Wrong Guy

29 | you just need help

Episode 29:
YOU JUST NEED HELP

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F A W N ' S P O V :

"Emerson!" I hesitantly step around the corner of the claustrophobic space and find him sitting on a barstool. His dark hair shuffled in an array of different directions and eyes tired, squinted towards the granite beneath his folded hands.

"What do you want this time?" He asks, his voice gruff and muffled by his clenched jaw.

"I was, j-just wondering why we're still here. I m-mean, we're finished looking at the place." He turns around on his seat and sends a harsh glare in my direction. He didn't look mad, but he was far beyond unpleased.

"I just want to stay a minute longer," He states, raising his eyebrows, daring me to defy him.

"Why?" I ask, and he stands up.

"Because I said so."

"That's not a good reason at all," I snarl, before he grabs both of my wrists bringing them to the front if my chest before squeezing them. His hands press the fragile bones so hard that they rub against each other. Poking and prodding at the other as though they aren't exactly the same.

"Its good enough," he seethes before releasing me.

It wasn't nearly as bad as what he's shown he could do to me. What he showed me the other night – when he's not himself, when he's far more than just himself.

"You don't h-have to do this," I call out as he turns away from me. He paces the room, as I attempt to finish my sentence.

"You d-don't have to p-pretend with me, you know?"

"I'm not, more fucking real with you than half the boys and girls ruling this disgusting city." He spits his words like their sour to taste.

"N-No, Emerson, you aren't," I walk to the door of the apartment we've been touring before finishing my statement, "You're trying w-way too hard."

"What the hell would that imply?"

"I know that you can't be this cold all the time," I turn the doorknob and watch as he finally turns to look at me, "Before everything happened, before you ran off and ditched us for whatever stupid reason you decided wasn't stupid – before you got your hands on a fucking bottle, you weren't like this."

"Shut the hell up, Fawn."

"You weren't!" I cry out, hands shaking uncontrollably, unnoticeably as I can only focus on the words I've been dying to say since I got his stupid fucking text.

"That was years ago, Fawn,"

"So? You're s-still you. You still bite your stubby ass fingernails, and swear when you s-stub your toe," he freezes in place, "Your name is still Emerson, and you are still my brother. You're still family no matter how far you run."

I tear up as he remains silent.

"When I left you, when I left Mom and Dad, Morgan," saying her name seems to strike a cord, "How old is she?" He asks, doing everything in his power to keep himself in check.

To keep pretending.

"She's turning fourteen in two months,"

He cracks.

"Are you lying?" He asks, his eyes puffy and red, but unable to form tears.

Maybe they'd forgotten how.

"Why would I l-lie?" I whimper, and he stares me dead in the eye.

"Because I left all of you," he chuckles wryly, "it's been so long, that I didn't know the age of my own sister, I don't even know how old you are Fawn!" He stiffens and tries his best to suck in his emotions, but fails.

"Why would you lie to me? Because I am no good for anyone in our family! Morgan was two months old when I was shipped away and chose to not come back! Two months, Fawn! You were hardly three, and now –now you're standing in front of me and I don't even know if I could recognize you in a handful of faces. I don't know you, any of you. You sent me to that place for a good reason. I made the decision to stay away after that. I did it because it was what's best, and now – all I want is for you to help me find an apartment because I'm 29 years old and have no income besides what I make betting on sport's teams wins and losses!"

A piece of my heart – I tiny sliver, positioned on what I believe to be my left ventricle – is chipped away and the heart left behind is raw and longing.

"W-why do you think I'm h-here? I tell you over and over again that it's okay to not be okay, and it's okay to mess up, but you don't l-listen! You've tricked y-yourself into believing we hate you when we just want to help,"

"You just need help, Emerson."

He pushes through the door and doesn't turn back around as I call out his name.

I run to catch up with him, making the few people around in the hallway whine and complain about the noise. It's not like I care, it's not like Emerson cares. Not when he just showed that he's even more scared than me.

That he's lost, and he's too scared to ask for directions. So, instead of facing his fears he's lived his life searching for something to call home, and he can't find it. He puts on a mask so no one questions him, forgets how to cry so he's fucking invincible.

But he's not.

He's just like me.

Lost in a dangerous world.
And too scared to ask for help.

Maybe, that's why he showed up again.
After thirteen years.

It's the worlds way of saying we have to learn from each other.

We have to ask for help.

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QUESTIONS:

What do you think Fawn and Emerson were doing?

What do you think happened between Emerson and the rest of Fawn's family?

What do you think of what both of them said?

Thoughts on the chapter as a whole?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hello! I just wanted to say that this book is really gaining some readers and I want to say thanks to anyone new! So people have been asking me why Fawn keeps stuttering, and NO – it's not because she's nervous. She has a speech impediment, and because of that she stutters, ESPECIALLY when she's feels uncomfortable or nervous. So, yeah.
Thanks again to everyone reading this! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to reading more!
Don't forget to comment, vote and share this with fellow Wattpadians!
- tat <3