I expect her to stop interacting with me, so she surprises me when she says, “You’ve never read anything I’ve written, so how could you possibly know that?”
Not entirely true, but I’m not about to declare that to her. When I first saw Emery, she’d thrown a handful of shredded journal pages out her window. I picked them up and caught a glimpse of a few of them. She wrote about her brother in such a way that I wondered if something tragic happened to him. After a crazy night with Doc, I learned that Emery’s brother is in a coma because of a heroin addiction.
“True.” I inch closer to her when the professor enters the classroom. Her body stiffens from my nearness, but I only inch closer, breathing in her scent. She smells fucking amazing, like vanilla and apples. “But I’ve seen how intense you get when you write. That much intensity has to come out pretty well on pages.”
“Everyone’s intense when they write,” she utters quietly. “You are.”
I offer her a lopsided smile that feels faker than my persona. “But I’m an excellent writer, so that just proves my point.”
A trace of a smile touches her lips but then she starts biting her nails, a nervous habit of hers. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”
My heart squeezes in my chest like a vice grip. “Then don’t be.”
“I have to,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “You told him we went out.”
“I had to,” I press back, silently begging: please, please understand. “I don’t have a choice.”
“I’m starting to learn how wrong that statement is,” she mutters with a frown. “We always have a choice. Sometimes the choices just suck.”
I sigh heavily. “I don’t know what else to say besides I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, fiddling with the top button on her red tank top. “There’s really not much else you can say. I get it. You had to do your job. I just don’t know why you made such a big deal about me keeping our outing a secret when you were planning on telling him.”
“I wasn’t planning on telling him.” I let the partial truth slip out, again wondering how the fuck Doc knew we went out. Does he have someone watching us? I haven’t seen any suspicious cars around lately, but there are still lots of places for people to hide around our apartment complex. But if someone is watching us, why? “It just happened.”
“I get it,” she says sadly, folding her arms on top of her desk. “Your job is really important to you, and being on my father’s good side is really important to your job.”
You don’t get it! You really don’t. If I had my way, I’d pick you over the job for your father. I’d pick it a thousand times over.
“How can I make it up to you?” I sign, my shoulders sagging. “Or is there not a way?”
She ponders my question, thrumming her finger against her lip. Then, her gaze falls to my paper, and she perks up a smidgeon. “Can I see what you wrote?”
I glance down at my paper then back at her. Most of the stuff I write is personal, and usually I don’t share with anyone unless I have to. This is a class project, though, which means the professor is going to read it. Besides, if I let her see it, then maybe I’ll earn back a little of her trust.
“Sure.” I hand the paper to her, but don’t release it from my gasp when she grabs it. I mouth, “Can I read yours, too?”
She rolls her tongue in her mouth, her eyes drifting to the paper in front of her. “I guess so.”
“No, never mind. You don’t have to.” This is about me earning her trust, not the other way around.
“No, it’s okay. We should probably know what the other one wrote, anyway, since this is a partner project.” Sighing, she picks up her paper and gives it to me.
I let go of mine, sit back in the chair, and begin to read what she wrote.
The guy I never knew,
a statue sitting across the room.
So flawlessly put together,
smooth imperfect pieces
that somehow create harmony.
His lips are the sanctuary to his soul,
never to utter the truth of the scars hidden inside,
begging to be free.
Or maybe not.
Perhaps they’ve sealed themselves up purposefully.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
If you listen closely, you can hear the whisper of his heart.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
The rhythm is what I crave.
An addiction
I can no longer feed.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
I wonder what it would whisper if he were free.
There’s more to it, but class starts before I can finish. Emery snatches the paper from me, and returns mine. Our fingers graze during the exchange, my skin burning as our gazes interlock.
Want, want, want, my heart beats the truth. Want all you want, but can never have you. You and Emery were never meant to be.
God, how the truth stings.
Chapter 6
Bloodstained Ribbons and Lace
Emery
I want to hate Ryler. I want to hate him because he chose my father over me, but hating him is proving to be a difficult task. With Ryler sitting beside me, class seems endless, especially after reading the paper he wrote for class.
Emery, Emery, Emery,
So beautiful.
Lips so kissable.
Eyes so haunting.
Soft skin that begs my fingers closer.
Like a red rose,
she flourishes for the whole world.
But even though the rose thrives
through sunlight
and rain,
the rose is wilting.
