Remnants of Riley

Chapter 43

There’s a steady beep in the background. An incessant, never ending beep that has me wanting to pull my hair out.

My eyelids feel like they each weigh a ton, but I force them open, needing to find that goddamn beep.

I’m met with the sight of Emmett sleeping in a chair that’s much too small for him, his neck twisted at an odd angle as his head rests on the back of the chair. His face looks severe, like he can’t relax even in sleep.

He has a beard now, and it makes him look even more intimidating. A little more feral and raw.

My eyes rove around the room, but beyond Emmett and a window with drawn blinds behind him, I can’t see much. That’s when I notice I’m on my stomach.

Twisting my body, I go to turn onto my back but only get so far, something propped up behind me preventing me from turning all the way over. I manage to get on my side instead, and turn my head the best I can to look at where I am.

The lights are off, dimming the room, but the sunlight pouring in from around the drawn blinds gives me more than enough light to take in all the details.

It’s a hospital room, full of beige walls and white floors. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the entrance to the room and an en-suite bathroom. There are no other beds in here, and I heave a sigh of relief, thankful for the privacy. Turning my head back toward Emmett, I notice an IV pole stands at the head of my bed, a monitor flashing my vitals beyond that.

The source of the beeps.

My tongue peeks out, licking my cracked lips. I’m so thirsty, my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. There’s a pitcher and an empty cup on a small table beside the bed, and I sit up the best I can, trying to reach for it.

It’s too far for me to grasp.

I stretch my hand out, suddenly that pitcher of water the most important thing in existence, but I still can’t reach it.

I’m thirsty, so very thirsty.

And in an instant, I’m back in that basement. Locked away in that room Trevor had me in, praying for death to come for me as I swallowed the last of the water in my stained plastic cup.

Panic sinks into me, my throat tightening and my hands starting to shake as I throw the covers from my legs. I don’t even care about the scars visible on my thighs, my mind too focused on him, wondering when he’ll be back to torment me.

The commotion has Emmett jolting up in his chair.

He must see the fear on my face, because his own becomes anguished as he rushes to my side. “You’re okay,” he says, grabbing my hands and squeezing them, anchoring me to him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Trevor…”

There’s a heavy beat of silence before he says, his voice an octave lower, “He’s gone.”

My body sags at those two little words, but my mind spins, a strange combination of disbelief and relief and sadness and contempt settling over me all at once.

It’s over.

Emmett gently sets my hands in my lap, covering my legs with the blanket again, then cupping my face and kissing my forehead.

“Can I please have some water?” I ask, my voice raw and cracked as my mind tries to decide how it feels right now.

A moment later, he hands me a cup.

There’s a straw in it. And of all the fucking things that have happened to me, everything I’ve been through, it’s the sight of that damn straw that breaks me.

A sob escapes my throat and my hands start shaking again, water threatening to slosh over the side. He takes the cup back from my hands, then climbs up into the bed with me and pulls me into his side.

I cry. For so long, I cry as Emmett holds me close, one arm draped carefully over my shoulders as the other strokes down my arm, my leg, my face. I feel his lips in my hair, on my temple, by my ear, whispering soft words in that silky smooth, calming voice of his.

When my tears have finally stopped and my body no longer shakes, Emmett hands me the glass of water again, and I take the best sips of my life through that straw, savoring every single drop as it quenches my dry mouth.

When I’ve finished it, he gets off the bed, grabbing me a cup of ice chips and handing that to me.

Ice chips.

Suddenly, I’m not sure once again whether this is real.

Emmett studies me from his chair, concern on his face. He’s grinding his teeth, and I can tell he wants to say something but is holding himself back, instead giving me the space I need to sort through my emotions.

Which are all over the place right now. My mind can’t figure out how to make sense of what’s happened. I oscillate between wanting to sob for what Trevor did to me, to wanting to cheer that he’s dead, to feeling guilty that I pulled Emmett into this mess and didn’t tell him about Trevor sooner, to worrying that he won’t want me anymore, to complete elation at these damn ice chips. Like this frozen water is the cure for all my worries.

I feel crazy. And I don’t have the mental capacity to sort through that crazy right now. So instead, I chomp and suck on my ice, careful to avoid Emmett’s penetrating gaze.

I’ve made my way through half the cup when someone in scrubs walks in. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she says, a kind smile on her face and a chart in her hands. “I’m Dr. Knolls. How are you feeling?”

“Like I could sleep for a decade and drink both of our bodies’ weight in ice chips.” I think the last few weeks have made me delirious, because there is something seriously divine about this ice.

She laughs. “Well, the sleep is understandable. Your body has been through a lot. You’ve been on an IV, so you shouldn’t be dehydrated anymore, but the painkiller you’re on can give you dry mouth.”

“How long have I been here?” I ask around a mouth full of ice.

“Two days.” She gives Emmett a glance. “Have you told her anything?”

He shakes his head, and I see the look that passes between the two of them.

Much to my dismay, he grabs the cup of ice from me, setting it just out of my reach before saying, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

I think back to the night he found me, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. “The night you found me. Jax… he–he gave me some pills, and then I remember lying down in the truck. That’s it.”

“Nothing about when you got to the hospital?” he prods.

I shake my head.

“That’s not unusual,” Dr. Knolls says. “You’ve been through significant trauma, both physical and mental, and were pretty in and out of it when you arrived. I wouldn’t expect you to remember much of what was said.”

Emmett grabs my hand, squeezing it, and the pain on his face has me nervous.

What happened?

I squeeze his hand back, taking a steadying breath. “Is there something seriously wrong?” I ask, confused.

