EMMIE
Istand there under the powerful water jets for the longest time, just staring at the door, waiting—hoping—that he’ll come back and finish whatever that was the respectable way. But he never does.
By the time I move, all the weird blue shampoo has been washed down the drain.
Unable to cut the water off until I’ve put some conditioner through, I reach into the hidden cupboard and pull the other bottle out.
I stare at it, as if the answer to why Theo suddenly freaked out and left after my legit question will appear on the label.
I should have been the one walking out after realizing that he’s using his fuck toy’s products on me.
No wonder her hair is always so shiny and perfect. These bottles probably cost more than my dad earns in a month.
Knowing that, I squeeze out a more-than-generous amount into my palm before coating the ends of my hair in it.
I’m still standing under the water, rinsing it out when a door slams somewhere in the flat.
In a rush, I turn the water off and grab one of the very precisely folded towels to cover up with.
I might want him to barge back in here and finish me off, but I don’t want to look like I was waiting.
I’m stepping out of the bathroom when a voice calls through the flat, although it’s not the one I was expecting.
“Emmie?”
Two seconds later, Stella’s silver hair pokes around the bedroom door.
Her expression drops the second her eyes lock on me standing there, dripping in water and wearing only a towel.
“What did he do?” she asks.
My lips part to reply, but a motherfucking lump of emotion suddenly appears in my throat, stopping me from saying anything.
I swallow roughly in the hope of forcing it down but it goes nowhere. Instead, my eyes burn with tears.
No.
That motherfucker isn’t going to make me cry. He’s not.
“Em?”
“I’m okay,” I force out, walking farther into the room in the hope of finding some clothes. “Shit,” I hiss when I find nothing. “I don’t have any—”
“Clothes,” she says softly, lifting the overnight bag I left at her place. She’s also got my bag and leather jacket from last night.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Want me to give you a minute?” she offers.
Shaking my head, I take the bag from her and turn my back as I tug out the sweats and hoodie I’d packed for this morning.
“Where did he go?”
“I’m not sure. He just knocked and told me to come up here to you.”
“Well, that was… considerate of him.” I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
“What did he do?” she asks again.