“Just goofing around?” Brendan finally presses Emmett.
I want to believe this is it. This is the moment he puts him in his place. Scares the shit out of him.
“I feel terrible,” Emmett lies. “I should have never been so careless with your daughter’s safety. I care for her a great deal, and this was a poor example of that.”
He’s laying it on thick. I feel like I might puke again.
Brendan nods in acceptance, but before one word of reprimanding can begin, we’re all interrupted by our doctor coming out from the elevator.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lopez!” he yells as he scuffles across the pavement. “I’m glad I caught you. My nurse just gave me your message about the questions you had. She said you were on your way here so I thought I’d talk with you in person.”
“Yes! So glad you found us!” My mother exclaims, rushing over to shake his hand. “As I said in the message, Ophelia is a runner. She’s on scholarship and on a pretty strict practice schedule. Just wanted to review how it might need to be adjusted.”
My mom and Brendan get swept to the side with the doctor. I try to avoid eye contact with the Elite gang who are circling around like sharks. I stick close to my mom, clinging to safety, but they begin flipping me off so that only I can see.
I want to fly across the parking lot and pummel them. Their faces and attitu
des are nauseating on a good day. But watching them go from sweet talking my parents straight back to their heartless little antics in the blink of an eye takes things to a whole new level of despicability.
They go right back into their fake polite smiles and manners the minute my mom and Brendan turn to say goodbye. But as soon as their backs turn again, the Elites are frantically shooting me every crude gesture they can think of.
My mom and Brendan lecture and fuss over my wellbeing the whole way home. But their words melt into distant buzz. I just stare out the window at the passing houses, which get notably smaller the closer we are to home.
I realize just how many times Emmett has made me fear for my life and I feel like I am drowning. This is too much for me to handle on my own. Even with Lily’s support…I feel like I am completely alone. After all, she never found any relief from their wrath when they were torturing her. She simply had to wait it out. And I’m beginning to wonder if I’m strong enough to do that.
Every few seconds I inhale sharply as if I’m about to start speaking. The entire story is so close to spilling right out of my mouth, but as I review it all in my head…I wonder if they would even believe me. And then what? They go to the police? I am already terrified that any action they might try to take would prompt the Elites to bring our whole family down. The way they tried to with Lily.
More than spilling everything to them, I begin to think I need a therapist. Amidst all of this there is still my lingering attraction to Emmett, which I hate myself for. And somehow the accident and the kiss in the hospital has only intensified my sickening desire for him. That’s not the kind of thing I could explain to my mom. Only a professional could psychoanalyze me through that one.
9
Chapter Nine
I head straight for the stairs the moment we get home, refusing to eat dinner. My stomach is in so many knots I can’t even seem to get down a glass of water. My duffle bag flies from my careless hands, landing across the large chest that sits at the foot of my bed as I collapse down onto the mattress.
I feel like I’m coming down with the flu. My body is still sore from the crash but coupled with a relentless nausea. There is a pain in the back of my throat that swells every time I remember kissing Emmett in the hospital room or how things felt for just a few brief moments when I first followed him into his car. Before I saw his torture tools in the backseat.
I squeeze my favorite blanket against my body, clinging to it for some sense of safety and security, as I rock gently on the edge of my narrow, unmade bed. I feel the conflicting pull of wanting to be far away and out of reach while also close and protected all at once.
The brush of it against my skin sends a shiver of memories washing over me. Emmett’s crushing grip followed by his kiss. My body releases, wishing I could have melted into his lips, but even the stinging recollection of my hand across his face turns me on in ways I wish it wouldn’t.
That look in his eyes, fueled by so much pent up rage and lust, struggling in an all-out internal brawl against one another. Creating tornadoes that tunneled up behind our eyes, before our lids flickered and we kissed once more.
I shake my head and turn to the Bluetooth speakers on my nightstand. With a flick of my wrist, I turn the volume knob to blast over the rage that is rapidly bubbling up inside. Underneath the shroud of blaring music, I clutch my pillow and scream into it at the top of my lungs, wishing the feeling of release was enough to fix the actual problems at hand.
“Ophelia!?” My mom’s voice breaks through my refuge with a light tap at the door, interrupting the muffled scream ripping through my lungs. I should have known turning my music up that loud would bring her to my door. My hands clench at the sound of her voice. All I can hear from her mouth now are the ghost tones of her speaking to Vincent and Trey.
“I want to be alone, mom!” I reply through grinding teeth as my jaw tightens.
“We saved you some leftovers from dinner,” she persists gently. “They’re in the fridge, but I could get them back out and heat them up if you like?”
“I’m not hungry right now! Please, I just want to get some rest!” I try to yell over the emotional cracks in my voice, fighting against the giant lump in my throat. I just want to be alone.
She carries on from the other side of the door with explanations of logistics for the week. Which practices I could and could not go to. A reminder that the doctor says I shouldn’t run for a couple of days. Follow up doctors’ appointments, pharmacy trips and her work schedule. Boring logistics that could all be just as easily reviewed in the morning, but she’s worried and desperate to find some way to stay near me.
I answer her in one-word responses, knowing anything more than that will give me away. If I engage or let on to how upset I am, she’ll barge right in and never leave until she’s convinced I’m okay.
I do want to run to her. To lay my head in her lap and cry as she strokes my hair like a child. But it would only comfort me if I could tell her everything that was going on. And I can’t find a way to play that scenario out in my head that ends in actually helping me or effecting any real change at all.