EMMIE
When I roll over and open my eyes, I feel a little like myself once more.
I knew I wasn’t going to sleep once we got here, and the moment I opened the bathroom cupboard and found some sleeping pills staring back at me, I took it as a sign, threw one back, and curled up into bed.
I have no idea where we are—other than a long way out of London—and to be honest, I don’t really care.
I’m away from the city, away from the controlling dick who thought chipping me like a fucking mutt was appropriate behaviour.
I fall onto my back and push my hair from my face.
It’s dark, and the rain lashes against the window.
I have no idea what time it is, but I can hear voices rumbling below me.
Knowing that I can’t hide in the warmth of the covers all day, I throw them back and swing my legs over the edge.
We left town with nothing but the clothes on our backs. I don’t even have the bag Cruz got for me.
I pull on the jeans I wore here and shove my arms through the hoodie Cruz gave me before poking my head out of the bedroom.
The house we’re in is old, and the floorboards creak with every step I take.
I pee and finger-brush my teeth, borrowing a little of the toothpaste that’s sitting on the side of the basin before holding my head high and making my way down the stairs.
I only get halfway when the voice that’s rumbling from the kitchen gives me pause.
No. It can’t be.
I pick up my pace and race toward the kitchen doorway. All eyes turn on me, but there’s only one set I care about.
“Dad,” I cry out, racing toward him as he stands and opens his arms for me.
“Emmie,” he breathes, holding me tight and pressing his lips to the top of my head.
A sob rips from my throat as his strength surrounds me and his scent fills my nose.
Everything’s going to be okay.
“I’m so sorry I ruined your holiday. But glad you’re here,” I say into his shirt as my tears of relief begin to soak it.
“Em, you have nothing to be sorry about. You need me, I’m here, you know this.”
I nod, sniffling against his chest like a pathetic little girl.
I don’t even care.
I might not have realised it, but this is exactly what I needed.
My one constant. My biggest supporter. My hero.
“Would you like a coffee?” another familiar voice asks, and I pull my head out of Dad’s chest to look at Piper’s pale and tired face.
The sight of her genuine concern shatters something inside me.
“I-I’m sorry,” I whimper.
Stopping what she’s doing, she walks over and places her hand on my cheek that’s not crushed against Dad’s chest, wiping one of my tears away.