Invisible

STAYING

JACK PULLS INTO THE DRIVEWAY, the familiar black pick-up parked next to us. Ali’s eyes harden as she looks at me, then back at Jack. Then comes Spanish.

Jack, what are we supposed to do?

Leave them alone together, maybe? I don’t know. I can’t really fathom what to do in this type of situation.

Well, I don’t want to leave them alone together. Look at what happened before. I can’t face that again.

I don’t think any of us can, and that includes Aiden. Something tells me he finally gets it.

I frown. Maybe they’ve forgotten I can understand what they’re saying…

Or maybe they just don’t care.

I climb out of the truck, Jack jumping out after me.

“Emma, wait—”

“No,” I say as I walk toward the front door, reach for the key over the door pane, “I’ve handled assholes before, so if he wants to be one, he’ll face me like one. But I’m not going to sit in isolation because I’m tired of letting assholes control me.”

I unlock the door, push it open. Aiden’s standing right in the living room, facing me. I stare at him for a moment before I walk upstairs, into the guest bedroom. It only takes a moment for me to hear a truck backing out of the driveway. I smile.

Asshole couldn’t even stay for five minutes.

I lie on the bed, careful not to put pressure on my wrist. Then I close my eyes before I hear footsteps walking into the room. I expect it’s Jack, apologizing on Aiden’s behalf.

“I’m not going to let this go,” Aiden says. I jump, look toward the door. He leans on the pane, arms folded, eyes focused on me. I glare at him.

“Where’s Jack?!” I ask as I stand up angrily, walk toward the window. Jack’s truck is gone, Aiden’s the only one in the driveway.

“He and Ali needed to step out. And I need to talk to you.”

I look up at him, and he starts walking toward me. I roll my eyes, storm past him.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

I walk into his bedroom, open the door to his closet.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Moving my shit. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Emma, come on—”

“No, you stay the fuck out of my way.” I grab my duffel bag, make my way toward the door. He blocks me.

“Move,” I say.

“No.”

“Aiden, don’t fuck with me. Do you really think I’m in the mood?”

“Don’t care. I told you I need to talk to you.”

“And I told you to stay out of my way.”

Then he asks me a stupid question, a question that sends anger through my body, rage flowing with it.

“Why are you so pissed?”

It sends my hand smack across his face, his head turned sideways. Something inside doesn’t feel right. I’ve never hit anyone before, the thought of hurting someone else a little too ridiculous for me. When he turns his head toward me, looks at me again, it makes me want to tear up. But I don’t, and I won’t. I’m tired of crying. Every inch of me is tired of crying out, bleeding, agonizing. So I just glower at him.