Sparrow and Spaghetti Chapter 6 (part 1)

*I haven't written in a while, so I'm a little out of practice.  Also, I can't seem to get Emma's personality right in thise chapter, any help would be appreciated!  Thanks!*

Chapter 6
            They laid her on the center of the bed, underneath a thick green quilt.  Her hair splays out across the pillow and it’s almost like all the blood was drained away, leaving a shell in its place.  A thick wad of gauze covers her cheek. 
            The world crashed down at that moment.  This is when it becomes real.  I was always told to live for the moment because you don’t know when it will be your last, but this is what brings it home.  Everything else was a haze, a dream, nothing.  This, seeing my old friend just laying there, half dead from torture, makes it real. 
            I peal back the quilt, waiting for a monster to jump out and pull me under.  Her old clothes were switched out for a gray hammy-down dress of mine, but even with it, the bandages still show through.  Underneath her tan are layers of scars, looping over each other, telling a story. 
            I can’t do this. I push the blanket over her shoulders and pull up a chair.  My head finds its comfort deep in the recesses of my hands. 
            What do I do now?  Let’s just assume for a moment, she lives.  What do we do with her?  She can’t just roam around, and she isn’t going to be following me.  Do we just send her off to fend for herself and say it was nice to have you?  Are we just a stop in the ride, meant to patch her up and send her on her way? 
            Sunlight shines through a gap in the curtains, leaving a ray of golden light across her face.  What it must be like, to lay still and never get up; not dead, just thinking.  I could dream for days on end and make that my escape.  That would make me the luckiest person in the world.
            The harsh gong of the doorbell echoes through the house.  I can’t go down stairs like this!  What if they start asking questions?  I can’t answer them.  What if they report me?  They’ll think I’ve become too attached or something.
            The bell tolls again.
            Calm down.  I gently push my chair back and try not to stumble down the stairs.  If I can make my voice sound normal, maybe they’ll think my blush is sunburn. 
            I plaster a fake smile on my face and open the door.
            “Hello?”
            No one and nothing.  I hate people, I really do.  I roll my eyes and turn back, stopping at the banister.  Three… two… one… and…
            “Emma!” shout people behind me. 
            I shut my eyes briefly and force myself to turn around.
            “Oh my God!  You should have seen your face!”  says a boy with curly brown hair.
            “You couldn’t see her face,” retorts the girl climbing out of the bushes.
            And I called it.
            “So are you going to invite us in or not?” the third guy asks.
            “Of course she is, right Em?”  The brunette girl says as she parades past me.
            “Liz, I- um, this isn’t really-”
            “Do you have any food?  My parent’s house’s cleaned out,” asks Jonas.
            “So what happened?” asks Ethan with a smile.
            I can already hear Jonas digging through my pantry down the hall.  Why can’t they leave?
            “You ‘k?  You’re quiet today,” says Liz, more as a statement than a question.  “Come on, sit.”  She pulls me, through my own home, to a kitchen stool.
            I don’t say anything.  Why not at least let her have fun?  She’ll figure it out.
            “Ugh, you really do look awful.”  She lifts up a lock of my hair like she expects moths to fly out.  “Did you forget to shower or- ooo!  I know!”
            She drops my hair and claps her hands together. Her face seems to suck the life out of mine.  Every moment she lights up more, I sink.
            “Oh my gosh, where is it?” she squeals.  Her curls bounce as she jumps with excitement.  I hear her squeaking while she proclaims to the world the “good news.” 
            “Can we see it?  Please?” she begs.  She pulls my hands out from around my stomach and squeezes them.  A part of me wants to scream at her to shut up and smack that pouty look of her face.  But that part of me is locked up in chains, with no means of escape.
            Very faintly, my head nods as she pulls me to my feet.
            I guess she just needs the formalities, always has.  She just likes the reassuring knowledge that she has always won.   She leaves the three of us to trail behind like lost little runts, too slow to keep up.
            She’s always wanted a pet, I suppose.  Or, to put it better, she’s always wanted a pet that would last.  Maybe that’s her motive this time.  Her family had two in the past; neither made it through the week.  They must have been too sick or something.
            We talk slow halting steps as we make our ascension to the bedroom.  No one meets each other’s eyes.  I feel like I should be protecting her dignity or something.  Like I’m betraying her by letting all these people stare at her like she’s some exotic animal trapped behind a plane of glass.
            Just as we reach the door, a high pitch scream erupts from the room.  No one pauses.  We push through just in time to see Beth roll out from under Liz and pin her by the neck.
            Time stops and the only one moving is the girl with the hundred pound body on her back.  Her eyes bulge and she tries to get a solid kick on Beth’s leg, but it’s over. 
            Both girls pant profusely, Liz more than Beth.  Beth’s hair falls in front of her face and reaches to tickle Elizabeth’s shoulders.  Her lips are compressed into a thin scowl.  Her leg is a dead thing on the ground, as far away as she can get it from the snarling girl. 
            “Get out,” says Beth, pronouncing every syllable.
            Liz gives one last squirm before falling limp into the carpet.  Beth rolls over and braces herself against the bed.
            Thirty seconds; that’s all it takes, just thirty.
            Liz gathers herself up and, with as much dignity as she can muster, walks briskly out the door.  Just as she reaches the hallway, she turns around to face us.
            “Are you coming or not?” she screeches at the boys.  Her face is red and blotchy, but she’s beaten, and no matter how terrifying she becomes, we all know it.
            No one moves.
            “Fine, stay,” she spits, on the verge of tears.  “But when she slits your throats you’ll be sorry!”
            She slams the door behind her, leaving us to hear the echo of her stomps.