Ice floods my veins. Each memory he threw in my face was something I held close to my heart. I thought it was us forging our relationship, making memories, experiencing life together, but he acts like he tolerated those things, whereas I craved them. Yearned for them. They were me. I thought they were us. My hand immediately reaches for my necklace . . . infinity. What I thought I had found at a young age. My throat aches, revolting against me trying to swallow. I meet his eyes for a brief second, but it hurts.
Lies.
Broken ties.
The ending.
I look around the waiting room, memorizing the burgundy tweed couch, matching chairs. Sterile. Just like our relationship. All the warmth has bled out, and all that’s left is aloofness, an aura of death. I step back, needing distance from this person I loved my entire life. That’s a lie; I loved who I made him to be. Not this person in front of me. I cling to that necklace, meet his eyes. Tugging as hard as I can, the chain breaks, and I let it flutter to the ground. I turn to flee with the sound of him calling my name ringing in my ears.
I can’t be here. As pissed and disappointed as I am at him, he still holds my heart in his hands. It was his to nourish or crush, and he just fucking demolished it. My dreams. My beliefs. My reality. My future. I gave it all to him, and he ruined it. I know we both had a lot of growing up to do and nobody ever knows what your future will bring, but I was pretty damn sure no matter what path my life took, he’d be in it . . . every step.
I look to my parents and follow them outside, each of us needing fresh air. My mom’s eyes red-rimmed, my dad’s face stoic, but eyes shrouded in pain. “Any news?” I try to steel my voice, but my quivering chin gives me away. My parents open their arms, and I fly into them.
“James is still in recovery, but they think there will be a full recovery. He has a lot ahead of him, but he’ll be fine.” I sigh in relief. At least he’s going to make it.
“I’m going home. Call me if there is any change.” My dad nods and my mom pulls me closer.
“You okay?” Her whisper tickles my ear.
“No, not even close,” I admit. I bury my face in her chest and let go. Soaking her shirt, my body shaking, the relief of James surviving the brutality of it, the witnessing of the heinous act, my friendship ending, my relationship gone, my heart crushed. It was all too much.
“Let Daddy drive you home, please. I don’t want you driving like this.”
I shake my head, “I’ll take a cab, but you need him here with you. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“I love you, Butterbean.”
“I love you.” I look at my dad. “Both.”
His fists are clenched, jaw ticking, “We’ll be home after we see him. Call if you need anything.”
I nod. “Dad, don’t.” I know he wants to seek Will out, and that won’t help anything. Emotions are heightened, and Will has been a part of my dad’s life since he came home . . . everyone needs to step back, work towards the future and let the anger dissipate.
“I’ll keep him in line.” My mom’s voice breaks my determination.
“Promise?” Nobody else needs to be hurt in this. We’ve all suffered enough.
“Yes.” Her assurance settles me.
“Mom, I think this is one of those defining moments you talk about. I thought I’d had them before, but I don’t think they were real. This . . . this feels different.”
Her eyes penetrate my gaze, and I see hers flood with tears. “I think you’re right baby, and I have a feeling things are going to get worse.”
“How?”
“You’re my daughter. I know you. Just know you have our support, no matter what you choice you make. Let me say I’m gonna miss you.”
I hadn’t voiced what I was planning. “What?”
“Emma, it’s written all over your face. It won’t be the same but go fly. You clipped some wings today, and you need to find if you can soar without them or if they’ll regrow.” She kisses my forehead. “I’ll be home in a bit to help you pack.” I look up at my dad, and he doesn’t try to hide his tears. He just nods at me, and I take in a calming breath.
“I think I’m okay to drive.”
“I agree. While you have the internal struggle you are gearing up for just remember regret is something you will have forever. Do what you need to do, but make sure you say what you need to say.” She hands me her keys.
“There’s nothing else to say, Mom. It was all said.” I see her close her eyes and a lone tear escapes.
“Okay, see you when I get home. Love you.”
“Love you both.” I make my way to her car.
I’d made my mind up the second he acted like I was an obligation instead of a desire. I may not have articulated it, but it was a done deal. I couldn’t continue in the cycle he was pulling me into. I was better than this. Deep down he was better than that. And in my mind, we deserved more than what he discounted us to.
I look at all my mementos and know I won’t take them. I open my drawer, and the one photo I never displayed stares at me. I trace his face with my fingers, feeling the scruff caress my palm, feeling the abrasion against my neck the way I did that day. My heart seizes, my breath catches, and I fall against the hard floors, the pain to my knees an afterthought. Nothing can compare to the pain ripping through my limbs. One by one I feel they are being ripped from my body, discarded and forgotten.
After my pity party, I stand, resolved to do this and pack. I stare back at the picture and pick it up. I won’t rip it; I want to remember so I won’t believe in someone as much as I believe in myself. Once I’m satisfied I have everything I need, I pull up airlines, still in limbo where I’m going. I close my eyes; play eenie meenie and decision made. Purchasing the ticket, one way, it’s all handled. Tomorrow morning I’ll be in a different state, have a different goal in sight, and I’m a different girl than I was two hours ago.
