"Emma," Jonathan interrupted, "there's some―" A beep from the phone signaled in my ear at the same time the smoke detector blared loudly.
"Shit!" I exclaimed, forgetting the stove had a tendency to smoke. "Hold on. I can't hear you." I set down the phone and the bowl I’d tucked under my arm, and proceeded to fan the alarm with the dish towel until it turned off.
"Stupid stove," I muttered, clambering up on the sink to push the window open with a grunt.
I picked up the phone again and said, "I'm sorry about that." But he didn't respond. I pulled back the phone and the screen was blank; my battery was dead. "Great. And just when everything was going so well," I grumbled.
I opened the front door and allowed the smoke to filter through the screen. It was a good thing we were eating outside. I continued back into the kitchen to pour the batter into the greased pan. I placed it in the oven and set the timer before I made my way up to the bathroom to get dressed, knowing Sara would be trying to call me any minute―although I wouldn't be able to answer. I wanted to shoot myself for forgetting the charger.
I tried to calm my nerves as I zipped the dress along my side. My hands were sweaty, and I needed to dry them off in order to seal the last inch. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, unable to get rid of the flutters overtaking my stomach.
I stepped out of the bathroom, disappointed I no longer had a full length mirror to double check the sundress for the chocolate that seemed to be everywhere.
I skipped down a few steps and stopped at the sound of a car door closing. He was early, and I wasn't ready.
"Shit," I breathed, rushing down the stairs in search of my shoes. Then I saw the mess I'd left behind in the kitchen and tried to decide what was more important. I picked up the chocolate lined bowl and dumped it in the sink, filling it with water while I scraped the scraps of vegetables and fruit from the countertop into the trash.
I slid the trash can in place and rinsed my hands just as the screen door slammed shut.
"Emma?"
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. I shut off the water and slowly turned around, wiping my hands on a paper towel.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Jonathan's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Wow. You look beautiful."
"Thanks," I choked.
But then his eyes tightened as he looked to the stove, the chocolate aroma filling the kitchen. "Are you cooking?"
"Um, I wouldn't really call it cooking," I laughed nervously. "It's just brownies."
"But you're cooking... for Evan." Jonathan appeared disturbed by his conclusion.
"It's his birthday," I explained feebly. "So... what are you doing here?"
Jonathan remained contemplative for a moment, unable to move past the scene he'd walked in on. "I need to talk to you. It's important." He turned toward the living room as the timer for the brownies sounded.
I removed the pan and shut off the oven. After seeing the perplexed, yet disappointed, look on Jonathan's face, I wasn't concerned with how the brownies came out. Without inspecting them, I set them on the cooling rack and fretfully followed him into the living room.
Jonathan was staring out the front window with his arms crossed when I entered.
"What did you need to tell me?" I asked, tearing him from his thoughts.
"I understand why you're still with him," he began, turning toward me. "He really cares about you, and he's a good guy. It doesn't mean I like it, but I understand."
I needed to sit down for this. I slowly lowered myself on the couch, preparing for where this conversation was headed.
"But, Emma, you and I have both admitted that we have this inexplicable connection between us, right?" He paused for me to respond. I could only nod slightly. "We trust each other with secrets no one else knows. I can be completely honest with you about everything. I've never been able to do that, not even with Sadie. Have you ever told Evan about your nightmares? Your fears?"
I swallowed audibly, knowing he was right. I'd never shared the darkest part of me with anyone other than him. I never wanted Evan to know that side of me. I shook my head, shifting uncomfortably.
"I've been where you are, remember? I thought Sadie was it. But in the end, they don't understand people like us. They never will, because they never had to go through it. You and I are the same. We share a bond that’s stronger than what you think you have with Evan.
"So... I'll wait. I'm not going to force you to decide, because in the end, I know you'll see it, too. I'll wait because I love you, and I promised to always be here for you―for whenever you need me."
The air seeped from my lungs. His words rushed through my head in a dizzying blur.
"Is that why you're here?" I rasped. "To tell me you'll wait for me?"
