And with my arms wrapped around her, we imploded.
Picture after picture, video after video, they attacked her. Sometimes I would lay awake at night, thinking about all the horrible things they commented. And I would call her, and she would be awake too, sometimes editing, sometimes sniffling and complaining about how her tears were making her pillow wet.
I would press the phone against my cheek, listening to her fret about the clothing line, the comments, her new friends, and I would tell her everything was going to be okay. Because that's what Grayson told me I was supposed to do. I didn't mind. It made me feel better when she felt better.
And sometimes I would even drive to her place in the middle of the night, just to give her a hug. Emma really just needed a hug sometimes. And after I hugged her, I made her hot water with lemon and honey in it. What Grayson made me when I was sick. She smiled languidly before passing out in her bed. Sometimes I would just leave, locking the door behind me. But other times, I would work her hair out of a bun and brush it across the pillow for her. She would murmur in appreciation, and it made me happy. I knew she needed someone around because moving to LA was hard on anyone.
But I only experienced this soft part of Emma late into the night. During the day, she was full of adrenaline and always down for an adventure, she was loud, low maintenance and as hard-headed as myself. She stayed awake all night, and couldn't stop laughing if she tried.
She was perfect for me.
But I didn't know that yet.