Every relationship evolves, changes as each person grows and ages. Ours did, but it didn’t morph into what he described. Not for me. Tonight I said goodbye to what might have been.
But not him. I refuse to tell him goodbye, closure is overrated. I swore I’d never say goodbye to anyone after Nana . . . to my family I’ll see them soon, to him I give nothing. He has it all, and I don’t want it back.
My mom crawls into my bed. I wasn’t asleep and heard her and my dad’s argument. I didn’t understand all of it, but it centered on me leaving. “Mom, is Dad upset with me?”
“No, he’s upset you are so much like me.”
“What?”
She leans back and gets comfortable, pulling me to her side. “It’s time you heard our story.” I listen with rapt attention, the parallels uncanny, the pain palpable, the ending a fairytale.
“Wow. I knew bits and pieces, but hearing it in its entirety makes me thankful for you both.”
“All roads lead you back where you began. Remember that. It may take years, but you’ll eventually have to face this and stop running from it.”
“I’m not running.”
“Oh sweet girl, yes you are. You’re setting Olympic records with the speed. It’s fine. I don’t fault you, I told you that story so you would understand things aren’t always what they seem. You have to read between the lines. Had your dad made a different decision that day, we wouldn’t be where we are. It took a long time for me to forgive him, but when I did, it was with a whole new understanding. Pain pushes us to rash decisions, not always the wrong choices. I wish you’d wait and listen to what he has to say. He’s not innocent but he’s not guilty of what you are accusing him of. He made poor choices, but don’t we all?”
“I thought you said you supported me?”
“I do. I will. I just don’t want you going into it blind. This is going to change your life. I want you to be prepared to let this part go.”
“I’m ready to find who I am.”
“We never know who we are. We know our desires, our pains, our personality, but we don’t ever know who we truly are
. We all search, we all grow, we all develop in every stage of life. I don’t want you to stop growing. This isn’t the end of your story, Emma. You’re starting a new chapter.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, baby. Want to tell me where you’re going?”
“I don’t know. I’m making a pit stop in New York. I need to see if I can finish my last year online or transfer schools.”
“Your end game is Washington for your Masters?”
“I think.” She nods. “Please, don’t tell him where I am.”
“We won’t. Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“Promise.” She continues to rub my head, smoothing my hair and running her fingers through it. I called Holly, and she’s expecting me. We have a few weeks until her classes start, and she’ll be able to stay at the apartment with me.
My mom is at the hospital. We said enough last night. Sitting on my suitcase is the keys to the apartment and some cash. I drag my luggage to the front door, startled to see my dad sitting in his recliner. “I’m driving you to the airport.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, emotion threatening to take over.
The drive is silent, and he pulls up to the departure lane and stops. “This is your stop.” He’s not coming in? “It’s your time, Emma. I’m proud of you, I’ll miss you like hell, but go fly, baby. Forge your way and don’t look back.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Butterbean I love you more than words.” I retrieve my luggage and walk inside. I board the plane, and before crossing the threshold, I do the one thing I was told not to.
I look back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
William
As Phoebe walks in the room, I know something happened. Her forlorn look, her splotchy face, trembling fingers over her mouth. “How’s the patient?” Her false cheerfulness shoots anxiety through me.
“Better.” Brett’s voice startles me. We’ve sat in silence the last eight hours, questions weighing all of us down, none of us willing to ask them.
“Good.” Her wavering smile makes me stand, fear rooting in my chest.
“What’s wrong?” James asks her. Her head turns to me, her eyes downcast.
“I’ll go get coffee.” I get she doesn’t want me to hear what she says.
“Thank you.” Her hand grips my forearm. I make my way from the room and voices start. I hear, “Emma. Gone.” I don’t think. I’m barreling down the halls toward the exit, and I remember I don’t have my truck. Blake is still in the waiting room, arriving in the wee hours of the morning. I rush back and grab him.
“Where’s the fire?” He’s rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Shit, did something happen?”
“Ems.” Her name is sour against my tongue. “Gone.” I keep my pace and exit the hospital. Gasping for air, needing to fill my lungs, I slump against the wall.
“Talk to me.” Blake’s searching my face.
“Phoebe said Ems is gone. I fucked up.”
“What happened before I got here?” The hurtful things I said to her play a constant loop in my head. The look on her face, in her eyes, as I crushed her. I was lambasting. I needed her, and she turned on me. It’s not an excuse, but she knows me better. What happened last night was horrific.
She accused me of setting this in motion. I didn’t. I thought they were empty threats. I knew they were hateful, could be violent . . . but this callous act was unfathomable. Her blame stroked my belief that I was the cause. She was scared and hurt, but so was I. I wanted her to understand, to comfort me, to embrace me in my time of need, but she didn’t. She refused to see the truth, only accepting what her mind made up.