Jonathan approached the loveseat and sat across from me. He pressed his elbows on his thighs, shortening the distance between us. I knew he wanted to touch me. He grasped his hands to contain himself as I subtly leaned away.
"No, I didn't actually intend to tell you I loved you," he confessed, averting his eyes. "I wanted to wait until I knew you'd be able to say it back." He took a deep breath. "That's not the reason I'm here." His intensely troubled expression distracted me from his confession.
"Why are you here?" I asked, but was suddenly afraid to know. My gut twisted in nervous anticipation.
"The police came to see me today," he revealed, forcing my heart to skip a beat.
My body responded before I could completely comprehend what he was saying. "What? Why?"
"They found a partial print on the car, and matched it to me."
"Wait. What car?" I drew in a sharp breath when I realized, "Oh no. But why would..." My words were lost with the conclusion, "He's dead."
Jonathan eyed me carefully as I took it all in. "Yeah."
"Oh no. Oh God, no." I shook my head, still in shock. "What did we do?"
"You didn't do anything," he returned adamantly. "He was hurting you, Emma. I'm not going let anything happen to you, I promise."
"I can't believe... he's dead." I kept shaking my head, unable to accept it. "Can't we just tell the police the truth?"
"We covered it up," Jonathan explained patiently. "I cleaned any trace that he was here. So no, we can't tell them the truth. They haven't charged me with anything; they're just asking questions right now. And I've spoken to a lawyer. It sounds like they don't have much to go on."
"What did you tell them?" I asked, the panic subsiding enough to allow some coherent thoughts to surface.
"That I noticed his car at Rachel's party the night before he was found, and that I'd stopped by here to talk to her so I may have inadvertently touched it."
I nodded slowly, consumed by a thousand thoughts and images all at once: what we'd done, the lies we'd told, the bloody mess left behind, what could happen to us if the police ever discovered the truth. And above all else, I couldn't stop thinking about the battered body we'd abandoned in the parking lot. A cold sweat ran down my spine with a shiver.
"Just stick to your story about not seeing the guy's face who broke in, and they can't connect him to being here after the party."
"Okay," I breathed, my thoughts reeling. Something he said left me unsettled. I paused a moment to reflect, and then it occurred to me, "Wait. How did they have your print on file to match it?"
Jonathan's face dropped. When I peered into his dark eyes, I saw a vulnerability that made my heart ache.
"Jonathan, what did you do?" I asked fretfully, not taking my eyes off him.
"Emma, I've wanted to tell you," he began, running his hands through his hair, "but I was waiting until I knew you could handle it. Since I can barely live with myself, I was afraid you would..."
"What?" I begged. "Please, just tell me."
The distress in his eyes made my pulse thrum.
He stood up and began pacing in front of me, rubbing his hands together. I watched him anxiously. For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to spea
k, but then he stopped in front of the window. "They took my prints after the fire."
My eyes flinched in confusion. Then my mouth dropped. "No," I gasped, forcing him to face me.
"You have to understand. They weren't supposed be home. They were at a basketball tournament, but Ryan got sick. I thought my father was home alone.” He absorbed the shocked look on my face. I couldn't utter a sound, horrified. Jonathan quickly looked away and began pacing again.
"When I moved away to college, my father took everything out on Ryan. I couldn't let that happen. He wasn't as strong as me. I needed to protect him."
"They were your family," I breathed in abhorrence. Jonathan stopped mid-step. "How could―” I shook my head, with the words stuck in my throat. Tears filled my eyes as the black skeletal remains of the house invaded my thoughts. My stomach turned to ice, imagining their screams as they desperately tried to get out.
"You can't hate me anymore than I hate myself." I looked up at his glassy eyes. Their tortured depths made my lip quiver. "They weren't supposed to be there," he repeated, consumed in grief. "I'll never forgive myself. But I want you to know everything, to know the truth." Jonathan bowed his head and pushed his palms into his eyes.
