Part 7 (2/2)

”Yeah, I think you'd better be.” The guard took Emmy into his arms and pressed the b.u.t.ton. ”Get out of my building and stay out.”

”Not a f.u.c.king problem,” J. spat.

He felt the guard's eyes on him through the door and all the way out to where he had parked his bike on the sidewalk.

”f.u.c.k all of you,” he growled to the people crowded around it.

Kicking the bike to life, he roared away from their stares. He didn't need this s.h.i.+t. This was the exact opposite of keeping his head down. Causing a scene with a former Philly police officer was something he'd have to tell Teach about. It would probably earn him some lumps. He would ask for one knock to the head.

Maybe that would knock loose the memory of her lips on his.

Chapter 12.

Emmy The first sound I was aware of was a crash from the kitchen. The echoing clatter pierced my eardrums and I clapped my hands over my ears.

I was in my own bed, under the sheets. Rolling over in confusion caused a sudden pain to knife through my head. ”Oh my G.o.d, f.u.c.k,” I moaned out loud. The words were thick and m.u.f.fled. I was parched and nauseous at the same time.

Why was I hungover?

I tried rolling over again, and this time was successful in making it on to my side. I rested for a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop before I opened my eyes. Tentatively, I peeked through one slitted eye.

My box was upturned and the contents spread across the floor on my side of the bed. I sat up in alarm, the memory of last night flooding me with panic. Robert hadn't come home and I had gone crazy. I had gotten drunk and kissed a biker. And somehow I had ended up back in my bed.

And Robert knew. Robert knew everything.

Another crash from the kitchen shattered my composure. It was followed by another echoing boom, then a clatter as if all the silverware had been dropped at once. Through the pounding in my head I realized dully that Robert was punis.h.i.+ng me.

I lay carefully back down and slid my head under the pillow to block out the light. Robert had opened all the shades, and the dawn light was pouring in through our tinted windows. I had never hated our twenty-story view more than I did right now.

But I hated myself more.

”G.o.ddammit Emmy,” I groaned to myself.

The effort of speaking hurt my throat. I remembered the taste of the cheap whiskey on my tongue, how it had burned my throat raw.

How could I have been so stupid? The one cardinal rule in my life was never to rock the boat. Fighting back only caused problems and made things worse. Why hadn't I remembered that? What had possessed me to think I could get away with openly defying Robert? I was in for a world of hurt now.

I gripped the sheets tightly as I wracked my throbbing brain. I had no idea what to do next. The idea of going down to apologize made me sick. Robert would a.s.sault me with questions. He would cross-examine every minute action, twisting my words around into greater and greater betrayal until I was no longer able to hold on to my own thoughts. I would give up trying to explain, and just let him tell the story of how I had failed him. My story would become his, and I would be punished for what he said I had done.

Maybe it would be a week's worth of silent treatment. I had gone through that before, tiptoeing along the edge of rooms, wondering when he would acknowledge me again. Maybe it would be the food thing again, it had been a while since he denied me anything to eat without his permission. Maybe I would have all my clothes taken away again.

At least this time it was summer and it wouldn't be so cold and drafty by the windows.

The fear of antic.i.p.ation rippled through me, but in the back of all of it was the dimmest memory. A memory of a moment, one single moment from last night. How J. had just let me be. We had sat together, talking without agenda. He had listened without appearing to wait for his turn to speak. He didn't dismiss what I said with a scoff and a sarcastic remark. With him it had felt...easy.

I smacked myself in the head quickly, pus.h.i.+ng out the disloyal thoughts. Bright lights flashed behind my eyelids on impact and I moaned again in spite of myself. I needed water.

Moving slowly and deliberately, I pushed myself up in the bed and swung my feet to the floor. I waited, balling up the sheets in my fists, until the nausea pa.s.sed and I could stand without falling. Using the bed for leverage, I made my way around towards the master bath. When I ran out of bed to lean on, I lunged for the wall, hitting myself in the shoulder and jarring my tender head. I heard a sharp exhale behind me.

He was in the room, watching me as I made my labored way to the bathroom. I didn't turn. I didn't need to see him to know how his eyes blazed with fury and disappointment. I didn't want to see.

His voice in my head told me everything I needed to know about how terrible I was. What the h.e.l.l did you think you were doing? Are you some sort of cheap s.l.u.t? What gives you the right to just throw my love away like that? What is wrong with you?

With the unsaid words clanging in my shattered skull like a bell, I stumbled the last two steps into the bathroom. He made no move to help me, but I knew he was still there watching. I ran the tap and filled the water gla.s.s to the brim.

The cold water hit my stomach like a rock. I glugged until my belly was taut and slos.h.i.+ng. I could feel the cells in my body come back to life as soon as the water hit them.

Feeling marginally better, I opened the medicine cabinet to look for the Advil I always kept on the third shelf.

It was gone. I stared dully at the s.p.a.ce where it had been yesterday. The Advil was gone, the Tylenol was gone, the Aleve, even the baby aspirin Robert took for his heart was gone.

He had taken every painkiller and hidden them from me.

Now I would have to ask him to let me have some.

My stomach roiled, rejecting the water I had guzzled. I bent over the sink and heaved and spat. But nothing came up. I wasn't going to be sick. I was just terrified.

”Robert?” My voice was small and beseeching. I caught my cringing reflection in the mirror and hated myself.

He didn't come, but I could hear his tread on the floorboards as he stepped closer to me. He was ready to hear my apologies. He was ready to mete out whatever justice he saw fit to give.

The anger that had propelled me out of our building and hurled me into the arms of an honest to G.o.d biker came roaring back like a freight train. The blood pulsed in my ears, deafening me to the sound of anything but my own thoughts.

f.u.c.k you, you a.s.shole.

I saw myself in the mirror and I cringed again, certain he could hear me. But the heat of my rage burned through the hangover and I found I could stand upright. I swished another gla.s.s of water in my mouth and turned to the door. Without crossing the threshold, I peeked out at him.

He wasn't looking towards me. His patrician profile was turned towards the windows, the early morning light casting him in high relief. I could see the muscle at his temple working as he ground his teeth furiously. That I had expected. His eyes were what startled me.

They were afraid.

He glanced towards the bathroom and saw me looking at him. I saw a flicker of doubt cross his face, then a sudden rage at being caught in his vulnerability Then those flickers were gone, replaced with a bland smile. ”You sick, Emilia?”

I stepped back. My box was strewn across the floor. The painkillers had been hidden. He deliberately woke me as painfully as possible.

He knew exactly why I wasn't feeling well.

He moved towards me and I stepped back again. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I wasn't ready for him to be kind. That was the worst thing he could do.

I stepped back again, catching the heel of my foot against the base of the toilet. I sat down with a thud and looked up at him in confusion. Should I ignore what he said and make my apologies? Or should I follow his lead and pretend?

He stood over me, looming, and looked down with bland concern. ”You don't look well. Why don't you lie down and I'll bring you something for your head?”

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