"This," Emma began, "is the STUPIDEST video I have ever filmed."
"Then don't post it," I said slowly.
"I have to post this week." Emma insisted.
"No one is making you do anything," I said even slower.
"My six million subscribers are!" Emma insisted, cheeks growing red. She was at her desk, head in her hands, fuming at the video she was editing. The pink blanket across her lap was splattered in coffee stains. Two cups of Philz sat idly on the floor. I studied the image on her computer, her and Olivia, then one other girl I didn't recognize.
"But I have to post it, to keep my viewers happy. And Olivia and Amanda would be so mad if I didn't! But it's literally the same as Olivia's vlog!" she argued with herself.
"Do you do this for every video?" I asked gently.
"Yes, Ethan, I do. Does it look painful? Because it is!" Emma snapped back at me, furiously tapping at the keys.
I had seen Emma frustrated, and about to tear James' head off, but I'd never seen her this distraught. Was she finally going to break?
"Alright, I'm done, I'm leaving, I need to drive..." Emma announced, as if on cue. She threw her hands up and stumbled out of her sitting position. She stormed up the stairs, and I followed closely behind.
"I don't think it's a good idea to be driving, Emma, do you want me to-" I started, trailing her like a puppy. She started scavenging her room for shoes. She entered her closet, and I trapped her in.
"Ethan, move! I'm leaving!" she shouted. Her voice was high and sharp and made me wince.
"No, I'm not letting you leave when you're in the middle of a fucking tantrum," I said stiffly, realizing how immature she was acting.
"I'm not throwing a tantrum! Now, MOVE!" she insisted, ramming her side into my chest. Her small frame didn't even make me wobble. She made a frustrated sound and slipped out under my legs.
I turned and followed her down the stairs.
"And to top it all off, this apartment is a fucking mess!" she yelled, surveying the kitchen. Frantically, she started putting bowls in the dishwasher and wiping down the counters. "My dad is coming to visit tomorrow, and if this place is a mess, he'll be disappointed! He bought me by avocado rags! To match the painting on the wall!" she roared.
"Right there! That painting, do you see it? The one of the avocado! He painted it!" she kept screaming, hysterically.
"I like the avocado painting," I said simply, standing near it.
"You-are-so-annoying!" Emma huffed, beating my chest with her small fist between each word. "I-like-it-too."
"Do you want to go on a drive?" I asked her gently.
"Yes. Give me my keys. I saw you pick them up." she whispered, her fury diminished slightly.
"No. I will drive." I said calmly.
"Stop being a bitch," she said.
"I'm being safe, and responsible," I repeated.
"Ahhhhh!" Emma growled, flopping on the floor. She laid there for a moment before I could detect the quiet sobs. I lowered myself to lay next to her, on my back. With my free hand, I rubbed her back.
"I'm sorry," she whispered eventually, getting up. "Let me finish the video."
"Nope," I snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her on to my chest. "Let's just sit for a minute, okay?"
"Okay,"
"You were acting like a little kid, though, Emma," I said carefully. She didn't say anything. "You have to learn how to manage it like an adult."
"I'm still a kid," Emma said weakly.
"You're in an adult's business," I countered.
"Okay,"
"And you need to talk about what makes you anxious and frustrated. Not just whip out of her in your new car, and crash it for all I know. I couldn't live with myself if you did something reckless like that." I told her.
"It wouldn't be your fault," Emma reasoned.
"It would be," I said back. "Because it's my responsibility to care for you. I'm your boyfriend, just let me be one!"
"Okay,"
"I love you, and I don't like seeing you like this. Let's take a break, and then you can go back to editing and have it up tonight. It will be okay. The video is good, I promise." I continued.
"I love you too, sorry for yelling at you," she said.
"Oh, the yelling doesn't bother me, but that avocado probably got its feelings hurt," I informed her.
"Sorry, avocado," she mumbled into my shirt.
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