A ONE NIGHT STAND

Chapter 4- Resentment. Emma

The next day, I woke up feeling like I'd been put through a wringer. My body ached all over, like I'd been in a fierce battle and lost. I stretched my arms and legs, trying to shake off the fatigue. As I sat on my bed, I couldn't help but think about how most of the bartenders at the bar seemed to dislike me.

"Am I just unlucky in life?" I wondered, running my hands through my tangled hair.

I took a deep breath, prepared for the day ahead, put on a baggy pair of jeans and a worn-out t-shirt, and slipped on one of my three trusty sneakers. The white laces were frayed, and the sole was worn out, but they were comfortable. I then reached for my mom's necklace, which she had given me before she passed away.

The silver chain was tarnished, and the small crystal pendant was cloudy, but it still held a special place in my heart. I wear it as a lucky charm whenever I need a boost of confidence.

Just as I was about to head out, there was a knock on my door.

"Good morning, Miss Emma," Mary said, her voice gentle and soft. I felt a strange sense of joy in my heart as I turned to face her. She was wearing a simple white dress with a blue apron over it, and her hair was tied back in a neat bun.

I walked over to her, smiled slightly, and reached out to take her hand, but she hesitated and slowly pulled away.

"Miss Emma, you're very kind, but I don't want to get you in trouble with Ma'am Amelia or Miss Brittany," she said, her voice trembling.

I took her hand again, feeling a sense of determination.

"I don't care about them, Mary. I choose who I want to be close to, and I want to be friends with you."

I looked into her eyes, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. Mary's eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and they seemed to hold a world of emotions.

But before Mary could respond, Brittany interrupted, her voice cold and condescending.

"Of course, you should be friends with her, Emma. After all, she's your caliber. You illegitimate child."

Brittany's words cut through the air like a knife, and I felt a surge of anger. She was wearing a white floral gown that accentuated her slender figure, and her hair was styled in loose waves. She looked beautiful, but her beauty was overshadowed by her cruelty.

Brittany turned to Mary and snapped, "I thought father said he demanded her presence. What's the delay for, you incompetent fool?"

Mary looked down, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm sorry, miss. I was just..."

Brittany interrupted her, her voice harsh.

"Get out from here!" she ordered, and Mary quickly curtsied and scurried away, her head bowed in fear.

I felt a surge of anger at Brittany's harsh words, but I tried to stay calm.

"Why are you so inhumane, Brittany? You have no right to speak to Mary like that."

But Brittany just sneered at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"Just look at you...you're not even worth talking to. You stink. Go downstairs and have breakfast. Father is waiting for you. I don't know what you think you are, but you're certainly not worthy of our family."

With that, Brittany turned on her heel and walked away, her high heels clicking eloquently on the stairs. I felt a pang of sadness and frustration, but I knew I had to stay strong.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed downstairs to face whatever lay ahead. The smell of freshly baked bread and coffee filled the air, and my stomach growled in response. I was hungry, but I knew that the breakfast awaiting me would come with a price.

As I descended the stairs, the room fell silent, and all eyes fixed on me like a magnet. I felt like a prisoner on trial, and the ground might swallow me whole. Amelia's heavy sigh filled the air, and she approached me with a disapproving gaze, her grip on my shoulder tightening like a vice. I felt a surge of disgust at her touch, her long, manicured nails digging into my skin.

"Emma, what are you wearing?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain, her tone condescending. "What perfume are you using? It smells like nothing I've ever smelled before, cheap and vulgar."

Her gaze roamed over my outfit, her eyes lingering on my worn-out T-shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed sneakers, her expression a mix of horror and disgust.

"Your clothes are tattered and old, like something a homeless person would wear. What on earth are you thinking, dressing like that? You look like a ragamuffin, a street urchin, not a member of this family."

"I know you are not a Smith, Emma," she continued, her voice dripping with venom, "but please, you can't tarnish our image. You're representing our family, and you look like...like...I don't even know what you look like. A beggar, perhaps?"

I met her gaze, my eyes blazing with hatred, my heart racing with anger. I felt like she was stripping me bare, exposing my vulnerabilities for all to see, like a butterfly pinned to a specimen board.

She pulled me toward the dining table, forcing me to sit beside her, her grip on my shoulder like a handcuff. Brittany's pitiful expression and sad eyes seemed calculated to gain sympathy from our father, her gaze fixed on me like a dagger.

"Dad, when I went to call Emma downstairs to join us for dinner, I was actually displeased with her dressing and offered her a new set of clothes from my wardrobe, but she declined and told me I was acting all pretentious and she doesn't need it," Brittany said, her voice laced with fake hurt, her tone sugary sweet.