Around the edges,
in desperate need of air.
Withering.
And the whole world simply watches.
As petal after petal falls
to the ground.
What I wouldn’t give to pick each one up
and put them back.
Help her flourish again.
But I’m helpless,
bound by my silence.
His words somehow feel like an apology, but I’m not positive what he’s apologizing for. For working for my father? For not being the person I thought he was? For telling my father he took me out the other night after he gave me one of the best nights of my life?
I try not to overanalyze what’s going on between us too much, though. When it all comes down to it, Ryler still works for my father and he picked him over me. I shouldn’t be surprised.
I spent the first couple of weeks pretending he didn’t exist and should have stuck to it, yet I’m highly distracted during the class lecture, extremely aware every time Ryler glances in my direction, every time he stares at me. I never imagined my time at school would be like this. I imagined freedom. The life I dreamed about during those late hours I spent strapped to my bed promised freedom. I’m starting to believe the dream is something that will never be. That the long road I wanted to jump off will always be underneath me, leading me to my parents’ future of me being married to Evan.
Maybe my mother is right. Perhaps fighting the inevitable is pointless. Perhaps, no matter what I do, I’m going to end up right where I began.
“You want to drive my car home?” Ryler signs to me after class is dismissed. He gathers his books and waits for me to respond, appearing uneasy. “I have to go to work right now, but I can walk home afterward so you don’t have to.”
I shake my head as I collect my books from the desk. “I’m fine. Evan’s out there waiting for me, anyway.” Liar. Like poison on my tongue.
Shockingly, I feel awful for lying to him. I need to lie, though, in order to get a few moments of peace and quiet, some time to myself to decide what to do with my life. Maybe I’ll run. Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll cave. Maybe I’ll fight. I have no idea, but I need to figure out something, because I can’t keep
going like this.
A walk home is all I have to attain some time for myself, because the moment I arrive at my apartment, Evan will be there, ready to steal every ounce of my freedom and take it as his own. Wednesday is his day to see me. His day to touch me. His day to claim me. At least that’s what he claims.
A frown etches Ryler’s face as he lowers his head to read the screen of his phone. Then, he puts the phone away and signs, “I didn’t know you were meeting... Evan.”
Awkward silence envelopes us. I once told Ryler that Evan and I broke up—and we had—but Evan being Evan retracted the break up for me, and my father jumped right in. Now, I’m stuck dating Evan, even though I loathe him.
“Hey, are you okay?” Ryler stops in the doorway and blocks my way out. “You look upset… is it because of me telling your father? Because I seriously want to make it up to you, Emery. Just tell me what I can do.”
“It’s not that. Everything’s fine.” I smash my lips together and suck in a breath. “I should get going, though. Evan hates waiting.”
Before he can say anything, I hug my books to my chest, squeeze around him, and hurry down the lonely hallway. It’s midterm of the summer semester, and most students are at home, taking a break from school. Me, I took summer classes to get a head start—a new start.
Run, run, run to some place new, some place where you can get a new start. What’s stopping you?
I keep my head down as I exit the main entrance of the building and begin the short walk home. The sunlight beams down on the back of my neck and a warm breeze dances through my hair as I pass people and cross the street. By the time I make it to my apartment, my hair is a tangled mess, and my makeup is smeared from the few tears that have escaped my eyes. I kick off my shoes in the foyer and wander into the bathroom.
Staring in the mirror hanging on the wall, I admire my messy appearance.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound. I know who it is without having to answer it. Evan is never late.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror one last time before heading for the front door. If I were being the girl my mother raised, I’d wash my face and comb my hair, but I’m entering a dangerous rebellion.
She said I’m crazy, so let them think I’m crazy.
When I open the door and see no one is there, my heart misses a beat. I poke my head out into the stairway and glance up and down then to the right at the parking lot. No one is around except for Violet. She’s standing in front of an old truck, the long locks of her red and black hair blowing in the wind. The hood of the truck is up, and it looks like she might be checking the oil.
I scratch my head. Could she be the one who knocked? We did have a strange drunken moment where we got along and laughed together. But why knock and run?
I dare step outside and open my mouth to call out to her to see if maybe she saw someone leaving the stairway. But then my bare foot brushes against paper and my jaw snaps shut as my gaze drops to the ground. A single, white envelope wrapped in a red ribbon is resting on the mat.
