I was bored and this Emma/Mary Margaret conflict sort of popped into my head. The idea started out as a drabble and turned into this. Idk what else to say about it, I haven’t written in so long….I hope you all like it.
“Why must life be so frustrating?” Emma exclaimed angrily as jabbed the knife deeper into their toaster.
Emma let out another outburst. “Blurgh!” The knife snapped in half.
Ever since the curse broke her mind was just so off; everything was just so off. She slammed her hands against the kitchen counter, took a step back, and let out a heavy sigh.
“The toaster again? And now you’re breaking the silverware too. Really, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked inquisitively as she walked into the apartment.
Emma looked up from where she was standing, her eyes glaring at the brunette before her. This morning this woman was just her friend, now she was her mother.
“I can’t take this anymore!” Emma let out another angry outburst, this time slamming her fist on the toaster.
Mary Margaret was taken back. She had seen Emma angry before but not like this, this was a whole new level of angry. Emma was startled too. That thought was supposed to stay in her head, but instead it came out in a fit of fury. She quickly straightened up her stance, but her body was still tense. Her eyes locking once again on her newly discovered mother.
Mary Margaret wanted nothing more than to comfort and bond with her daughter, but now she was unsure of what to do. After twenty eight years of waiting this wasn’t the reunion she had hoped for. Mary Margaret cautiously approached the kitchen counter where Emma was standing. She began to speak in the softest most motherly voice she could muster.
“Emma look, about before your father and I were just trying to…..”
But before she could finish Emma furiously stomped passed her mother, grabbed her leather jacket, and made a b-line for the door.
“Emma wait!” Mary Margaret called out as the blonde began to open the door.
“I can’t be here anymore. I need to leave. I need to clear my head.” Emma cried out in one last fit of fury. She slammed the door closed behind her, like a grounded teenager on a Saturday night.