Over the Edge

Ch.22-Tug-of-war

I pulled her aside, away from the main stream of students, where I could hear just how hard she was breathing. This was really doing a number on her.

"You have to relax," I told her calmly but firmly, brushing my hands down her upper arms. "If you freak the fuck out it won't do either of us well."

She nodded. "You're right, you're right." She breathed deeply, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. I shook my head just as her eyes popped open and I became lost in the despair and hopelessness swirling there. "It's no use," she hissed. "It's always going to be like this, isn't it? Probably for the rest of the year."

"Emma, you don't know that-"

"Yes I do!" her eyes darted around a second before she grabbed my arm and hauled me right into the janitor's closet we were idling by. She flicked on the light and I couldn't help but smirk at the situation. Surrounded by crusty mops and buckets. Not the ideal environment for spilling one's guts.

"You're being a guy," she warned. "Stop being such a guy about the situation and please connect with me on an emotional level here!"

I pinned her with a droll look. "You do just realize what you said to me, right?"

She sighed heavily. "I know, I just . . ." her eyes lifted back to mine, completely lost. "You know who was waiting for me when I came downstairs this morning? A social worker. Wondering if I needed to be 'taken out of my environment'. She didn't think I was being taken care of. She thought my parents had left me to the wolves and I was popping pills to escape the misery of a neglected childhood."

I frowned. That sounded like the biggest load of bullshit ever. I shared my outlook aloud.

"I know! "she cried. "Oh, God, Rhys. You should have seen my Mom. She looked absolutely torn apart. I hated it." She paused, staring distantly at the floor, finger twirling maniacally around a single strand of hair. I watched the movement for a good long moment, caught in the hypnotic motion, before realizing we were indeed standing in the janitor's closet and in the middle of a discussion she abruptly stopped.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Emma," I replied, leaning back against the wall.

"I don't know what I want myself to do," she admitted. "People had to come to my house, Rhys. People who looked at me as if I was one step away from completely and totally losing it. They did a comb-over in my house and applied locks to all the medicinal cabinets. They checked my backpack and every teacher in this school has been aware of my situation." Christ. I could see tears glossing her yes. "It's humiliating!"

I wasn't sure what to do. What I wanted to say? It went something like "Well, if you hadn't been stupid and let yourself spiral by abusing drugs in the first place, then you wouldn't be here," but I was pretty sure she wouldn't take that extraordinarily well. So I tried thinking about what she would have wanted me to say, and I came up empty. Did I mention I never was good at sympathizing with women? Or sympathizing period?

Guessed I was just winging it, then.

"At least you're not still stuck in the hospital?" I offered. Her mouth dipped downward and her eyes got shimmery, and I knew I had not said the right thing.

Shit.

She turned and propped her arm up on a shelf, leaning her head against it as her shoulders shook with silent tears. I stood by awkwardly, no clue how to handle the situation. Girls crying? So not my thing. Whatever useless crap they chose to bawl over didn't concern me. It wasn't my business.

But Emma?

She was my business.

Dammit, I thought, knowing full well I would end up screwing everything up more as I tentatively patted her back, the extent of my comforting. I remembered a girl, Daphne. I never bothered asking for last names. Whenever she was upset I would just screw her, and then everything would be better. However, I was nearly certain that approach would not work out with Emma, not given what her past was still putting her through.