Blake drives me to her house, I ring the doorbell. Nobody answers, no cars but hers in the drive. I try the handle, and it opens. My goal is her room and as I enter I know it’s true. I open her closet, her drawers, everything is gone. All except the pictures of us, the story of our love. Those sit on her vanity . . . my heart in her hands. I inhale, her scent invading my pores, saturating my lungs. They strain, refusing to intake air. I fall to her bed, cursing fate, cursing love, and cursing the day I fell in love with her.
I tear out of her house, heading to mine. I pull my clothes off hangers; I grab whatever I find to pack them in. I empty my entire room . . . even the pictures of her. Of our history. They’re all coming with me.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blake tries to halt my progress.
“You can go.”
“Not like this.”
“Leave.” I kick the sole friend I have out of my house. I’ll handle dropping school later. I jot a note for Brett and James knowing they’ll be hurt, but this is better. I load my shit in the truck and drive to the end of town. I have my money they gave me, I haven’t touched it, and so I put it to good use.
I’m in a one-bedroom shithole of an apartment. No furniture. Barren walls. Living out of garbage bags like the trash I am. This is a stop on the map. Once I have a plan, I’ll execute it and rid them all of me and from me.
Brian and Seth were arrested; my coach calls me daily, as did my parents. I ignored them all. I rarely showered, never leaving my apartment, I was succumbing to the dark, and nobody could save me.
I don’t know where she is. I tell myself I don’t care. Another lie. I refuse to admit I’m blameless. The guilt is stifling, and I revel in it. She blamed me, it must be true. I pushed all the good from my life, and I’ve ended up where I belong.
In hell.
No friends.
No family.
No love.
I still have the anger.
I still have the pain.
And damn it . . . I still have hope. Hope that one day I’ll quit being what everyone expects me to be; one day I’ll man up and become someone they can be proud of. Until then, I’m content to rot here.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emma
The loss I feel is immense. I didn’t just lose a lover . . . my first love. I lost my best friend. The person I woke up and automatically texted before I started my day. The one I shared funny stories with, or when I needed to vent, his was the number I dialed. He was a habit.
Trying to move forward doesn’t automatically erase the past.
It doesn’t fill the void inside you.
It doesn’t eradicate the love you have. There is no remedy for that.
The person I had to remove is the one who still fills me.
With love.
With longing.
With betrayal.
And pain. Immeasurable agony.
Growing up, I didn’t know where he ended and I began. His thoughts were mine, his humor brought laughter, and to eliminate that is like physically removing a part of me. We couldn’t be defined as separate entities; friends or a couple. We were both, a portion of each attribute. Losing one meant I lost everything.
I wallowed the first weeks I was here; Holly sat with me, held me while I cried, told me I was making a mistake, held my hair when I puked . . . she was my ride or die girl. She returned to school, and I was able to complete courses online. I used family emergency as an excuse, and they granted my request to complete my degree from a computer. There are Skype and collaboration projects I have to complete, but it is amazing what technology allows us.
I sent my application to Washington, and I’m waiting for my acceptance or denial letter. I won’t give up on my degree, my dream to help families merge. I have the next eighteen months of my life planned and none of those ideas involve Will. Or home. I miss my parents like crazy; they are coming for Christmas, still six weeks away.
I refuse any information on him. I won’t let them mention him. James is healing, and his physical therapy is done. My mom did let it slip Will disappeared, living somewhere in town, but I cut her off; it hurt too bad and opened wounds I was trying to close.
All the time alone gives me too much time to think…to dwell. I’ve reread Nana’s letter, nothing is clear to me anymore. Was I rash i
n judgment? Probably. I can’t go back in time, and he can’t erase what was said. Neither can I.
I’m trying to make my way, plant roots and let them flourish, but most days I feel like they’re floundering. Like me, I’m swimming upstream in this ocean of life. Waves crash, drag you under, but you keep kicking . . . tread water until you crest and resurface. It’s all I can do. I threw away options for a savior, my buoy disappeared, and I’m scared to see what is waiting for me in the next stage of life.
Chapter Thirty-Four
William
My life is full of friends since she’s been gone. Each clamoring for a night with me.
Jack.
Jim.
Jose.
Johnny.
Grey Goose.
I even take a turn with Bud, Busch, Stella . . . those are forgiving assholes. Each and every one of them.
The fog they induce, the numbness they invoke. It’s become a craving. My vice. Instead of reaching for my blonde haired, blue-eyed temptress, I reach for a bottle and allow the liquid to quiet my inner thoughts.
The soul-searching mission I sought is coming to an end. My college days are gone.
My dream of playing pro . . . diminished. None of it matters. So when Brian walks in the bar alone, his bail granted, I don’t think.
I react.
The first blow to his face is cathartic. The bones I feel collapse under my knuckles from the second hit are bliss. The third, fourth, and fifth are my own retribution. I don’t know how long I hit him, how many blows he sustained before I’m hauled off in cuffs, sitting in the back of a police cruiser. He was saved this time, next time he won’t be so lucky.
Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) Page 21
