked, with Emmett a blanket of safety that chased away Brooke's paranoia that convinced her to board herself indoors, and Charlie pushes inside.

Grim is her father's facial expression, glossy eyes harboring tears across the waterline and Brooke's chest clenches with dread as she sits straighter, calling for him. Subtly, his chin is wobbling and Charlie swipes the back of his shaky hand across his mouth with a hoarse but polite request for Emmett to depart. He does and Bella steps stiffly after their father with a solemn look, her lips rolled into her mouth and Brooke shifts to the edge of the couch as Charlie slips her small hand into his. Waylon Forge had died, suffered an animal attack at the docks he adored so dearly and Brooke feels the world grow muffled as Charlie bares the bad news grievously because Brooke knows that the feral attack wasn't much of an animal at all. He wouldn't have stood a chance, armed with his shotgun.

An apex predator, adapted with immortality. Brooke remembers the little effort placed in tossing her aside, they toyed with her and that is all that saved her life. Their game must have been shorter, and a warped part of her is thankful that Waylon's torment may have been lesser but perhaps that's just a pathetic attempt to soothe herself. Tears rolled down her face with her Godfather's death and Brooke can hardly comprehend her guilt, as if she could have saved him had she known. Her knowledge of their kind would have done very little for Waylon, if only frightened him further in his last moments because Brooke would hardly stand a chance of her own. Whilst her father's snores tumble raspily from his mouth with his restless slumber finally settling into something merciful and Brooke's dainty fingers take the neck of his beer bottle.

In the recliner nearby, Bella sits with her legs tucked against her chest and her nail bitten between her teeth. A war wages behind her eyes, and Bella's breaths are labored as Brooke slips from underneath Charlie's draped arm to wave her hand mutely before her sister's face. Snapped from her stupor, Bella pins her stare to Brooke, doe eyes widening with her deliberation a sharp smudge through the hue of tawn the triad share. An incredulous look, and Brooke gestures her hand for Bella to share her thoughts only for the girl to shake her head and peek at their father. Brooke nods in understanding, and she's rising to her feet as the sister's shuffle toward the stairs but not before the youngest drapes the blanket from the spine of the couch across Charlie's exhausted frame. Bella closes her bedroom door in a quiet manner before she's almost pouncing for her newly purchased read.