Emmett joined Amy next to the campfire again, where everyone was eating their meal, celebrating their victory. Many of them even clapped the girl on the back, much to her embarrassment.
"Hi," He said, not sure if she could hear him over the awful din. She did.
"Hi." She smiled faintly at him. Something behind the smile was pained, but he took it anyways.
"Hey, Emmett! Take a swig of this!" Phil shouted. He was handed a bottle of some kind of alcohol, which he took a cautious swig of. It burned his throat and stomach and he shoved the bottle back, sputtering and coughing. Amy laughed.
"I'm never going to drink alcohol again!" Emmett shouted above the ruckus. She smiled.
"I don't think I ever want to try it," She said. Soon the world was fuzzy, and so were his thoughts. His voice slurred. Emmett didn't like it. He felt like he no longer had any control over what he said.
"I love you, Amy," He muttered into her ear. She jerked back, alarmed. His mind strayed to other thoughts. "Are you pregnant?"
Her smile was faint again. "I haven't even bled yet."
"Seventeen, and you haven't bled?" He said disbelievingly.
"It doesn't matter."
"No, I guess not." Someone bumped against him, and he fell, thrusting his hand out to break his fall. His senses jolted awake as he screamed when his hand entered the fire.
"Emmett!" Amy cried, snatching her canteen and trickling it over his burned hand. She glared daggers at the person who'd knocked him over, Luke.
"Sorry," Luke said, not sounding sorry at all. As Amy fussed over him, her sleeves shifted and he could see her numerous burn scars on her hands. He blacked out.