“No,” Dr. Knolls assures me immediately. “Nothing that won’t heal. Your back was in bad shape when you got here. We cleaned out the wounds the best we could. The ones furthest down your back were the worst. They required a lot of stitches, from how torn the skin was, and were very infected. We started you on antibiotics and a painkiller right away. Your fever broke after the first night, and I don’t anticipate any further issues with infection.”

She pauses, her face softening. “There was also significant sexual trauma. Again, nothing that won’t heal, but you’ll want to refrain from any activity for at least a few weeks. Your STD and pregnancy tests all came back negative.”

I try to pull my hand from Emmett’s, suddenly ashamed and not wanting him to touch me, but he just tightens his grip, interlocking his fingers with mine.

It hurts me that he still wants to touch me after all that. I feel like I’m a dirty, broken thing he shouldn’t want to be near, and the fact that he does makes my chest ache.

“There’s also, um…” Dr. Knolls looks uncomfortably at Emmett, like she’s not sure how to say whatever she’s about to say.

“What?” I ask, turning to face Emmett.

His face is pure agony as he says, “He carved words into your back, Riley.”

My heart stops. “What?”

“He–fuck.” Emmett blows out a breath, running his free hand through his hair. “He carved ‘Trevor’s Whore’ into your back.”

I go to pull my hand from his, and this time he lets me, but only because his hands are on my face, forcing me to look at him. “It doesn’t matter, baby. Wounds heal and scars can be hidden. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“He branded me,” I choke out.

Emmett swipes at a stray tear. “No.” His voice is firm. “To brand something means you own it, and he doesn’t fucking own you. Those are battle scars, not a brand.” His grip tightens on my face. “Do you hear me?”

I do, but I don’t believe him.

At my silence, he demands, “Say it.”

I look at Dr. Knolls, who gives me an encouraging dip of her head.

“He doesn’t own me,” I whisper. But I don’t mean the words.

And Emmett can tell that I don’t. His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t push me, instead kissing me on the forehead before taking my hand back in his.

“There are a lot of options out there for scar revision and cover up,” Dr. Knolls says, giving my ankle a little squeeze of comfort. “It’s up to you to decide what you want to make of your battle wounds.”

I lose track of what else Dr. Knolls says. Something about how to care for the stitches and discharging me tomorrow morning, but it’s all muddled behind the whirring in my ears.

The doctor eventually leaves, and I ask Emmett to leave, too, just wanting to be by myself.

He refuses, but gives me some space and drops back into the chair by my bed.

I look at him, really look at him for the first time since he rescued me.

He’s wearing sweatpants, something I’ve never seen him do in public before. And they’re wrinkled. I even spy mismatched socks peeking out of his sneakers–one black and one gray. He has dark rings under his eyes, and his beard is messy, like he hasn’t bothered grooming it at all. Those gorgeous dark locks on his head are a mess too, as though he’s spent countless hours running his hands through it.

He looks… exhausted.

I try to figure out what to say to him, how to tell him any of the million things running through my mind right now, but end up blurting out, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps. “Christ.” He leans forward in his chair, running his hands over his face. He looks like he carries such a burden with the way his shoulders are hunched right now, and it pulls on my already aching heart. “I’m sorry, baby. Just… don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I’m about to tell him I have everything to be sorry for, when a flash of blonde enters the room and runs up to my bed, pulling me into her arms.

“Oh my god,” Tracy cries, her arms wrapped so tightly around my neck I”m afraid she may actually succeed in ending me. “I’m so glad you”re okay and I’m so sorry for everything you went through and I should have never let you leave my house that day and I feel so guilty and I thought you were dead and I’d have to live with that forever.” She pauses to take a breath before continuing her rambling. “And I can’t live without you, Riley. You’re my best friend and I love you and I don’t know what I’d do, and I bought your house, but I’m giving it to you, so please don’t hate me.”

I choke on my spit. “Wait… what?”

“I love you and you”re my best friend and—”

“No, the part about my house?” What the hell is she yammering on about?

She pulls back, grabbing my shoulders and giving me the look. The look she does when she’s about to say something she knows I won’t like, but is going to say it, anyway.

“I couldn’t live with myself if you died and I never told you the truth, so… I bought your house,” she explains.

“I don’t even have a house anymore.” One of the few things Trevor made sure to tell me, that he’d burnt my house down because ‘you won’t be going back there ever again’ and ‘your new home is here with me’. A shiver runs up my spine.

Tracy sits on the edge of my bed, grabbing my water cup and throwing back some of the ice chips in it, clearly trying to stall.

I’m either still delirious from the trauma I went through, or the drug cocktail I’m on has me feeling brave, because I could about punch her for daring to use my cup and eat my ice.

I settle for the non-violent route. “Please don’t eat my ice.” Her eyes widen and she sets the cup back down. “And when did you buy my house? Did everyone just assume I died and sell it?”

I wanted to die, but still, the thought that everyone else gave up on me hurts.

“No,” she says. “No one gave up on you.”

She lets out a sigh, continuing, “When you were house hunting, you couldn’t get approved for a mortgage, and I knew how much it hurt you. I couldn’t let you walk away from the first real thing that you’d been excited about since leaving Trevor, so I actually purchased the place behind your back. Blake set up a shell company to put the purchase through. The payments you’re making are actually to the shell company, not a real lender, and then they’re transferred to me. I was going to sign the title over to you once you paid me back.”

My pulse quickens, and I look to Emmett. “And you knew about this?”

He, at least, has the decency to look remorseful.

They lied to me. The two most important people in my life have been lying to me this entire time.