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She automatically pulls her legs up when she gets flat. Her feet flat on the floor and knees bent and opening wide, I assume it’s the birthing position of women and not how she casually lounges around the house.

Her long dress is hanging to her ankles, and she is already panting again like an overheated dog. Another wave of panic hits me in the gut and I shuffle myself to her feet on my knees, shaking like a leaf and unsure how this is will go down. My eyes keep flicking to the hall, and every noise, making me pray for Jake.

For the love of all that is holy.

“You need to get them off, and my shoes.... If this is happening, then I want them off.” Emma frowns at me from her position, lifting her head up enough to see me over her knees, and I can see how badly she is clutching at the leg of a nearby chair. Squeezing the shit out of the chrome and I just thank my stars it’s not my hand. She could clearly crush every bone in my little