The Boy Who Has No Hope (Soulless 6)

“Derek—”

“Don’t push me.” I turned back to her. “I’m this fucking close to snapping, alright?” I held my fingers together, only a millimeter in between the tips. “I know you’re only trying to help, so I’m doing my best not to turn into a full-blown asshole and say shit that will bite me in the ass later, but you’re really making me regret ever telling you about this. You’re my personal assistant, Emerson. Doesn’t mean you need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She accepted my words without giving a reaction, as if my outburst had no effect on her, as if she still saw the good parts of me when only the bad parts were on display. She continued to wear that hard gaze, pragmatic like a saint. “If you won’t talk to someone, will you talk to me?”

My eyes narrowed.

“I just want to help you, Derek. Please let me help you.”

“I don’t need help—”

“Is there something wrong with needing help?” she whispered. “No. Because there’s not. If you don’t like your situation, but you make no attempt to change it, your situation will never improve. This is a fact.”

My hands moved to my hips.

“I understand if you don’t feel comfortable talking to someone you don’t know, especially since you already tried this once and it failed. But you seem to trust me…at least more than most people.”

I gave a loud sigh.

“In case this isn’t obvious, I care about you…a lot. It’s impossible for me to do this job without getting emotionally invested in you as a person. I want to protect you. I want to help you. I want to make you happy.”

I believed her—all the way down to my soul.

“You have a lot of guilt to resolve, and if we can do that, I think you’ll feel much better. We have to at least try. You deserve to be happy, Derek. And I can tell that you aren’t…”

I winced slightly at her observation because she was right on the money.

“Or maybe we can go to this therapist together. What about that?”

I inhaled another deep breath. “Okay…I’ll try.”FourEmersonI walked into the apartment to a mess in the kitchen.

Mom was sitting in the recliner watching TV with her eyes closed, while Lizzie lay on the couch, her hair hanging over the edge, her legs propped up over the back of the couch, her thumb scrolling through her newsfeed.

I looked at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the leftover food on the counter. “Lizzie.” I didn’t raise my voice, but I used a very specific tone that told her hell would freeze over if she didn’t get off her ass and clean this up.

Lizzie must have been so focused on her social media that she didn’t hear me walk in because she rolled off the couch and landed on the floor. “You’re never home this early.” She landed on her knees then got to feet, wearing little pajama shorts and a tank top.

“And that makes it okay to be a pig?” I couldn’t even put my purse down because the counter was covered.

“I was going to clean it up, I swear.” She got to her feet and walked into the kitchen.

“Doesn’t matter because you’re going to clean it up now.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “So happy you’re home, Mom.”

“I’m just as happy about it as you are.” I walked into the living room and stared at my mom, who had fallen asleep in the recliner in front of the TV. “Ma.” I grabbed the back of the recliner and started to shake it so she would wake up.

She snapped out of it and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Not bedtime. Ma, the kitchen is a mess. Why aren’t you disciplining her?”

She shrugged. “I’m her grandmother, not her mother. That’s your problem.”

I sighed and turned away.

She snapped her fingers. “Better give me a kiss, missy.”

I rolled my eyes playfully then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“That’s better.”

Lizzie worked in the kitchen, cleaning up all the stains on the counter.

“What the hell did you make?”

“Smoothies.” Her brown hair was in a tight ponytail and out of her face. With blue eyes like mine, it was obvious she was my relative, but when we went out, people assumed we were sisters instead of mother and daughter.

“Why couldn’t you just make a sandwich?”

“Because I wanted a smoothie. I found this recipe online.” She carried the wad of paper towels to the garbage can and tossed them inside. Then she went to the dishes and started to clean. But she only did the ones she’d added to the pile.

“Ahem.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“What? I’m doing my dishes.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it, Lizzie. You’re a member of this household, so you need to contribute.”