14. Chapter 14 #2
“I know what was done to you.”
I shake my head immediately. “Don’t do that,” I say, sharper now. “I was there, Emma. I did that. I didn’t fucking stop.”
“I know,” she says.
My fingers twitch against my thigh, my thoughts starting to tangle again. “Then what the hell are you saying?”
She carefully sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re trying to decide what that makes you,” she says.
I huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh. “I already decided.”
“A monster,” she finishes quietly.
My jaw locks. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
My head lifts a little more at that. “So what?” I ask, quieter now despite myself.
A beat passes. “Then we deal with that version of you, too.”
I look away from her.
“You think you’re broken?” she continues. “Then we work with broken. You think you’re dangerous? Then we figure out how to make you safe again.”
My chest aches. All I want is to pull her into me and hug her.
Kiss her. Love her. “Emma—” I start, but my voice cracks, and I shut my mouth.
Because I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I don’t know what to do with her, choosing to be this close to me after seeing that video.
After knowing what I’ve done. What I am.
After I tried to fucking kill her.
“You should leave,” I say instead, defaulting to the only thing that makes sense anymore. “You shouldn’t—”
“You should know by now that I won’t give up on you,” she interrupts.
Micah nods, and my gaze clashes with his.
“Why didn’t you just leave me alone? I told you.” My voice is quiet.
A heavy sigh leaves my best friend. “I couldn’t just let you go, man. I love you.”
I swallow hard at that.
“Don’t push us away,” Emma whispers, going to reach for my hand but decides against it. Like she forgot for a moment that I’m unstable. “We need you. Now more than ever. Come back to me.”
My throat constricts as I stare at her slender hands in her lap. There are still remnants of a pastel green nail polish that’s chipped off. I focus hard on that to keep myself from losing my shit.
Her voice cuts through the quiet again. “Hey, look at me.”
My eyes snap up before I even think about it. “No,” I say immediately, shaking my head once. It’s automatic. Because looking at her is the problem. Looking at her is what makes everything inside me misfire.
Emma doesn’t move. She just stays seated in front of me. “You need to try,” she says quietly. “You can’t keep avoiding my face. That’s part of it, Jude. Your brain is linking me to pain. We have to start changing that.”
My jaw tightens hard. “That’s not how this works.”
“Actually, it is how it works,” she replies, and there’s a strength there that I don’t miss.
My hands fist in the sheets. “I can’t,” I say again, quieter this time.
Emma doesn’t look away. “Yes, you can.”
Silence stretches. I hate it. But finally, I lift my eyes.
Emma’s face comes into view, and my heart feels like it’s collapsing.
This is worse than the initial jerk reaction, because I don’t feel what I’m supposed to feel.
There’s no warmth snapping into place. No recognition that makes everything feel beautiful and calm.
Just…discomfort. It’s almost like a low, vibrating and infuriating tension.
My body isn’t happy about this. My jaw locks hard enough to snap, but I don’t look away.
Emma watches me carefully, like she’s measuring every reaction. “You’re doing it,” she says softly. “Jude, you’re looking at me.”
I swallow hard. My throat feels too tight. Fuck. “I don’t feel right,” I admit under my breath, my body beginning to tremble.
Emma nods once. “That’s okay,” she says. “That’s still progress.”
Progress.
I almost laugh at the word, and I force my gaze down for half a second before lifting it again. “You changed your hair,” I say quietly, the observation slipping out.
Emma pauses. Then nods. “I had to,” she says gently. “At the event. So you wouldn’t recognize me.”
Goddamn, that’s fucking heavy.
I lean back against the wall behind me, suddenly aware of how exhausted I feel. “I need…” I start, then stop. My throat works once. I don’t even finish the sentence. Saying I need any kind of medication makes me feel like shit at this point.
Micah shifts beside her, reading it before I say it. “Another dose?”
I nod once.
He exhales through his nose and glances at the time on his phone. “Yeah. You’re due.” A pause. Then he looks at Emma. “You okay if I step out real quick?”
Emma nods confidently. “Yeah.”
He hesitates anyway, eyes flicking back to me for a second longer than necessary, as if saying, don’t hurt her, asshole. The door clicks softly behind him, and Emma shifts on the corner of the bed. “You’re shaking again,” she says softly.
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically.
But I’m not looking at her face anymore. I’m looking just below it now. Anywhere but direct contact. Because when I look too long, my body starts doing things I can’t control.
Emma exhales softly. “You don’t have to push yourself past—”
“I said I’m fine.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. Silence again, and immediate regret follows it. I drag a hand through my hair, forcing my breathing down.
Emma doesn’t flinch at my tone. She just watches me, like she’s waiting for the wave to pass instead of fighting against it. And that makes it worse, because I can feel myself slipping into that in-between space again. Not fully present. Not fully gone. Just…hovering.
“Jude,” she says quietly.
I look up, my gaze catching on her mouth for a second too long. My heart stumbles over itself, the damn thing. It’s confusing in a way that doesn’t match anything else I’ve felt today. Her lips…
I freeze.
Her words continue, but I barely register them. All I can think is don’t.
Don’t go there. Don’t feel that. Don’t reach out and snatch her—
I shift back abruptly, increasing the space between us without even meaning to. My shoulders hit the wall behind me harder than intended.
Emma pauses mid-sentence.
“I—” I stop, exhale hard, then shake my head once. “Never mind.”
Footsteps outside the hall.
Perfect timing.
I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes closing for a second as the exhaustion hits me all at once again. The door opens, and Micah returns with water, a pill bottle, and a small tray of food I didn’t ask for.
“Here,” he says quietly, setting it down on the bedside table. And I realize, distantly, that I haven’t eaten anything real in a while. I don’t even know how long it’s been since we’ve been here.
“Thanks,” I mumble, already wanting to retreat into myself again.
The idea of facing my parents and sister after everything I’ve done terrifies me.
I don’t want them to know the horrors of what happened.
If there is such a thing as heaven, then my little brother probably watched it all, and that hurts like hell.
I’m so sorry.