I closed my eyes, trying to understand what could've driven him to want to murder his own father. Then I recalled the twinge of envy I’d felt when he'd revealed that his father was dead, and how I'd wished that upon Carol. But I could never bring myself to do it. To kill her. Could I?
Then again, didn't I just cry on his shoulder, wishing my own mother was dead? After encouraging her to end her misery with a bottle of pills? How different was I, really? Just because they weren't dead, didn't make me wish it any less.
"I don't know what to think," I told him honestly, running my hand across my forehead with my eyes squeezed shut, a tear escaping down my cheek.
"I know," he exhaled heavily. "It's a lot and I'm sorry."
My head snapped up at the sound of the screen door slamming shut.
Evan looked from Jonathan to me. "What's going on?" I brushed away the tear. His eyes flickered in confusion then alarm. "What did you do to her?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jonathan stood in front of me before I could utter a word.
"This has nothing to do with you, Evan," Jonathan explained. His voice was low, and it sliced with warning. "You're not a part of every moment of her life."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Evan demanded in the same tone.
"Jonathan, don't," I begged, fearful of what he would say next.
"Did something happen to Rachel?" Evan inquired, keeping his eyes on Jonathan without a glance in my direction.
"No," Jonathan laughed humorlessly. "This is between me and Emma. You're not the only one she confides in. You don't need to know everything."
I’d opened my mouth to intercept the conversation when Evan returned with, "And she confides in you?"
"She does," Jonathan explained simply.
"Evan," I called to him in a rush, needing to ease the suspicion that gleamed in his eyes.
"No, I want to hear this," he interjected sharply. His harsh tone drove me back a step.
"Yeah, she tells me things that you wouldn't understand," Jonathan explained coolly.
"Please don't do this," I beseeched, reaching for Jonathan's arm. But he moved toward Evan, blocking my path. I was drowning in desperation, but neither of them responded to my pleas.
"What does she trust you with? What wouldn't I understand?" Evan inquired, clenching his jaw. Jonathan stepped over the threshold into the foyer. I tried to position myself next to him, to calm the growing tension that hummed between them, but it was as if I were invisible. My heart pounded against my chest.
"Don't worry about it," Jonathan returned cockily. "As I said, this has nothing to do with you."
Jonathan's arrogance was grating under Evan’s skin, and the taught muscles along his arms made it evident.
"Evan, I can explain," I interjected passionately.
"I'd rather hear it from him," he replied coolly, making my stomach flip.
Jonathan produced a snide grin. "You really want to torture yourself, huh? Just let it be. I'm not taking her away from you or anything."
"Then what is it? What is it about you that makes her want to tell you things she can't tell me?"
Jonathan shrugged dismissively. "I get her in a way you never will. It's not your fault. You just don't understand. And I do."
Evan's shoulders drew back as if the words were razor sharp.
I knew Jonathan was walking along a dangerous line, but neither of them would listen to me. I couldn’t keep him from pushing Evan over the edge.
"Jonathan, knock it off," I threatened without effect.
"I'm there for her when the nightmares wake her in the middle of the night. I'm the one she calls when she needs someone to confide in about Rachel. She reveals the secrets you can't handle because she trusts me. And she knows I will always be here to protect her."
I screamed out in surprise as Evan's fist collided with Jonathan's jaw, knocking Jonathan back a few steps. I quickly sidestepped him as he stumbled for balance.
"You don't know anything about protecting her," Evan seethed. Jonathan straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A streak of blood stained his skin.
In a sudden movement, Jonathan charged Evan, ramming him against the wall. The house shook around us, vehemently protesting the attack.
"Don't!" I yelled, rushing toward them. The violent exchange mounted as they grappled and threw each other around the foyer. Guttural groans escaped with each punch thrown. Blood spattered their faces.
I couldn't find a way to get between them. Their movements were so quick. They were incognizant of my presence, and I could easily have been swept up in the brawl. I begged for them to stop over and over again, but they showed no signs of relenting.
