Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
When the man you’ve been sleeping with tells you he killed his teenage girlfriend, the last thing you should be doing is hugging him. I do it anyway as I hold on to Emmanuel tight. I needed one more hug from him because now I know this really is ending.
I just watched him shoot his mother. He pulled the trigger without blinking, and here I am, still wanting comfort from him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m sorry he had to do what he just did. For me. Someone who is a temporary fixture in his life.
Inhaling a lungful of air, I step out of his arms. When he tightens his grip on me, I shake my head.
“Let me go,” I plead.
“I’m never letting you go, Evie,” he says as he drops his hold from me. “You are mine. You will always be mine.”
“I can’t do this, Emmanuel. I’m going home,” I tell him.
“No. We need to talk about this. We need to work through this,” he insists.
“You just killed your mother. You shouldn’t have done that. Not for me.” The shock of everything that just transpired is finally hitting me.
“I don’t need her. I need you, Evie. I will not live without you again. It’s not happening.”
I tilt my head to the side. That’s it. Everything clicks. He’s using me to replace her. The girlfriend he claims he killed.
“I’m not her,” I remind him.
“Not who?”
“I’m not Laura,” I clarify.
“I know,” he says.
“You need to let me go. I can’t do this.” I don’t want to cry. I can’t fall apart, even if my heart is breaking.
“No.” I hear the determination in his voice. The hardness too.
“You don’t want me, Emmanuel. I’m not worth this kind of trouble. I’m sure as shit not worth killing your mother over. You don’t even know me! You don’t even know—”
“Then tell me,” he cuts me off. “Why the hell wouldn’t you be worth it, Evie? Because I can guarantee there is no one I would ever put before you.”
I shake my head again. I have to tell him. He’s not going to let me go unless he knows the entire truth. He has to see all the ugly, broken parts of me. When he does, he won’t want to keep me.
My throat goes dry. This isn’t something I’ve ever talked about. I hate thinking about it, let alone talking about it.
I move towards the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress. “It started when I was twelve…”
Emmanuel’s body stiffens. “What did?”
“I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember winning a pageant and being in the car in my dress.
When I woke up the next day in the hotel room, I was naked, and there was pain.
But I didn’t know what happened. But there was blood on the white sheets.
I told my mom and she said I’d gotten my period.
That’s all it was.” I shake my head. “I was twelve, so I believed her.”
I take another deep breath and close my eyes.
“But it kept happening. After every pageant I won, I would wake up naked, sore, and there would be bruises.” My voice is quiet.
“One time, I remember waking up and someone was on top of me. A man,” I admit.
“He yelled at me and then something pricked my arm. When I told my mom about this incident, she said it was just a nightmare and that I needed to forget it.”
I don’t know what Emmanuel is doing. I can’t look at him. I open my eyes and stare at the carpet.
“It just kept happening. It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I really understood what was going on. I mean, I knew, but I wanted to believe everything my mom said. It was easier if she was telling me the truth.”
“What happened when you were sixteen, Evie?” Emmanuel asks, his voice hoarse.
When I glance up at him, his jaw is tight and his palms are clenched. I’ve never been afraid of him, never saw him as the scary cartel boss I know he is, not even when I witnessed him kill his own mother. But right now, he looks every bit as scary as he is supposed to be.
“I… I was pregnant,” I say quietly. “I told my mom. I didn’t know how it had happened.
I never had a boyfriend. I didn’t even remember ever having sex…
The next pageant I went to, a Vegas event, I won.
And the following day, I woke up in a hotel room and I wasn’t pregnant anymore.
My mom told me that they took care of it.
” I look down at my hands as they twist around the bedsheets.
“They gave me an abortion while I was passed out.”
Emmanuel kneels in front of me. His hands cup my cheeks. “I’m going to kill every single fucking one of them. I will deliver their heads to you on a silver platter. I promise this will not go unpunished, Evie.”
“It won’t matter. It won’t fix anything, E. Now you know. Now you can see all the ugliness that’s underneath the pretty skin. I’m not ever going to be normal. You need to let me go,” I tell him.
“No.” Emmanuel’s voice is firm. “There isn’t a part of you I don’t love. You are mine. Even the broken parts, every last shard. They’re mine and I’m not giving them back.”
“I need to go home. I can’t stay here.” I peer down at where he’s still kneeling in front of me. I don’t want to leave him. I have to. We are not good for each other.
“I’ll take you home,” he says.
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief. Maybe what I told him is finally sinking in. I’m not the kind of complication he needs.
