“You know,” she said in a voice only I could hear, her hand brushing my arm with sisterly sweetness. “Maybe she’s right. No one really loves you. You’re just…extra.”
Her words sliced deeper than the slap.
Before I could stop myself, something inside me snapped.
I shoved her.
My hands shoved Patricia, and for a second, she staggered back, wide-eyed. I hadn’t meant to push her that hard—it wasn’t even that hard. But in true Patricia fashion, she made it dramatic.
“You little—!” she hissed and lunged at me, nails aimed for my hair.
Before I could react, she had grabbed a fistful of it, yanking my head to the side. Pain tore across my scalp as I fought back, grabbing her wrist, trying to break free.
“Enough!” I screamed, pushing against her again.
She scratched me. I could feel it—sharp lines burning across my cheek and neck. We stumbled backward, grappling like children, like animals.
“What the hell is going on here?” Denver's voice thundered as he stormed into the room.
Patricia instantly started crying. “She hit me! Look at what she did!” she whimpered, showing the faint red line on her arm.