“Not another one.” I stare at the envelope for a few moments then bend over and scoop it up. Pressing it to my chest, I glance one more time at Violet, who’s still working on the truck, then duck back into my place.
I lock the door then lift the envelope from my chest and unlace the ribbon. But I pause as a warm, red substance stains my fingers. Blood. The ribbon is soaked with blood. I glance down at my shirt. Right above my heart, the lacy fabric is stained red.
My fingers tremble. “Oh, my God, whose blood is this?”
Not knowing any other way to get an answer, I rip open the envelope and shake the piece of paper out.
We know what you did.
I drop the envelope to the ground and jump back. My back slams against the door, and my knees buckle out from under me. We know what you did.
Blood on my hands. Blood on my hands. Someone knows what I did.
Tears pour from my eyes as I snatch up the piece of paper and envelope, tear them up, and throw them in the trash bin. Then I sprint back to the bathroom, strip my clothes off, hop into the shower, and scrub my skin under hot water. When I’m finished, I still feel dirty, but my tears have dried.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I leave the bathroom with a trail of steam following me. I veer right toward my bedroom, but grind to a halt when I hear my name called out.
“Emery, where do you think you’re going?” Evan’s voice floats from the living room and causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “You’ve already kept me waiting too long.”
I pull the towel closer to my body. “Sorry, I had to shower.”
I hear him moving down the hallway toward me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My body stiffens when I feel the heat of him sink into my skin. Moments later, his lips brush the back of my neck.
“You and I need to talk,” he whispers, rubbing his hips mine, “about you moving in with me.”
I lift my eyelids and stare at the end of the hallway, envisioning me opening the window and flying out into the world.
What would it be like to have wings?
To have such freedom to fly away
and disappear into the sky.
Fly away. Fly away high.
Fly away and never look back.
Soar through the freedom of air.
“I told you I’m not ready for that.” My voice sounds as empty as my heart. Any amount of peace I felt crumbles.
Fly away, fly away, fly away.
Or allow yourself to slowly die.
Evan’s fingers curl around my upper arms. “I think I can change your mind. In fact, I promise I can.” His fingernails stab into my flesh as he shoves me toward my bedroom.
As I stumble onto my bed, he starts to make good on his promise, and shoves his tongue down my throat. We don’t have sex, but only because he has to rush away for some sort of business meeting. Still, with each touch of his hands, another petal on that rose Ryler wrote about withers and falls to the ground. But he never shows up to pick it up.
Chapter 7
Eyes, Eyes Everywhere
Ryler
After class, I meet Brooks, the other informant I’ve been working with for about three to four weeks now, at the Writing Center. He’s sitting at the table, reading a book, and doesn’t see me walk in. He always wears a baseball cap to keep himself hidden better, so I instantly notice his hat is missing today.
Where’s your hat? I mouth, dropping my books onto the table in front of him.
He jumps from the sound of my books hitting the table then shrugs, seeming nervous as he yanks his hands through his blond hair. “I must have forgotten it today.
You okay? I mouth, pulling out a seat.
“Yep, fine,” he answers without looking up at me.
Strange, but I don’t think much of it until later.
We spend about an hour helping out students who wander in and out of the room, then we take a break. We chat a little bit about classes and dumb shit before we start talking about “work” related stuff.
“I’m starting to wonder if the warehouse is a myth,” Brook says about ten minutes into our break.
Over the last few weeks of working with Brooks, he’s been hardcore determined to take Donny Elderman down. Between him forgetting his hat and his declaration about the warehouse being a myth, red flags are popping up left and right.
My gaze skims the bookshelves, the computer labs, and then the windows to our right. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The area is as mellow as it usually is.
Leaning over in the chair, I grab my notebook from my bag to write down a response, since Brooks doesn’t understand sign language well.
Really? Why? He has warehouses in Vegas. I’ve seen them myself. I slide the notebook across the table to him.
He picks it up and reads it over. “Yeah, but those are different from the warehouse everyone wants to find. The alleged hideout for Donny Elderman, and where a
ll his dirty stuff goes down. The one in Vegas are basically just places to gamble and whorehouses.” He shrugs and slumps back in the chair. “The one that everyone whispers of—the hideout—is… I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s possible for an entire town full of corruption to be off the radar from everyone.”