Chapter 20
I’ll Be Here To Catch Her
Eli's Search History: Healthy comfort foods for emotional distress.
Eli
My client lasted longer than expected.
I checked in on Emily through the cameras I set up.
Last I saw, she was peacefully reading, looking content in our home.
I open the door quietly, not wanting to disturb her.
Sobbing echoes from the kitchen.
My heart lurches.
I move on instinct, worst-case scenarios crowding my mind.
Emily’s on the floor, her back pressed to the cabinets, her body shaking, her head buried in her knees. Food wrappers litter the floor around her, discarded in haste.
"Angel," I coo—then freeze.
I’m not wearing my mask.
Her tear-streaked face jerks up to meet mine. She sucks in a breath. A snot bubble bursts from her nose, and more tears spill down her cheeks before she hides her face again, curling tighter into herself.
I drop to my knees, helpless.
I’ve seen this before—after my lapse in judgement, sending her Tom’s finger.
I’ve done it again. Hurt her. Made her cry.
I don’t know exactly what the catalyst was this time. But I only have myself to blame.
Gently, I pry her hands away from where she’s gripping her skin so tightly I’m afraid she’ll bruise. I lace our fingers together and press a kiss to her knuckles.
Her eyes find mine again, and the sight of her pain guts me.
"What happened, Angel?"
She tries to speak, but only hiccupping gasps come out.
"Shh," I murmur, stroking her back. "It’s okay. Deep breaths."
Graham butts his head against my leg, mewing softly. I scratch behind his ears before turning my full attention back to her.
Slowly, her breathing evens out.
"You did this before," I say carefully, searching for the right words. "What causes it?"
She leans her head back against the cabinet, her eyes avoiding mine.
"I’ve always struggled with food," she says, her voice soft and small. "I get these... cravings. I can’t stop them. It just spirals. And then the guilt comes." She shrugs, a sigh escaping her.
"What triggers it?" I ask.
She huffs a humourless laugh. "Careful, Eli. You’re starting to sound like a therapist."
The corner of my mouth lifts despite everything.
"I have a lot of triggers," she admits. "Sometimes it’s something small. Stupid. But usually, it’s when I’m emotional—good or bad. Big emotions equal food."
"What emotion led to this?" I ask quietly.
She finally meets my eyes. "I’m just overwhelmed."
I nod, hating myself for putting that weight on her shoulders.
Bringing her here caused this.
But... I said I wanted to see her spiral up close.
I wanted to understand.
Now I do.
Now I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.
And if it does…
I’ll be here to catch her.
“You’re not wearing your mask,” she says, after her tears dry.
I scratch the back of my neck, looking away momentarily. “You don’t seem shocked to see me.”
She smiles; the sight undoes me. She’s so beautiful.
“I realised it was you last night.”
Fuck. “The tattoos?”
She shakes her head. “No, although, they helped. It was your smell.”
I scrunch up my face. “My smell?” I sniff my pits. I don’t stink.
“Mmhm,” she murmurs. “When you hugged me, you smelt like cinnamon. It’s something I associate with you—Eli you, not stalker you.” Her brow furrows. “Though, I guess you’re one and the same.” Hurt flashes across her face—fleeting, but I catch it. “Why did you lie to me?”
My knees ache, so I lower myself fully to the floor, sitting next to her, resting against the cupboards.
“I didn’t lie.”
She points a glare at me. “There you go, lying again.”
I huff. “Okay, I told some small white lies. But most of what I’ve said is true.”
She turns her head, resting her cheek on her knees. “Jenny?”
“Real.”
“The other blondes?”
“Real.”
“The recent one?”
“Only you.”
She nods—I note a sliver of satisfaction in her eyes at my admission.
“Your father?” she asks, continuing her questioning.
There’s no need for lies anymore.
“Also true.”
She hums in the back of her throat.
“Why hide? Why pretend?”
I can’t bring myself to look in her eyes as I speak. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I think she can tell that there’s more to it, but she doesn’t push me.
“Will you really let me leave after this week?”
Anger burns under my skin, but I stuff it down. She doesn’t understand.
I’ll never let her go.
“I’ll let you go back to work, yes.”
She studies me. “But you want me to come back here?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ll be in love with me. Of course you’ll come back.”
She laughs, a sound so sweet and melodic, but then it fades, softening into something more fragile. “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”