My father's eyes narrowed, his face stern, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment.

"Emma, do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked, his tone firm, his voice commanding.

I raised my gaze to meet his, my expression unreadable, my heart heavy with emotion.

"I have nothing to say, Father," I replied, my voice flat, my tone devoid of emotion. I began eating, the food tasting bitter in my mouth, like ashes and dust.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and judgmental gazes. I felt like an outsider, a stranger in a family that didn't want me, a puzzle piece that didn't fit.

My father sighed heavily, his face contorted in a mixture of pity and understanding. He turned to Amelia, his voice cold and stern, his eyes blazing with a warning.

"Amelia, firstly, don't ever speak of Emma like that."

She interrupted, "But..."

My father roared, "Shut up, I'm not done talking. Mind the way you speak to Emma." His voice was firm, his eyes flashing with anger.

Amelia looked at him, fake tears welling up in her eyes, her voice laced with feigned innocence.

"I didn't say anything wrong, I was just stating the obvious. As a mother..." she began, her words dripping with venom. I interrupted, my voice firm, my eyes locked on hers.

"Stepmother Amelia, which I haven't accepted yet." I emphasized the word "stepmother", my tone dripping with disdain.

She looked at me, her eyes blazing with anger, her gaze fixed on me like a dagger.

"You see, honey. Emma doesn't like me, she doesn't want me to fill in the gap of a mother to her," Amelia said, her voice dripping with malice, her words laced with hatred. I thought to myself, I would never let that happen. I would never accept her as my mother.

"It's enough, everyone," my father said, his voice calm but firm, his expression commanding. "Emma, I want you to take things easy with your stepmom and your sister. Brittany offered her help and you turned it down. Let's try to live in harmony." His eyes fixed on us, his gaze piercing.

"You saw what happened, Dad," I replied, my voice firm, my eyes locked on his. "I'm not the bad one here. I got humiliated and belittled in your presence and you also clearly saw I didn't give a reply and for Brittany," I turned my gaze to her, my eyes blazing with anger.

"I don't need worn clothes. I prefer to wear my tattered clothes than hers." I emphasized the word "tattered", my tone dripping with disdain. The room fell silent, the tension palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and judgmental gazes.

"My father's voice was laced with concern as he spoke, ''You still need to change your clothes.'' He then pulled out a gleaming green card from his wallet and handed it to me. ''Take this card, Emma, to settle your expenses,'' he said, his eyes filled with kindness.

Brittany's eyes widened in shock, her face contorted in jealousy.

''A green card?'' she exclaimed, her voice laced with venom. ''Dad, you haven't given me a green card! I have a yellow card, and Emma just came into our lives, and you want to give her a green card?''

I looked around, feeling uncomfortable. ''Dad, you can keep it for now. When I need it, I'll let you know. I think I'm late for work, I should be going,'' I replied, trying to stand up.

My father's eyes filled with sympathy and pain.

''Let the driver drop you off or I can drop you,'' he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, ''No need, Dad. I don't want people talking so much. I'm already suffering. Thanks for your offer,'' I replied, my voice firm.

He looked at me with pleading eyes.

''I won't argue with you, but please just accept this offer I'm about to say,'' He said, his voice filled with kindness.

I nodded for him to go ahead. ''Tell me the time you are going to close, and I would come over to pick you up, and we could go shopping together. Emma, please don't say no. Just this once,'' He pleaded, his eyes filled with hope.

I agreed, my heart filled with gratitude. ''Ok, father,'' I replied, my voice soft. He smiled and took my phone from my hand, dialing his number. ''That's my number, call me when you are done, and take care,'' He said, his eyes locked on mine. I nodded before I left.

Meanwhile, Amelia and Brittany looked at dad with an intense menacing gaze, their anger palpable. Brittany's eyes blazed with jealousy, her nails digging deep into her skin.

''I'm off to work, I have things I need to settle, and Brittany, the driver would drop you off,'' He said before he stood up, a guard carrying his suitcase to the car.

When he was gone, Brittany turned to her mom, her anger-filled eyes blazing.

''Mom, did you see what happened? Dad is slowly slipping away from us, and that girl is taking over!'' she exclaimed, her voice laced with venom.

Amelia's eyes filled with cunning, her voice laced with malice.

''We need to take things slowly, Brittany. We mustn't let your father know we abhor Emma. I feel like he knows we don't like her, and we are acting all pretentious towards her. So let's drop it for now and not expose ourselves,'' She replied, her eyes locked on Brittany's. They both nodded in agreement, their eyes still blazing with resentment and anger."