Page 48 of Holding Hope
“You have no idea what this is or what it means. You had no fucking right. How dare you come into my home—”
“It’s just hair, Clarke!” I snapped, unable to stop myself. “You can’t keep acting like I’m supposed to magically know everything when you won’t tell me anything.”
Clarke recoiled like I’d slapped her. Her eyes widened, shining with hurt and fury.
“Just hair?” she whispered. Then louder: “You think this is just hair?”
She shook the strands in her fist.
“This is the months we feared she wouldn’t wake up from her coma.”
A few strands fell.
“This is the months of chemotherapy.”
More hair slipped through her fingers.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“This is the bullying she faced when her hair finally started growing back.”
Another handful dropped.
“This is the look on my mother’s face when she had her first bad day after weeks of good ones.”
Only a few strands remained in Clarke’s palm. She stared at them, a tear sliding down her cheek and falling onto her skin.
“It’s not about the hair, Avalon. It’s the resilience. The strength. We didn’t think she was going to make it.”
She looked up at me, eyes blazing.
“You had no right. Regardless of what my sister said—it shouldn’t have been you.”
I swallowed hard. “I—”
“You’re sorry,” she snapped. “Yes, I know, Avalon. You’re always fucking sorry.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead, gaze darting around the room like she was searching for an escape — anywhere but me.
“I’m sorry, Clarke. Tell me what to do to make this right.”
My voice trembled. I bit down on my lip to stop it.
“You can leave.”
Her tone was cold. Final.
“I don’t think…” She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I don’t think this is going to work, Avalon.”
I felt stunned. Confused. “W-what? You’re going to throw out weeks of progress over one slip-up?”
Clarke laughed—one sharp, disbelieving sound. “Progress? What progress, Avalon? Things are exactly the same as when you arrived.”
That wasn’t true. She knew it. I knew it. Hell, even Melly knew it. Things had changed between us. They were getting better. We were getting better.
Clarke hadn’t tried to maim me in days, and I no longer felt the need to prop a chair under my doorknob at night.
They were all about you.