When Emmanuel said he’d take me home, he meant he would literally escort me home.
Which is why he’s currently standing in my living room, after helping himself to a tour of the place.
He went through each room, inspecting every crevice.
What he is looking for, I have no idea. This is a small town where nothing happens.
I could leave my door unlocked and not feel like anyone was going to come in. It’s why I’ve never moved away.
“Thank you for bringing me home. Now that you own the three houses surrounding me, I’m sure you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” I tell him.
“You don’t want me to leave, Evie,” he says confidently.
“Maybe not. But I need you to,” I say. He’s right. I don’t want him to leave. But I do really need to be alone. And the sooner I rip this Band-Aid off, the better.
Emmanuel’s head tilts to the side as he stares right through to my soul.
“I’m going to leave, but don’t mistake this as me leaving you, mi alma, because that is never happening.
I’m going to give you the space you need right now, but I will be back.
” Emmanuel leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
Then I watch him turn and walk out my front door.
I twist the lock in place and lean my back against it as the first tear falls down my cheek.
I wipe it away with the back of my hand and inhale a deep breath.
Once I’m composed enough to move, I push off the door, walk into my bedroom, and fall onto my bed.
My legs curl up, and I let the rest of the tears fall.
I knew letting him go was going to hurt. But this pain…? It’s worse than I expected. I watched the man kill his own mother. He admitted to killing his girlfriend as a teenager. Why am I so hung up on him? There is something seriously wrong with me…
Emmanuel didn’t let go of me for the entire flight home.
He was either holding my hand or had his arms wrapped around me.
It’s as if he knew our time was coming to an end too.
I know he says he’ll be back, but when reality sets in and he realizes we’re not good together, that I’m really not girlfriend material, his infatuation with me will die.
You look like her.
My mind can’t get that one phrase out of my head.
I look like the girlfriend he killed. How did he kill her?
I’m so confused, with so many emotions that I don’t know how to handle.
Is that really the only reason he’s so determined to be with me?
Because he’s replacing a love he lost with a lookalike?
A fresh wave of tears falls and my chest heaves as confusion, hurt, and loss surround me.
My phone pings from my pocket. I pull it out and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Cabrón:
If you need anything, call me. Day or night. I will be back, Evie. I don’t care what you’re thinking right now. This is not the end. Don’t let your own fears hold you back from something great. I won’t let you break us.
Why is he doing this to me? He needs to let me go.
He needs to forget about me. I don’t believe his words, as nice as they are.
I need to be the one living in reality. The fact is, we are too different.
We are not compatible. He is a murderer—I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
It’s also something that should be high on my list of Emmanuel cons versus pros.
The sound of my front door unlocking has me sitting up. Please don’t let it be him. I don’t move from my bed, but I do breathe a sigh of relief when Rachel appears in my doorway.
“Oh, Evie.” She climbs onto the mattress and drags me into her arms. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask her through my tears.
“Emmanuel messaged me and told me you needed me,” she explains. “He didn’t say why. What happened?”
He had her come here. He knew I wasn’t okay, and because I didn’t want him here, he sent my best friend. I hate how perfect he is.
Nope, murderer. Not perfect. Far from perfect.
“I told him what happened,” I say through hiccups.
Rachel stills. “You told him. Everything?”
I haven’t even told her everything. She knows that.
I nod my head, unable to look at her. I thought telling him would make him as disgusted in me as I am in myself. I thought seeing all the broken parts of me would make him not want me. I’m not sure it worked, though.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“That he’d deliver the head of every person who ever hurt me on a silver platter.”
“That’s, um, it’s something,” she says. “At least he means well?”
There is so much more I wish I could tell her. Somehow I can’t bring myself to say the words. I trust Rachel. I do. But telling her I just saw Emmanuel kill his mother could get him in a lot of trouble. I don’t want to risk anything happening to him.
Oh my god! I’m protecting him.
The reality of that is not lost on me. I might not be able to keep him, but that doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to him.
“I can’t let him do that for me. It won’t fix me anyway,” I tell Rachel.
My phone pings with another message. I sit up and look at it.
Cabrón:
You are not broken, mi alma. There isn’t a part of you that needs fixing. Don’t forget how fucking perfect you are.
My brows draw down. Why would he send me that right now? After what I just admitted to Rachel?
I shrug it off as a coincidence. What else could it be? I also tap on his contact and change the name from Cabrón to E. He really isn’t an asshole. At least he hasn’t been one to me.