Chapter 46
At home, Emmett powered off his phone and handed it to Lizette. It was the only way to pull himself out from under the never-ending avalanche of hate, and silence the barrage of calls and texts from his family. They’d only make things worse.
“Shhh, Emmettito. It’s okay,” she murmured, holding him as he cried. “Don’t let the skinny fuckers upset you. They’re just mad because they’re hungry and have no asses.”
He chuckled through the tears, despite himself.
Lizette’s phone buzzed: a call from an unknown number. She silenced it, and the voicemail landed with another buzz.
Emmett watched the color drain from her face as she scrolled through the transcript. She rose off the couch and raised the phone to her ear.
“What is it?”
She didn’t answer, pacing.
“Lizette.”
At last she lowered the phone. “It’s the police.”
“What?”
“A detective,” she said. “He wants to talk to me.”
“What about? Did they mention me?”
“They didn’t say anything. Should I call them back?”
Emmett doubled over, sick with terror. “Fuck. Fuck. I can’t handle this right now!”
“I’m gonna call them.” She headed into her bedroom, the dogs scampering after her.
Emmett waited, nerves chewing a ragged hole through his stomach as he listened. Lizette was speaking to someone. The conversation was brief.
A moment later she came back into the living room. “They want me to go to the station. He said it was something to do with my clothes.”
“Clothes? What could—?”
“I don’t know. I’m gonna get ready and go.
” An hour later, dressed, showered, and made up, she handed Emmett back his phone.
It powered back on with a frenzy of notifications—dozens of texts, a voicemail from his frantic mom threatening to jump on a flight if he didn’t call her back at once.
Lizette bent over the couch, planting a kiss on his cheek.
She drew back, almost in surprise.
“What?”
“You used to be so squishy.”
At one time the comment would’ve felt like a triumph. Now it landed with a ripple of guilt, as if he had taken something that was hers.
“Text me once you finish,” he said.
“I will.” She opened the door and— “Jesus!”
Aaron was standing there, a fist raised to knock.
Lizette didn’t greet him; Emmett had told her everything he’d said the previous night.
“We need to talk,” Aaron said, stepping past the barking dogs without waiting for an invitation. His jaw was set, fingers fidgeting with fury. Admittedly, Emmett had picked the worst possible day to bail on work.
“You good?” Lizette said.
He nodded.
With a scowl, she pushed past Aaron and left the apartment.
“If you’re here to fire me—” Emmett began.
“Shut the fuck up,” Aaron snapped, throwing the door closed behind him. The dogs ran under a table. “You’re on drugs?”
“Don’t overreact. It’s a clinical trial.”
“And you just forgot to mention anything about it?”
“I signed an NDA. I could’ve been sued.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Why does it even matter?”
“Why does it—?” Aaron spluttered, his eyes flashing. “You humiliated me. Do you know how many people asked me why I was with you? I told them you’d changed, that you were— Now everyone knows I’m dating a—a—”
Emmett got to his feet. “What? What am I, Aaron?”
“A fucking monster.”
It wasn’t the word Emmett had expected. The note it struck was dark and dissonant, triggering a response deep in Emmett’s body. Part of him welcomed it: the racing of his heart, the frenetic soda-pop fizz in his blood.
“It’s over,” Aaron said, not noticing the ripples across Emmett’s flesh. “I want you out of my life. You’re fired.”
A pressure ballooned inside Emmett, a pleasant pain stretching his skin. “I quit.”
“No,” Aaron spat, “you don’t quit shit. The only thing you know how to quit is a diet.”
Emmett’s fat undulated, expanding. His belly spilled over his waistband, drawing Aaron’s eye. “What the hell?” He stumbled back, horrified.
Emmett waded toward him, his clothes stretching tighter around his bloat. The button on his shorts went flying. “Say it again.”
“What the fuck’s happening to you!”
The seams on his clothes began to tear. “Call me a monster again.”
Aaron turned to the door. Emmett grabbed his arm and ripped it back, stronger than he realized; a pop told him he’d wrenched it out of socket.
Aaron screamed, and Emmett’s free hand flew to his throat. Terror glistened in Aaron’s eyes as Emmett crushed his windpipe, bright against the storm of puce closing over his face. His tongue flapped pathetically out of his mouth.
Suddenly ravenous, Emmett yanked Aaron toward him by the neck and chomped. Aaron bucked, screaming in pain, Emmett’s mouth filling with blood and saliva as his teeth clamped down on Aaron’s tongue. A jerk of his head, and the muscle disconnected with a snap.
Emmett tossed the appendage back like a dog, ate it down in a few good champs.
His body, sated, shrank back toward its previous size.
Aaron staggered back, collapsed against the door. He cowered before Emmett with his arms raised, blood sheeting down over his chin.
“Say it again,” Emmett repeated.
But with his ragged stump of a tongue, Aaron could do little more than bleat: not a wolf, but a sheep primed for slaughter.