Farm Girl Meets Bad Boy (#1)

Chapter Twenty

“Emery,” I cry, begging him to stop. “Don’t sink to his level.” I drag myself over to where he sits, slowly killing Keith. He raises his arm back, ready to strike again when I grab his fist. I hold the bloody hand between mine as tight as I can, never wanting to let go. “Emery.” He looks up at me, disgusted. In his eyes are rage, fury, anger, and I desperately wanted to change that.

“You’re better than this,” I can’t control the pitch of my voice as I speak to him. “You can be so much better than you’re being right now.” Slowly, I pry his fingers out of the clenched fist, one by one. When there all out, I take his hand in mine. I stand up gently, and pull him up with me. We step over Keith, and I lead him towards the truck.

“I’m telling…your old man,” spits Keith, picking his broken body up off the ground. “Now that…we know where you are,” he gasps, limping away. “He will… find you. And when…he does,” he grins and I shudder at the blood in his mouth. “He’s going to kill you.”

Once he’s gone, I squeeze Emery’s hand, as we stand in silence, thinking about the things that just had happened. But mostly, I’m reflecting on my entire life up until this point. I’m questioning whether I’d rather still be boring old River Snow, who lives on her family’s farm in the middle of nowhere, or River Snow, the girl who has an unsaid friendship with Emery Hastings and has just been dragged into unknown drama.

I shake my head. No, I would rather have the second option. I look up and meet Emery’s eyes, but as he looks down at me, I know he’s distant. He’s definitely not here right now.

“Emery,” I murmur, noticing the storm clouds approaching. “We have to go.”

He nods, and slips out of my hand. He heads to the driver’s side of the truck while I climb into my seat. I’m buckling my seatbelt when I flinch at the slamming of a door. Looking over to my left, I watch as Emery stands outside of the truck, leaning his forehead against the window. He’s muttering words I can’t hear, but I know for a fact that he’s cursing.

I flinch again as Emery throws open the door, and slams it shut again. He does it a totally of five times before throwing himself into the truck, and slamming the door closed. He rests his head on the top of the steering wheel when I hear the sound of thunder.

“Emery,” I mumble, reaching for him with my right hand. When it touches his shoulder, he looks over at me to see that I’ve already started to shake. He sighs once, before starting the truck and pulling out of the parking space. Once I see the pool of blood left on the pavement, I avert my eyes and try to forget what just happened.

The first half of the drive home is pure silence. We’re driving away from the storm, so it would be a while before it reached the farm. Emery isn’t even playing his awful music, so the only sound is the tires on the road.

“Do you,” I mumble after a while. “Want to talk about what happened?” I watch, as Emery’s hands begin to tremble on the steering wheel. He starts swerving, and I notice that look in his eyes again. He’s distant again. “Emery!” I grab his shoulders and shake him until he blinks a few times. “Pull over!”

For the first time I think in our month of non-talking, he does as he’s asked. “I’m driving,” I tell him, as I get out and walk around to the other side. He moves over to the passenger’s seat as I buckle myself in. When we’re on the road, I repeat my question.

“Just drop it, River,” he says quietly. I’ve never ever heard Emery Hastings sound so upset; so defeated. He leans his head against the window, and closes his eyes. He clasps his hands together, like I had done many times before to prevent myself from shaking.

When I pull into the driveway, Emery hops out immediately. I grab the groceries and leave the wood. When I walk through the house, I gently set the bags on the floor and listen.

“We need to call the police, Emery,” Dad says sternly. I peek around the corner to see him sitting at the kitchen table. Emery sits across from him with his head in his hands. My mother is doing the dishes, but I know she’s listening.

“That won’t do anything,” Emery’s voice sounds hopeless and extremely upset. He lifts up his head and his hands begin to tremble. “You don’t know my dad. If he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find him. Not unless he’s dead.”

My Dad clears his throat when he notices me peeking. Embarrassed, I look at the floor as I walk into the kitchen. Emery had told my dad what happened, which meant that whatever happened back in Redwood was one-hundred percent serious. And it scared Emery.

“There’s a storm coming,” I mumble, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Then Emery can’t sleep in the loft, it might leak,” she sets the plate down she’s drying and turns to me. “Let’s go put sheets on that mattress.” It still sits in my room, at the end of my bed. My excuse was because I didn’t want to carry it back down. But the real reason is because I miss Emery sleeping there. I look to Emery now and my father, as I desperately want to listen to the conversation. Emery could tell my dad, but he can’t tell me what’s going on?

“Can’t you do it?” I ask hopeful. But my mom just gives me that look. It says that my dad and Emery are having a private conversation and it’s time for me to leave. I exhale dramatically, and lead the way up the stairs.

Two Hours Later:

“It’s been a while,” I mumble to Emery in the darkness. Luckily, the storm hasn’t hit yet, so I’m perfectly calm. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying awake, but I hope that Emery isn’t sleeping just yet.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and my heart aches for him. The guard that he had put up had crumpled with the wall that he used to keep me out. Now, I can see the real Emery, hurting on the inside.

“Are you okay?” I knew the answer was already a no, but I assumed he would just say he’s fine. When he came to bed, he looked like I would when the storm hit.

“Not really.” His words surprise me so I ask if he wants to talk about it. “No,” he mumbles, and I keep my mouth shut. I think about what the future holds instead of talking. What would I do after I turn eighteen? Leave here, or stay? When is Emery going to leave? A few months, a year? When will I get my car? On my birthday after all, or would I really have to wait? Will I find out the secrets that Emery is hiding?

“It wasn’t my fault!” shouts Emery into the quiet house. I hear him tossing and turning as he yells in his nightmare. “I didn’t! It was you!” When I hear him gasping, I throw myself out of my bed and run to his side. I kneel in the darkness, and reach out from him. “Leave me alone!” he chokes, grabbing his neck. I know I really shouldn’t, but I have to. I grasp his shoulders and shake him.

“Emery, wake up!” His eyes fly open and all of the sudden I’m on my back, just like the first time this happened. He pins my down, with his hands grasped tightly around my neck. The force is much harder than any other time that this has happened before, and I gasp for air. I claw at his hands, hit his chest; try anything to get him to release his grip. His eyes are burning with hatred, and his teeth are clenched tightly together. I can’t even spit out any words, as I urgently try to get air into my lungs.

Everything starts to slowly get darker, and soon I can’t see the room around me. Next goes Emery’s body in front of me. The only thing I can see, are Emery’s glaring eyes, and I can’t help but wonder, is this really the end for me?