My entire body shook as I shuffled around them, desperate for their attention. My cheeks were slick with tears as I fought to breathe. Each punch thrust directly into me, bludgeoning my heart.
I knew I'd done this. I'd created the tension between them that had erupted into this moment. Their anger and frustration had nothing to do with the person they were fighting. It had everything to do with me, and what I couldn't give them. Which was all of me. I felt my insides implode with the collision of their weight against the rumbling walls.
I caught a glimpse of Evan's face and drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the gash above his right eye, blood trailing down his face. I couldn't stand to remain inept anymore.
"Jonathan, don't!" I commanded loudly, grabbing for his arm. Impervious to my presence, he jabbed his elbow back and collided with my jaw, sending me sailing back. Unable to keep my balance, I collapsed with a cry.
Evan redirected his attention to my stunned face just as I landed on the floor. "Emma!"
The distraction left him open to a vicious blow to the temple.
"No!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the house. Evan's eyes left me and tilted back as his head lolled to the side like a ragdoll. He crashed against the wall and Jonathan pinned him upright, catapulting a ferocious blow to the side of his face.
I scrambled to my feet, driven by the adrenaline that accelerated through me. I squeezed in front of Evan and closed my eyes, bracing for the pain of his crushing fist. My whole body tensed, pressed against Evan's slouched form.
Nothing happened.
Evan started to slide and I quickly turned toward him, attempting to ease him to the floor. But his dead weight was too much for me to support, and he toppled over with a reverberating thump, his head bouncing against the wood.
I collapsed beside him, my chest shook with jagged breaths. "Evan!" I bent over him to examine his bruised and bloodied face. "Evan, can you hear me?"
I tried to reposition him, sliding him from his awkward angle against the wall, struggling to turn him on his back.
"Let me take a look," Jonathan
said from beside me. He bent down and grabbed Evan's shoulders to lay him flat.
"Don't touch him!" I shouted, bowing over Evan's body as if to shield him. "You don't get to touch him!"
"Emma." His voice sounded pained. He placed his hand on my back. I thrust against him forcefully, causing him pull away with a jerk.
"Don't you dare," I threatened. My muscles quaked, fueled with rage. My eyes bored into him.
"Emma, please," he begged, his voice breaking with emotion. "I lost it. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."
"No you're not," I bit back. "Don't even say it. This is what you do. This is what we do. We hurt people." I choked on the words, forcing them out of my mouth.
The tendons along my neck strained as I screamed, "Look what we've done!" Jonathan flinched. I hunched over Evan with a sob and gasped, "We've hurt so many people." I sniffled and gently caressed his bruised cheek. Evan remained still under my touch.
"Don't say that," Jonathan implored, his words coated with desperation. "We're the ones who've been hurt, Emma."
I released a vicious laugh. "No, Jonathan. We're just as bad as they are, with our lies and deceit. We destroy people's lives."
Jonathan opened his mouth to stop me, but I pierced him with my vile tongue. "And you. You've killed people. You're not any less of a monster than your father."
Jonathan's face turned ashen as he released a strangled gasp, like he'd been stabbed through the heart.
"It was anger and pain that drew us together. That's our bond. Not love." My words shot out with lethal force, ripping his protests from his opened mouth. "I don't love you." His eyes flit across mine, begging me to stop―but I continued, relentless. "No one could ever love you." Jonathan's chest caved. He took several staggering steps before faltering to his knees, his confidence decimated.
Loathing corroded my veins and shriveled my heart. I watched as he cowered under my words, relishing his silent torture. "Don't wait for me. I don't want you to be there for me, not ever. Stay out of my life, and I won't breathe a word about what you've done." Jonathan closed his glassy eyes and bowed his head, clutching his chest.
I turned my back to him, unable to continue to bear witness to his devastation. I hid my shame behind my lids, tears continued to cascade down my face, dripping from my chin. My words wielded as much destruction as Jonathan's fists, tearing people apart with my lies and secrets, unleashing a verbal wrath that could alter a person's conviction. I wasn't worthy of being loved any more than he was.